Phil: Your eyes look like two beady rabbit pellets on the face of a monkey-licking pus-bomb.
Lem: You've just been Phil-abusted.
Phil: Nice!
Lem: That's it--fill up your canker-blossomed hole, you ale-soused apple-john. That was the Elizabethan model.
Phil: Ye have been served.

Ted: Now I've got to go find Phil and Lem and straighten out the MRE disaster.
Veronica: Don't boo-hoo me. Did that MRE touch your boobies, Ted? Then shut the hell up.

Veronica: In fact, we need to talk about us. And the future of our babies and how they'll be committed.
Walter: Wow, that's a lot to take in. Okay.
Veronica: I need this relationship to have a future because I need babies. That's right--big, screaming babies shooting out of my uterus, just stacking up like cordwood.
Walter: Really?
Veronica: Yes, sir. That's all I ever think about--the future, babies, and commitment. Future, babies, commitment. Future, babies, commitment. Commitment, commitment, commitment, commitment.

Phil: Give a man an insult, he can hurt people for a day. Teach a man to insult, he can hurt people who tease him because he never learned to fish. Anyway, I've devised a formula.
Lem: Look at that. You had a problem in your life and who stepped up to help you? Math. She has always been there for you, hasn't she, Phil?
Phil: If she ever took physical form, I'd leave my wife and marry her.
Lem: Stand in line, my friend.
Phil: Anyway, it's really quite simple. You take a person's most marked physical feature, compare it to genitalia--male, female, or animal--and end with the suffix "-bag," "-wipe", or "-muncher."
Lem: You could also add an optional reference to excretion from any of the glorious openings offered by the human body.

Linda: Well, in my experience, scaring a man away is pretty easy. Basically, you're gonna want to put three words into heavy rotation--babies, future, and commitment.
Veronica: Back off! I need my space! Wow, those words are powerful.

Linda: So not being controlling lasted for about one second?
Ted: I'm sorry. The naggity-nag-nag bitchy-bitch is right. Anything anyone wants to say is fine with me.
Linda: You heard the corporate chimp. Start making suggestions for meals-ready-to-eat before his head goes back up his butt.

Debbie: Could you press 10 for me, you rat-face Nazi?
Phil: Your breasts should be on display at the Swiss Museum of Miniatures. You said 10, right?

Veronica: So I let him kiss me.
Linda: Oh, my God!
Veronica: But then I still felt guilty, so I let him feel me up.
Linda: Oh, my...
Veronica: I think I might need new breasts. These are covered in sadness.
Ted: Wow. This is like the most depressing Penthouse letter ever.

Phil: I'm terrible at insults. As a child, I was beaten up constantly. The best comeback I ever came up with was, "You're right. I'll work on that."
Lem: I can help you, you sad jar of hobo urine.
Phil: Pow! I've been Lem-basted.

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