Buster: I really appreciate you doing this for me. You're making a very miserable person happy.
George Michael: She really feels awful, huh?
Buster: Oh, I was talking about me. But yeah, she's a mess. Be careful.

Lindsay: I see. Fine. I was going to take her out for ice cream, but if you'd rather stay here. Well, that's just fine with me.
Maeby: Well, we can go get some ice cream, Gangee. That would be fun, right?
Lucille: I don't think so. That chubby little wrist of yours is testing the tensile strength of this bracelet as it is.

What? Oh, no! It's the cops! Oh! And a ... Construction worker.


Michael: I want the guy with the one arm and the fake blood. J. Walter Weatherman. How do I get a hold of him?
George Sr.: Well, he's, uh, dead. You killed him when you left the door open with the air conditioner on.

Gob: George Michael. You weren't followed, were you?
George Michael: No, I don't think so.
Gob: All right, kid ... let's deal some drugs.

I don't criticize you! And if you're worried about criticism, sometimes a diet is the best defense.


Maeby: (working with Lucille) This is so much fun. I can't believe my mom thought being here would be a punishment.
Lucille: Oh, she thinks I'm too critical. That's another fault of hers.

George Michael: But it wasn't for me.
Michael: Then who was it for? Who? Give me a name.
George Michael: Okay, it was for me. Yeah. I was gonna smoke the marijuana like a cigarette.

Michael: He's lying to me. Can you believe that? Where the hell is this family's morality?
(A puff of smoke suddenly comes out of Gob's mouth)
Gob: I don't know.
Michael: What?
Gob: It's cold out here.

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