Marie: How are things, dear?
Debra: Well, better. It's been a week, so Ray's not yelling at you in his sleep anymore.
Marie: That's nice. Listen, I'm sure you've noticed over the years that Frank dresses like a derelict. Well, I have finally figured out how to remedy that situation.
Frank: [o.s.] Marie!
Marie: Oh, there he is. Now, remember I said someday I might ask you for a favor?
Frank: [o.s.] Marie!
Marie: That day has come.

Ray: You seen my "Sports Illustrated"?
Debra: Nope.
Ray: Are you sure? 'Cause I left it here a couple days ago.
Debra: I don't know, but we have to eat, and there's always piles of everything everywhere.
Ray: Oh. You threw it out, didn't you?
Debra: I'm just saying if it was there for days and it didn't get put away, then yeah, there's a chance it got thrown out.
Ray: Okay, look, here's the rule: Don't touch my stuff.
Debra: No, no. Here's the rule: Put your stuff away.
Ray: Well, you- You just you love throwing my stuff out. You'd be happy if the mailman delivered my magazine right into the garbage.
Debra: You got me there.

Ray: Look, come on. This is my house too. If I put something there, I should be able to get to it when I get to it. You know I'm a slow reader.
Debra: Look, there's a very simple solution to this. Put your stuff away.
Ray: No. No. Don't touch my stuff.
Debra: Put it away.
Ray: Don't touch it.
Debra: Put it-
Ray: Don't!
Debra: I will not touch it if you put it away.
Ray: I will put it away when you're done not touching it.
Debra: Genius.
Ray: Yeah. That's right. I'm going to the bathroom. Or did you throw that out too?

Debra: I know, but it's true.
Frank: And you gave him my clothes? Well, get them back!
Marie: I don't know if she can. Debra, why don't you tell him what happened when you called the number the boy gave you?
Debra: Yes, right. Nobody answered.
Frank: Wait a minute, I know what this is. This is a scam. That punk kid's out there selling my stuff.
Marie: I'm sure he'll make a fortune.

Amy: Marie, I don't understand. Why would you take the blame for something that Debra did?
Marie: Apparently for no good reason.
Frank: No, I see how her sick mind works. She wanted Debra on the hook so she could get rid of my clothes and dress me up like Fruity Pierre.

Marie: Now, if you'll excuse me, Frank has some digging to do. And I don't want you to get those new clothes dirty. It's dark outside, so you can do it in your underwear.

Robert: Remember when you wrote that article about how Muhammad Ali was your first sports hero?
Ray: Yeah.
Robert: Might want to read that.
Ray: "Dear Ray, your brother sent me your excellent article. I enjoyed it very much, even though nothing rhymed. Keep dancing, Muhammad Ali."
Robert: All right, come on. We're late for golf.
Ray: Wait. Wait, wait. What- What is this? Muhammad Ali? How did you get this?
Robert: Okay. Listen my partner and I, we went on this call, right? And there was this nutjob lady who was bothering Ali. She thinks she's Joe Frazier and Ali is trying to, you know, duck her. Anyway, she's now the heavyweight champ of Bellevue. So I end up talking to Ali's manager, and I sent him your article, and he sent this back.
Ray: My God, Robert.
Robert: You're welcome.
Ray: I'm gonna frame this. I'm gonna redesign the house around this.

Ray: Oh, and uh, thanks, man. You're a good brother.
Robert: Great brother. [imitates Ali] The greatest of all time.

Debra: Hey, guys. How was golf?
Ray: Oh, it was great.
Gianni: Yeah, great. [as Ray] "Muhammad Ali sent me a letter. I love Muhammad Ali and Muhammad Ali loves me."

Ray: Ma, I'm looking for Robert. Where's Robert? Robert! I'm looking for this this letter. It was in a white envelope...
Debra: Ray.
Ray: What?
Debra: There's something I gotta tell you.
Ray: What?
Marie: I threw out your Muhammad Ali letter.
Ray: What?!
Debra: Marie!
Marie: I know, Raymond. I am sorry. I didn't realize what I was doing until Debra said to me that it was in the drawer and l...
Ray: And you threw it out?! I gotta get to the trash.
Marie: The truck came already.
Ray: Oh! Muhammad! Muhammad!