Sam: Let me see the ad. Which one is it?
Carla: Right there. Right after "speed eater seeks same."
Sam: All right, all right. "Divorced female, warm, witty and Italian in every way except fat."
Norm: Well, sounds good so far.
Sam: Yeah. "Thirty-three, 5-foot and a quarter inch, dark brown hair, brown eyes, no visible scars, tattoos or birthmarks. Seeking possible serious relationship. Note, I have six children. This is not a misprint. Six." Oh, my. I can't believe not one guy has answered this.

Sam: Oh, come on, come on back here, would you? We're just kidding now. Now we're gonna really help.
Woody: Hey, why would he write you here anyway?
Carla: Well, you think I want some sex-starved creep camped out on my doorstep? One of my neighbors might get him first.

Norm: Okay, before we start writing, I suggest we just figure out who exactly this guy is.
Sam: Well, hey, we're making him up. He can be anybody we want him to be. Doctor, ski instructor...
Norm: No, that's the point. If the guy's too fabulous, she'll be on to us in a second.
Sam: All right, it's gotta be somebody, though, who's not in her league usually.
Cliff: We could make him a postman. No, no, too much. No, no.

Carla: I mean, today I'm with Mitch on top of the world. And just a couple of weeks ago, I'd have settled for fish bait like Vinnie Claussen.
Sam & Diane: [in unison] Who's Vinnie Claussen?
Carla: Some loser who had the nerve to answer my ad.
Sam: Uh... Carla? Yeah, wait, wait, hold on a second here. Listen, maybe you should reconsider this. You know, Mitch is out of town a lot. Maybe you might like this Vinnie guy.
Woody: Yeah, there's nothing wrong with playing the field.
Carla: Except with someone who's grazing in it.

Diane: Sam, I don't know if this would interest you, but I have an extra ticket tonight, Jacques Brel Is Alive and Well and Living in Paris.
Sam: He's not doing that underwater stuff anymore?
Diane: [laughs] Jacques Brel was a Belgian balladeer who wrote songs of great passion and power in the '50s and '60s.
Sam: You mean like "Who Put the Bop in the Bop Sh-bop Sh-bop"?
Diane: Ah, so you're busy.
Woody: "Who Put the Bop"?
Sam: Yeah, you remember that? The great old song, right up there with "Yakety Yak."
Woody: "Yakety Yak"?
Sam: Oh, come on, you remember the Coasters, don't you?
Woody: No.
Sam: You're kidding. How about the Shirelles or the Platters or Dixie Cups?
Woody: Sorry.
Sam: You don't remember any of those old groups?
Woody: Oh, old groups. You mean like Devo.
Sam: [hands Woody the heavy box] Maybe you better take this.

Cliff: Yeah, well, you know, Norm, you can make light of it all you want, but it is an ancient art form. It has been around since the times of Caesar Augustine.
Carla: Yeah? So have those socks you're wearing. Who cares?
Cliff: Well, you know, it is the purest form of communication. Diane, why don't you give us a little exhibition here.
Diane: Oh, I couldn't. I'm really just a novice. I've only had three lessons. All right.
Cliff: Oh, all right, ladies and gentlemen, Diane, the "mimette." All right, she's starting off here with your basic cop directing traffic. And segueing into a waiter carrying a heavy tray of dishes.
Sam: Yes, good.
Cliff: And completing it with the midget imitating Judy Garland.
Sam: Very nice, bravo, bravo!
Cliff: Very good.
Diane: It was a person trapped in a shrinking box.
Cliff: I'd say you'd better scurry off to class. You got a lot of practicing to do. [Diane gestures to Cliff] Now, that I know.

Carla: Hey, Sammy, mail in?
Sam: Yeah, there you go. [Carla spits as she doesn't find the letter she was hoping for] You expecting something special?
Carla: Oh, I don't wanna talk about it. It's too depressing.
Sam: Oh, come on. We're your buddies here.
Cliff: Yeah, you don't wanna keep that stuff inside, Carla. It'll eat you up.
Carla: Oh, yeah, it's just what I need. You chowderheads trying to solve my problems.
Norm: Come on now, I'd say that four brains plus whatever Cliffy has are better than one.

Norm: Carla, my dear, you're forgetting, like, the basic principle of advertising. Lying.
Carla: Oh, sure, I could tell him I got no kids, right?
Norm: Right. Right.
Carla: I could tell him that I'm 21, 5'9"...
Norm: Right.
Carla: ...gorgeous green eyes, flaming red hair and ta-tas till Tuesday. But how am I gonna explain the way I really look when he sees me?
Sam: Stress?
Carla: Hey, all right, next time I spill my guts, remind me to do it in front of friends.
Sam: I was just trying to cheer you up.
Carla: I am in no mood to be cheered up. Next guy tries to cheer me up is gonna get open-face surgery. [exits]
Norm: I don't get it. She's got ta-tas till Monday afternoon at least.

Norm: So did Carla get the latest edition of the Mitch Gazette yet?
Sam: Yeah, she's in the back reading it right now. Have you noticed how Carla is kind of perking up lately?
Diane: I'll admit she's much less repulsive. Bordering on sufferable, but that doesn't make what you're doing right.
Sam: Oh, come on, give her her moment in the sun there. I mean, after all, you had yours with me.
Diane: You're not referring to that nanosecond under a penlight are you?

Diane: Sam, be nice. Sotto is our mime-in-residence at the college and a visitor to this country.
Sam: Whatever.
Woody: [loudly] Hi! My name's Woody Boyd!
Diane: Woody, you don't have to shout.
Woody: Oh, he's a lip-reader.