Joan Baxter: You want to build a boat?
Evan Baxter: It might be something fun for the family. Go sailing on the lake. I don't know... it'd be great in case it floods or something.

Miles Raymond: Okay, so what's the plan?
Jack: Uh... the plan is... you go.
Miles Raymond: ME?
Jack: 'Cause of my ankle. Still hurts. Just go explain the situation, Miles.
Miles Raymond: [laughs uproariously]
Miles Raymond: Explain the situation? Yes. 'Excuse me, sir, my friend was the one balling your wife couple of hours ago. Really sorry. He seems to have left his wallet behind. I was wondering if I come in, just poke around, I don't know'
Jack: Yeah, yeah, just like that. That's good.

Joan Baxter: Maybe God didn't mean a flood in the literal sense. Maybe he meant a flood of... awareness.
Evan Baxter: If that's true... I'm going to be so pissed.

Brian: Lady, seven bucks for a used Kenny Loggins record? I'll give you five.
Record Store Customer: Ugh-huh, he autographed it himself.
Brian: All right, I'll give you four.

So, now we all live together in New York. I myself, am a master of the custodial arts. Or a janitor, if you wanna be a dick about it.

Thurgood Jenkins

Abba Zaba, you my only friend.

Thurgood Jenkins

People! The flood is imminent!

Evan Baxter

Scarface: Don't worry, man. All we gotta do to get you out is to get 10 percent of 10 million dollars. Which by our calculations is...
Brian: ... Fucking impossible, man!

Scarface: I got it! Why don't we sell that weed that we smoked earlier!
Thurgood Jenkins: We suggested that already!
Scarface: For real, B?

Thurgood Jenkins: [to Mary Jane] Listen, I really like you. I was just wondering maybe if you're interested we can go out later and get some ice cream or something...
Scarface: OOH! MOTHER FUCKER SAID ICE CREAM!
Brian: BLAH BLAH ICE CREAM! YOU'RE SUCH A DORK, MAN!
Thurgood Jenkins: Damn!

Jack: Fucking chick's married, man.
Miles Raymond: What?
Jack: Her husband works a night shift or something, and he comes home and catches me on the floor with my cock in his wife's ass.
Miles Raymond: Oh, Jesus Christ.

Sandy: Carl I want you to kill all the gophers on the golf course
Carl Spackler: Correct me if I'm wrong Sandy, but if I kill all the golfers they'll lock me up and throw away the key.
Sandy: Not golfers, you great fool. Gophers. The *little* *brown*, *furry* *rodents*.
Carl Spackler: We can do that. We don't even need a reason.

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