Shooter McGavin: I eat pieces of shit like you for breakfast.
Happy Gilmore: [laughing] you eat pieces of shit for breakfast?
Shooter McGavin: No... I...

Chubbs: It's all in the hips. It's all in the hips. It's all in the hips. It's all in the hips.
Happy Gilmore: Get off of me.
Chubbs: Just easing the tension, baby. Just easing the tension.
Happy Gilmore: Yeah, well ease it on someone else.

Terry: All you ever talk about is becoming a pro hockey player, but there's a problem: you're not any good.
Happy Gilmore: I am good. You know what, you're a lousy kindergarten teacher. I've seen those finger-paintings you bring home and they SUCK.

Son of a bitch ball. Why can't you go home? Aren't you good enough for your home? ANSWER ME! Suck my white ass ball!

Happy Gilmore

Happy learned how to putt, UH-OH!

Happy Gilmore

[to caddy] Where were you on that one, dipshit?

Happy Gilmore

You suck! Jackass!

Donald

Damn you people. This is golf. Not a rock concert.

Shooter McGavin

Chubbs: Hey, I'll bet your neighbour the accountant, can't drive the ball 400 yards. I'll bet your neighbour the accountant doesn't have a shot to get on the Pro Tour!
Happy Gilmore: And how would I do that?
Chubbs: You win the Open tomorrow, and you're automatically on the Pro Tour. Then who knows, maybe you'll win the Tour Championship. Get that gold jacket that I never got.
Happy Gilmore: Gold jacket, Green jacket, who gives a shit.

[Shooter's ball lands on Mr. Larson's foot]
Mr. Larson: That's two thus far, Shooter.
Shooter McGavin: Oh, you can count. Good for you.
Mr. Larson: And *you* can count, on *me* -- waiting for *you* in the parking lot.
Crowd: Ooooooh.

You're gonna die, clown.

Happy Gilmore

Announcer: We haven't seen Happy Gilmore play this badly since his first day on tour. He and Bob Barker are now dead last.
Bob Barker: I can't believe you're a professional golfer. I think you should be working at the snack bar.
Happy Gilmore: You better relax, Bob.
Bob Barker: There is no way that you could have been as bad at hockey as you are at golf.
Happy Gilmore: All right, let's go.

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