Phoebe: [playing her guitar, singing] New York City has no power, And the milk is getting sour, But to me it is not scary, 'cause I stay away from dairy. [writes the song down]

Chandler: You know, on second thought, gum would be perfection. [inner monologue] Gum would be perfection? Gum would be perfection. Could've said, "Gum would be nice." Could've said, "I'll have a stick." But, no, no, no, no, no. For me, gum is perfection. I loathe myself!

Chandler: [inner monologue] All right. Okay. What next? Blow a bubble. A bubble's good. It's got a boyish charm. It's impish. Here we go. [gum flies out of Chandler's mouth and lands on the counter] Nice going, imp! Okay, okay. It's okay. All I need to do is reach over and put it back in my mouth. Good save! We 're back on track and ... I'm chewing someone else's gum.
This is not my gum! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! And now you're choking. [choking]
Jill Goodacre: Are you all right? Oh my God! You're choking! [she Heimlichs Chandler] Better?
Chandler: Yes. Thank you. That was ... That was ...
Jill Goodacre: Perfection?