John: Sa-am, we have a problem.
Sam: You know, I got to be honest with you, John. The way you pronounce my name really bugs me.
John: How would you like me to pronounce it?
Sam: Sam, just Sam. You try it.
John: Sa-am...
Sam: All right, John, uh... What would you say if you were going to order a ham sandwich?
John: I don't eat ha-am.

John: People, people, it's getting late. Now no one admires the sight of a beautiful young bride more than l, but the lunch rush is the lunch rush.
Sam: Say John, I... I bet you'd like to meet Carla's first husband.
John: [takes a look at Nick] Oh, my God!
Nick Tortelli: Nice to meet you. [offers his hand]
John: Please. My profession requires that I handle food.

Norm: Hey, do you want to tell me why you fired Vera?
John: Who are you?
Norm: I'm her husband, Norm.
John: Oh, yes. I didn't recognize you without a bar growing out of your chest.

Carla: Oh, good, my package from Amityville has arrived.
John: Ah, Miss Tortelli. Tell me, is that a new hairdo or did someone toss a toaster in your bathtub? [chuckling] What am I saying? What would you be doing in a bathtub?
Carla: Cleaning you out of the drain.
John: Yeasty oil slick.
Carla: Bladder polyp.
John: Manwich.
Carla: Perverted goat boy.
John: Sluttish mole.
Carla: 7:00 tonight?
John: Make it 6:30.
Carla: That man is the foulest, most disgusting, hideous creature to ever walk the face of this earth, and he's all mine.

John: Carla, could you please do me a small favor?
Carla: Yes, John.
John: Could you work yourself behind this machinery and unplug my life-support system so that I can leave this life and this agonizing conversation behind?
Carla: Oh, like it was fun for me, zit face!
John: Sasquatch.
Carla: Road kill.
John: Catcher's mitt.
Carla: Pond scum.
John: Phlegm face.
Carla: See you in eight weeks?
John: Make it four.
Carla: Make it two.
John: Pull the curtain.

John: Sa-am.
Sam: Wha-at?
John: I haven't been down here since the fire. By the way, when are you going to rebuild?
Sam: We have.
John: Oh, well, and it looks very... The reason I'm down here is, last night our refrigerator went on the fritz, leaving us with a hundred pounds of mackerel, which may or may not have gone bad. Now, not wanting to take a chance with my customers, I'm prepared to offer a special to your patrons. All-you-can-eat for two dollars.

John: Ah, good afternoon, Miss Tortelli.
Carla: Oh, Hill. What, are you on an ugly break?
John: Oh, my. Someone certainly got up on the wrong side of town this morning.
Carla: What's the matter, Hill, your scalp on too tight?
John: Very funny.

John: Ah, Miss Tortelli, nice to see you again.
Carla: What're you doing down here, Hill? Hope you're not here to ask me for a date.
John: Date? Is that what you call it? I think we skipped dating, Miss Tortelli, and went straight to the fall of Rome. Tell me, is the rumor true your son's going to be a priest?
Carla: Yeah, what of it?
John: Well, I didn't realize you were Catholic. The only time I've heard you say anything remotely religious was that night a few weeks ago when you called me Zeus.
Carla: The hell I did.
John: You want me to run the videotape?

John: Oh, good afternoon, Miss Tortelli.
Carla: Well, if it isn't John Cougar Mellonhead.
John: Thank you for last night, Miss Tortelli.
Carla: I wasn't with you last night.
John: I know, and don't think I don't appreciate it.

Frasier: Sam why don't you, uh, make a little toast?
Sam: Oh, yeah. All right, that's a good idea. Uh, all right, uh welcome to, uh, Thanksgiving at Cheers. I hope everybody enjoys the food, and I'd like to make a toast right now to the man who made this all possible: John Allen Hill. [John walks down the stairs behind Sam] Oh, now, now, come on. I- I know what you're thinking. But you know, I tell you the truth uh, if John and I hadn't gotten off on the wrong foot I think we would have been best of friends. If he were here right now, I would, uh, I'd ask him to sit down and break bread with us. But because he isn't, then I say let's raise our glasses to that grand old gentleman, John Allen Hill. Cheers.
John: Well, isn't this touching? All the Who's down in Whoville gathered 'round their roast beast.