Lucille: (about Gob) He's very upset. You haven't included him in the business at all. He's your older brother. You could find a little job for him. Make him feel special.
Michael: But he's not special, Mother.
Lucille: No. But he loves you.

Lucille: Oh, it's probably all in a storage unit somewhere.
Michael: Where's the storage unit?
Lucille: I don't remember.
Michael: Try.
Lucille: Something-dale. I don't know -- Brookfeather, Raintree. It's hot. It was very hot there. I've never been ... get a warrant.
Michael: Don't think I won't.

Narrator: George Michael's attempt to distance himself from his cousin proved ... unsuccessful.
(George Michael and Maeby are at the banana stand. Maeby dips her hand in the liquid chocolate and then licks her fingers.)
George Michael: I can't tell you how many health codes you're violating right now.

Michael: What's going on? This is exactly where the two of you were when I left this morning. Is nobody going to even try to get a job?
Lindsay: I have a job, Michael. It's called "supporting my husband."
Michael: You certainly haven't been shopping. The only thing I found in the freezer was a dead dove in a bag.
Gob: You didn't eat that, did you? 'Cause I've only got a couple days left to return it.

(Michael opens the fridge looking for something to eat, but only finds a bag labeled: "Dead dove. Do not eat.")
Michael: (while looking inside the bag) I don't know what I expected.

Okay, we are just about ass-to-ankles back here, Maeby. Do you want to hop on your cousin's lap there, please?

Tobias

Lindsay: Roger was my male counterpart in high school.
Roger: Remember how crazy our hair was back then?
Lindsay: Oh ... What were we thinking? So, what are you doing now?
Tobias: He's, uh, casting my commercial.
Roger: Yeah, trying to. The South Coast Boutique is having a fire sale.
Lindsay: South Coast Boutique? They're having a fire sale?!

Michael: Well, I got news for you, Gob. Dad still doesn't trust me to this day. He treats me like a low level employee.
Gob: It's better than being treated like the goofball... the joker... the magician (uncrosses arms dramatically and nothing happens)
*pause*
Michael: I thought you were gonna do, like a trick there, like the fireball or something.

Michael: Or, even better, could you mail this letter for me?
G.O.B.: You can't just give that to a mailman?
Michael: I can't trust a mailman with this. This is important.
Narrator: G.O.B. was intrigued. He also suspected he couldn't return a completely frozen dove to a pet store and get the full refund he felt he was entitled to.
G.O.B.: I'll mail that letter.

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