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Family-guy

Peter: That jerk Opie got employee of the month again, all because my boss hates me.
Joe: Maybe you need to brown nose her a little bit Peter.
Quagmire: Really? I thought you said she was ugly...Oh-oh-oh you-you-you mean kiss up to her.

Stewie: Well I suppose it's not the first time someones made a miscalculation.
(Cut away to Back to the future)
Marty: What happens to us in the future Doc?
Doc: It's your kids Marty somethings gotta be done about your kids!
Marty: What do you mean?
Doc: Your daughter marries a black man!!
Marty: That's actually not a big deal for me
Jennifer: Yeah me neither
Doc: Wha-it-wha-it-you...Really?
Marty:Yeah I mean what's wrong with that?
Doc: oh oh ah Nothing! nothing it's nothing I guess.. I think it's great! congratulations.
Marty: I don't think I'm comfortable around you anymore.
Doc: Did you know Peanut Butter was invented by a black man?
Marty: Too late Doc.

Brian: Great idea bringing Stewie to Fenway park Peter.
Peter: Yeah there's no better place for a father and son to really get to know each other then a ball game.
Brian: Ah where is Stewie?
(Cut to Stewie sweating and stuck in the car in the parking lot with all the windows up)
Woman: Is that a baby in there?!
Man: Oh My God... He's gonna miss the game.

Lois: Peter did you take Stewie to a strip club? he smells like Sweat and fear.
Stewie: Ughh let me tell you Tuesday afternoon is not exactly their "A" squad, I actually saw bullet wounds.

Herbert: Well Jessie I guess we gotta find some other way to spend our evenings.
TV announcer: And now back to ESPN's exclusive coverage of the little league world series.
Herbert: Ohhh JACKPOT!

Lois: Peter, we need to talk about your son.
Peter: Which one? The fat one, or the funny lookin' one?
Chris: (laughs at Stewie) Dad called you fat! Wait...

Peter: Have you my son?
Dumbo Crow: Well, I done seen just about everything, but I ain't never seen your boy, no way, no how!
Peter: That's good, old-fashioned family racism.

Brian: Umm...where are the toilets?
New Yorker Editor: Oh, no one at The New Yorker has an anus.

Peter: A-Team roll call; Face?
Quagmire: Here and handsome!
Peter: Murdoch?
Joe: Here, and... crazy!
Peter: B.A.?
Cleveland: I pity the fool! But also suggest ways he may better himself.

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