Jerry: Now you've done it! Now you have done it!
Joe: Done what?
Jerry: You tore off one of my chests!

Hold on! No fucking way! You fuckin' notice this? I got fuckin' shot! I got fuckin' shot in the face! I went and got the fuckin' money; I got shot fuckin' picking it up. I've been up for thirty-six fucking hours! I'm taking' that fuckin' car! That fucker's mine! You fucking asshole!

Carl Showalter

Donkey: Whoa. Look at that. Who'd wanna live in a place like that?
Shrek: That would be my home.
Donkey: Oh and it is LOVELY. You know, you're really quite a decorator. It's amazing what you've done with such a modest budget. I like that boulder. That is a NICE boulder.

You know what you are, Flint Lockwood? A shenaniganizer! A tomfool!

Earl Devereaux

Unfortunately, my neck does look like a vagina.

Fat Bastard

Brodie: You're giving up? You? You used to be stand-up guy, what happened to him? The guy who punched Amanda's gross-out mother after she called him "low class".
T.S. Quint: That wasn't me. It was you.
Brodie: Oh, yeah.
T.S. Quint: And it wasn't her mother, it was her grandmother.
Brodie: No wonder the bitch went down so fast.

I think I got a, a, an entertaining bug... from my grandfather... uh, Chaim Pearlgut, who was very very big in the, um, Yiddish, uh, theater, back in New York. He was in the, the very... the sardonically irreverent...”Dybbuk Shmybbuk, I Said 'More Ham'"... and that revue I believe was 1914, and that revue was what made him famous. Incidentally, the song "Bubbe Made A Kishke" came from that revue.

Dr. Allan Pearl

Raleigh: You made a cuckold of me.
Margot: I know.
Raleigh: Many times over.
Margot: So sorry.

Patrick: Not a big talker, huh?
Kat Stratford: Depends on the topic. My fenders don't really whip me into a verbal frenzy.

Judge Smails: You know, you should play with Dr. Beeper and myself. I mean, he's been club champion for three years running and I'm no slouch myself.
Ty Webb: Don't sell yourself short Judge, you're a tremendous slouch.

Molly Peterson: Did you know Dupree writes poetry?
Carl Peterson: What a homo.

Harry Burns: Please, Jess, Marie. Do me a favor, for your own good, put your name in your books right now before they get mixed up and you won't know whose is whose. 'Cause someday, believe it or not, you'll go 15 rounds over who's gonna get this coffee table. This stupid, wagon wheel, Roy Rogers, garage sale COFFEE TABLE.
Jess: I thought you liked it?
Harry Burns: I was being nice.

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