Ray: Ooh! Here's an idea. Why don't you just saw your God damned head off?
Cyril: Geez. What's up your butt?
Ray: Nothing is up my butt, Cyril. Oh, or maybe there is. I wouldn't know because I'm paralyzed from the waist down and it's Archer's fault!
Krieger: Uh, gettin' some mileage out of that, huh?
Krieger: I needed help disseminating him.
Pam: Not what it means.
Lana: Still pretty gross though.
Krieger: Coffee just like I like my women: black, bitter and preferably fair trade.
Krieger: Press that red button.
Archer: Is it going to kill everyone?
Krieger: Press that blue button.
Archer: Why the hell are you crying?
Krieger: That was my van.
Pam: Zing! ... Wildly inappropriate.
Krieger: Seriously, Pam.
Pam: Okay, clone wars.
Archer: Cry "Havoc!" and let slip the hogs of war.
Krieger: Dogs of wars.
Archer: Whatever farm animal of war, Lana. Shut up.
Archer: I've been treating my cancer with sugar pills!?
Krieger: You didn't think it was weird your chemo drugs were chewable?
Archer: Little kids get cancer.
Krieger: My entire laboratory is at your disposal.
Malory: thanks I'll let you know if I need a hybrid pig-boy.
Krieger: Pam, if you're dumping stuff on the street, you can also dump these.
Pam: What is it?
Krieger: Shattered dreams.
Cheryl: Smells like rotten meat.
Krieger: Also, yes.
Krieger: So, uh have you ever thought about having a baby?
Cheryl: Sometimes I think about adopting a little baby so I could abandon it at a mall.
Krieger: That answers my follow up question.
Cheryl: So, Krieger's a doctor.
Cyril: Not the medical kind!
Krieger: Not even the other kind... technically.