Norm: Hey, Woody, give me a refill, would you?
Woody: Coming up. You know, Mr. Peterson, you're amazing. How do you keep putting them away?
Norm: Well, it's all done with mirrors, son. I just never look in one.

Woody: Hey, everybody, I got a letter from my dog.
Sam: Pretty spiffy handwriting for a dog.
Woody: Well, it's not actually from my dog. My mom writes the letters as if they're from my dog, Truman.
Cliff: Weird beyond imagination, Norm.
Woody: Listen to this: "Dear Woody, Boy, what a great day I had. I pulled all the laundry off the line, chewed up your father's bowling shoes, and grabbed a Yankee pot roast off the table. Yum, yum. " Isn't that cute?
Norm: The mutt eats better than I do.
Woody: "By the way, now that you're not here to keep me in line, your mother's thinking about putting me to sleep. I certainly wouldn't blame her, and I don't want you to either after I'm gone." Sam, cover me. I gotta make a phone call.

Sam: What exactly would I have to do?
Carla: Just take him out and show him a great time, you know? A real night on the town. Wild, crazy, borderline illegal.
Sam: I guess I could handle that. Yeah, why not? It's about time the kid learned how much fun it was to play the field.
Carla: Right.
Norm: Hey, wait just a second here. Let's not give marriage a bad rap, huh? It's a fine institution. Matter of fact, go ahead and ask any single man here if he wouldn't gladly trade places with me for a night. Hmm? Anybody? Please. One night. Oh, come on, fellas. I'm offering transportation and a hot meal.

Carla: What did you tell my kid, huh?
Sam: Well, basically, why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?
Woody: Well, I'll tell you why. Companionship, warmth on a cold night, someone to share your old age with.
Norm: You think he should marry her?
Woody: I thought we were talking about a cow.

Cliff: Buckle your seatbelts and get ready for a blast into the unknown. I've got a phenomenon here which, well, I'm sure will inspire the legendary Jack Palance to utter the infamous words, "Believe it or not." Get a load of this.
Sam: What's that?
Norm: Potato, right?
Cliff: Well, it's no ordinary, common, garden-variety russet, Norm. Though, I'm proud to say, I did grow it myself. It's the spitting image of Richard Milhous Nixon. Look. [Norm laughs] What, you find this amusing?
Norm: No. No, I find it historically significant, Cliff.
Cliff: Look, look at the eye. Well, all right, forget about the third one there, but look at those eyes. The ski-jump nose, the jowls, huh? He's even got a little bit of sweat there on the upper lip.
Sam: Come on, man.
Cliff: All right, maybe this will help you out. [as Nixon] I am not a crook.
Sam: Sorry, it still doesn't look like Nixon.
Woody: Sure sounds like him though.

Carla: You know who I hold responsible for this? Nick.
Woody: Who's Nick?
Carla: He's Anthony's father. His biological father.
Woody: Wow, a scientist.

Carla: You know, what my boy needs now is just a little adult male companionship to snap him out of this. How about it, Sam?
Sam: Come on, find somebody else. Call Nick.
Carla: Come on. You know Nick's idea of fatherhood: When the egg splits, so does he.

Cliff: [on the phone] No, no, this is second-term Nixon. Yeah. Yeah, this tater is definitely showing the strain of Watergate here. Not--? Not newsworthy? Oh, well, excuse me for living there, buddy boy. Yeah, I'll call you back when my potato marries a rock star! [hangs up] New York Times, my foot! If the news doesn't come out of Moscow, they're not interested.

Cliff: Okay. All right, everybody. Open your eyes. [hums "Hail to the Chief"] What's--? What's so funny?
Woody: A blue suit with a brown tie?
Cliff: Well, hey, I did the best I could, you know. It's not easy coming up with a Ken doll on short notice. I wonder if you guys realize how limited his wardrobe is. Now, Barbie's is much more extensive. She's got her own car, little high heels.
Norm: Cliff. Listen to me, Cliff. You're my best friend, okay? If the situation were reversed, I'd want you to say this to me. You've gone completely off the deep end. You've always been kind of a weird guy, but this is just a little bit too much. I want you to look what you've done and think about this, Cliff. You've knocked the head off a doll and put a potato in its place. And you actually want people to, like, come and know this.
Cliff: Well, yeah, I guess you're right, Normie. Yeah. Been taking it a little bit too seriously. I've been under some strain lately and It's okay, it's okay. Thanks. You know, thanks for pulling in those reins and saying, "Whoa, Paint, you're working up a froth."

Annie: They're not coming back, are they?
Carla: Nope.
Annie: Gee, and I got 50 boy cousins who can drive.
Carla: It was bound to happen.
Annie: You're pretty smart, Mrs. Tortelli.
[Carla gets out a bottle of soda and pours two glasses]
Carla: Let me fill you in on something, Annie. There are three things that you can say about Tortelli men: One, they draw women like flies. Two, they treat women like flies. Three, their brains are in their flies.
Annie: Yeah, one more thing: They throw away the best women.
Carla: You know, for a loser, you're not bad.
Annie: Ditto, Mrs T. [they clink glasses]