George Michael: My bike needs a tune-up or something.
Michael: Let's not blame the bike. Okay? It's a poor carpenter that blames his shoddy tools ...

(Cornballer infomercial)
George Sr.: Time to pull out the basket, and we dig into some hot ... Son of a bitch!
Richard Simmons: Oh! Look what you did! You plopped it!
George Sr.: I'll plop you, you mincing little ...

Kitty: Your wife's on line one.
Narrator: Michael's wife had been dead for two years.
Michael: My what?
Narrator: Kitty realized her mistake.
Kitty: I said, 'your wife is on line one.'
Narrator: But not immediately.

(to a waiter) Take it back. If I wanted something your thumb touched, I'd eat the inside of your ear.

Lucille

Kitty: Gob? I wish I would have know you were coming. I am a mess.
Gob: Don't know if a call from me would've changed that.

Gob: Take off your glasses. Oh ... Wait, wait. Let down your hair. No, glasses on, hair back up. Let's just get that hair right back up.
Kitty: Let me turn the lights off.
Gob: Yes, yes, please.
Kitty: How's that? Is that better?
Gob: It just seems like there's still light coming in from under the door.

George Sr.: I haven't had sex in a month.
Michael: You know, you've been here two months.
(Pause)
George Sr.: It's hard to gauge time.
Michael: Yeah. I'll bet.

Gob: I *bleep* Kitty!
Michael: Oh, Gob! I just wanted you to get the information.
Gob: I got the information.
Michael: You did, huh? About the international accounts?
Gob: Oh, I see what you're getting at. No, I didn't get any information.

That's none of your business ... My business.

Kitty
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