Debra: I cannot take this anymore. Okay, you make a huge mess, you don't help me at all, you invite your friends over to drive me crazy all day, and all you can think of is, "Oh, she must have PMS. Let's just load her up with drugs."
Ray: No, it's got St. Johns worts in it.
Debra: I can't believe you. If there's ever anything wrong, it's PMS, huh? I don't know what to do! Sometimes I just want to smack you!
[As Ray turns around with a grin on his face, Marie slaps him]
Marie: Debra's right, Raymond. I'm sorry.
Ray: You smacked me.
Marie: I know I did. I'm sorry.
Ray: W- W- What did you do that for?
Marie: It's just that it sounds like you're becoming just like your father. [slaps Ray again]
Ray: What are you doing?
Marie: I don't know. I don't know. It's just that he was so awful during my... ladies' days. Anytime I happened to make a comment about his usual disgusting behavior, he would just blame it on that.
Debra: That's what Ray does.
Marie: That's what they all do.

Debra: Where's my tape recorder, Ray? Where was my tape recorder when I was in labor with the twins for 36 hours and you were asking the nurse if the TV gets ESPN?
Ray: 36 hours, that's not a short time.
Debra: Yeah, guess what? It's even longer when you're trying to push two human beings out of your body while your husband's going, "Does this hospital have fudgesicles?" Yeah, where's my tape recorder, huh? Or when you ask me why I get so upset because I find your underpants in the kitchen, huh? Or when you start snoring at my grandmother's funeral? Or when you tape a football game over our wedding video?!
Ray: Do you really need a tape recorder? You seem to remember everything.

Ray: Just don't worry about me, all right? I'll just ride it out.
Frank: You dumb bastard.
Ray: What?
Frank: "Ride it out." You put a stop to this now.
Ray: All right, Dad, all right.
Frank: Let me ask you... she's in a bad mood, what, two, three days tops? Not so tough now, right? Pretty soon she's gonna get a mood that lasts five days. Then it's a week. And before you know it, what used to be a bad mood now takes over and becomes her only mood. And then, you become like me where not a day goes by that I don't wish there was a comet screaming towards Earth to bring me sweet relief.

Frank: So you think I'm just rude and insensitive? That I'm so tough to live with, and you're the Queen of Sheba? Did you ever hear yourself? Well, in case you haven't, here's a little trick that my boy Raymond taught me.
Frank: [on tape] I said, "Where's my eggs?"
Frank: Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Here it is.
Frank: [on tape] What? It's just my feet! They're not dirty.
Frank: Oh, crap. Hey, where you going? You scared you're gonna hear something you don't like?
Frank: [on tape] If I scratch it, it's because it itches!

Debra: I'm out of here.
Ray: Oh, come on, where you going?
Debra: Maybe I'll call Amy. Maybe I'll go to the mall, do some shopping.
Marie: I'm leaving, too. I'm gonna talk to your father.
Ray: Oh, please, come on. Debra, Debra, please.
Debra: Don't say one more word, or I'll send your mother right back in here to smack the crap out of you.

Ray: Listen, I'm sorry. I know what it's like to hear yourself on tape. I remember when I heard my first radio interview. First of all, I sounded like Snuffleupagus. I said, "Do I really sound like that?" And Andy-
Debra: Oh, would you stop it? I'm not crying because of what I sound like. I'm crying because I'm married to an insensitive derfwad, who instead of trying to make life better for his wife, tape records her so he has proof that she's a terrible person.
Ray: What's a derfwad?
Debra: What, was that tape for the guys, huh? You gonna play it for the guys. "Hey, come on, fellas, step right up and listen to the witch who killed my good time."

Ray: What did you do?
Debra: I told you. I went shopping with Amy.
Ray: Shopping. For five hours. Where are your shopping bags?
Debra: Oh, I didn't buy anything. We just walked around for awhile, then we went back to Amy's and just sat around, talking, relaxing.
Ray: Oh, sit around talking, relaxing. Wanna hear my evening? I fed the kids dinner. Peanut butter and jelly. Then I gave 'em a bath 'cause they were covered in peanut butter and jelly. Then I'm mean 'cause I won't let them sleep in a tree house, and then they went to bed yelling and screaming. So, that was my evening, thank you very much.
Debra: Well, that's my evening every night, so...
Ray: Oh, don't even! You just wanted me to suffer tonight.
Debra: What?
Ray: Yes. It's not fair. You get to walk out and do whatever you want. And, let's just say it, use your ladies' days as an excuse to treat me rotten every month.

Ray: Look, I know a lot of stuff's going on femininally. You know, I know it's not your fault.
I understand that. It's, uh you know, it's like a Jekyll and Hyde thing. Only more Hyde. If he's the bad one. It was Hyde, right? Whatever- Whatever- Whatever it is, I know it's not you that's yelling at my friends for making a mess or getting all crazy about clothes on the hamper. I know that that's not you. That's Hyde. If he was the bad one. But you know what? While I was out today, I got you something. I really I want to help you feel better, you know, and and and this should take care of all your symptoms.
Debra: Except for bitchy, right, Ray?
Ray: What do you mean?
Debra: I mean, there's nothing in here for bitchy.
Ray: Probably need a prescription for bitchy.
Debra: Boy, this is just like you, Ray. Just when I think that you can't be any more insensitive, you rise to the occasion.

Ray: What are you talking about? I'm just trying to help.
Marie: You should be quiet.
Debra: Yes. Yes. Oh, no, he is trying to help. Look what he did. Look what he bought me. Magic pills, huh? Maybe I should try some. Oh, look, Ray's clothes just flew off the bed and into the hamper. These really work.
Marie: Oh, let me have one. Oh, Frank's toenails just crawled right into the garbage can.
Ray: What are you what are you doing, Mom? It's me, Raymie.
Marie: Raymond, you know that I always let you two fight your own battles, but I can't let you go on with this cycle of your father's imbecility.

Debra: My needing to get out of here once in a while has nothing to do with my ladies' days.
Ray: Bull-loney.
Debra: What?
Ray: Baloney! You wanna see? 'Cause I don't care, okay? I don't care anymore. I tried to be nice and that doesn't work. Here, look at this. Do you see this day? That's today. Now, this is last month. What a coincidence that on the same day last month I found my golf clubs upside down in the garbage can! I'm telling you, I'm sick of this, all right? Every month, the same wacko screaming at me for no reason! Having meltdowns and crying. Crying over nothing! And you won't even admit what it is, and God forbid I should mention what might be the problem! You know what I think? I think that you enjoy your ladies' days, 'cause I deserve to be treated like this. "Oh, look what day it is. Oh, come here, Ray. Pow pow pow! Oh, I've been saving that up." And then after a couple days of that, you're like, "Oh, sorry, Ray, I was just a little bit you know..." And by the way, the next time I used those clubs, I shot a 110, so don't think I don't know you didn't put a curse on them.
Debra: You are out of your mind.
Ray: No, you are! Once a month! If what I'm saying isn't true, how come you don't treat me like this on all the other days?