Mitch: Sorry, your seatbelt seems to be broken. What do you recommend I do?
Cab Driver: I recommend you stop being such a faggot. You're in the backseat.

Lou: "Hey, man, can I ask you a question? Does this seem like it's all about Adam again?"
Nick: "Yeah--just like Cincinnati."
Adam: "You're gonna bring that up?"
Lou: "We said we weren't gonna talk about Cincinnati ever, okay?"
Jacob: "Is this why you have that shoebox in your closet that says 'Cincinnati'?"
Adam: "Yeah."
Lou: "What?! That's f***in' admissible!"
Nick: "You keep it in the closet?!"
Adam: "What am I gonna f***in' do with it? You can't bury those things."
Nick: "You wrote 'Cincinnati' on it?!"
Adam: "How do I know which one it's supposed to be?!"
Jacob: " ... Is it a fetus?"

Julie Mott: I don't eat flesh.
Marcus Burnett: Say what?
Julie Mott: That's flesh that you're shoveling into your mouth. You know, that was, like, a living, breathing creature. You know, it probably had a name.
Marcus Burnett: It's just bologna. My bologna has a first name.

Quentin Hapsburg: Any final requests, Lieutenant?
Lt. Frank Drebin: Er, yes... Can I have the gun?
Quentin Hapsburg: Ohh no! I'm not going to fall for that one!

It's okay, 99. Big people feel pain, too.

Maxwell Smart

When the fuck did we get ice cream?

Winston

Ron Albertson: I'd wish they'd at least give us a line. I made some suggestions...
Sheila: We should be line-DANCING.

Stop fighting it, Cody! Just let go!

Lani Aliikai

There is a very good reason for why my fake I.D. says I'm 25 and not 21. Everyday hundreds of kids go to the liquor store with fake I.D.s that say they're 21. Just how many 21-year-olds are there in this town? It's called strategy.

Fogell

Jack Byrnes: Oh, geez. I just thought of something.
Dina Byrnes: What?
Jack Byrnes: Pam's middle name.
Dina Byrnes: Martha... Oh, no.
Jack Byrnes, Dina Byrnes: Pamela Martha Focker.

Edward Ferrars: I hope I find you all well.
Marianne: Thank you, Edward, we are all very well.
Margaret: We've been enjoying very fine weather.
[Marianne nudges her]
Margaret: Well, we have.
Edward Ferrars: I'm glad to hear it. The roads were very... dry.

Complaining Fan: Move that gigantic cotton candy!
Local Officer Rando: God dammit!
[hits man with cotton candy]
Local Officer Rando: How's the view from sugar heaven, bitch?

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