Gob: A young neighborhood tough by the name of Steve Holt's gonna be here any minute.
Michael: Your son.
Gob: According to him.
Michael: And a DNA test.
Gob: I heard the jury's still out on science.

Lindsay: I mean, come on, I'm the nanny.
Michael: Of course. Who wouldn't want to snog the nanny?
Lindsay: Snog? Is that another one of your new British-isms?
Narrator: It was. Michael had recently fallen bum-over-noggin for a beautiful Englishwoman called Rita.
Michael: Did I say "snog" again? Oh, bloody hell.

Narrator: Michael, meanwhile, had begun training for the triathlon to keep from humiliating himself in front of Rita.
[montage:]
Steve Holt: Don't ask "can I?" Ask "I can!"
Steve Holt: You can control your bladder when you're dead.
Steve Holt: No blood, no oil!
Steve Holt: There's no "I" in "win."