Mrs. Gamble: Our last film is from the very gifted Mark Taylor.
Jill: Tim? Wake up! Tim!
Tim: [wakes up] We'll be right back after these messages from Binford!

Brad: [on tape] Hey, Mom. How was your day?
Jill: [on tape] You really want to know how my day was?
Brad: [on tape] Not really.
Jill: Uh-oh.
Tim: What?
Jill: [on tape] Well, it was going great until I had this awful conference with this horribly arrogant professor of mine.
Jill: Please don't mention his name! Please don't mention his name!
Tim: You didn't, you didn't, you didn't.
Jill: [on tape] Dr. Hanover.
Tim: You did!
Jill: [on tape] He's a pompous jackass, you know? He's smug, he's didactic. And what is the deal with men, you know, and their comb-overs? I mean, this one would start at his neck and stretch across. Hideous thing.
Brad: Good one. [laughs]

Brad: Mom, are you ever gonna get off the phone? I've gotta make some calls.
Jill: Use your phone.
Brad: I can't. I'm downloading some hot pictures from Denmark... of Danishes.

Tim: How was your day?
Jill: Imagine having your head squeezed in a vise.
Tim: I don't have to imagine.

Jill: You know, this part just doesn't seem right there.
Brad: "When the mother tries to instill feminist ideology in her son, and the father presents a counter philosophy/ethos, it can cause confusion in the adolescent male." Hmm. Sounds good to me.
Jill: You understand that?
Brad: No. But I'm a confused adolescent male.

Jill: Wilson?
Wilson: Come to me, my lovely little creature of the night.
Jill: What? Are you drunk?
Wilson: No, no, no, no, Jill. I was talking to the Chiroptera which I'm trying to attract with the sounds on this tape recorder.
Jill: What's that?
Wilson: It's a small device for recording tapes.
Jill: No. I mean the other thing.
Wilson: Oh, the Chiroptera. Well, that's a bat. I saw one swooping around here. I'm trying to get her to nest in my eaves.

Jill: I was just wondering what you thought of my thesis.
Wilson: Oh, yes. The thesis, yes. Well, that was a very interesting rewrite. I thought your use of comparative symbolism had a certain textural resonance that really...
Jill: You think it blows.
Wilson: Like a Nor'easter. You know, to tell you the truth, Jill, I actually preferred the original version.
Jill: So did I. But Dr. Hanover hated it, you know? And I have to make these changes whether I believe in them or not.
Wilson: You know, your situation reminds me of Walking Naked.
Jill: Good night, Wilson.

Jill: I've, um, finished all my revisions.
Dr. Hanover: I look forward to reading it.
Jill: Dr. Hanover, I've tried to incorporate all of your notes. But, frankly, I just couldn't make some of them work.
Dr. Hanover: Pity.
Jill: May I?
Dr. Hanover: Oh, please. Yes.
Jill: Look, I don't mean to be disrespectful. I could only write this in a way that makes sense to me. And I think you might have been overly critical of my work.
Dr. Hanover: Why? Because you called me a pompous jackass with a bad comb-over?
Jill: I am so, so sorry.
Dr. Hanover: Me, too. When my wife heard what you said, she came after me with an Epilady. [Jill gasps]

Dr. Hanover: Just wait till you get out in private practice and you have to deal with what's inside people's heads.
Jill: If I can't deal with male pattern baldness, what am I gonna do when I get people who think they're Elvis?
Dr. Hanover: I always make them a fried peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich. Jill, you're gonna be a fine psychologist. And I'm sure, in time, you'll learn not to be thrown by the unexpected.
Jill: Thank you, Dr. Hanover. And when you've read my revisions, I'll be ready to defend them.
Dr. Hanover: Jill, before you go, can I get your professional opinion on something?
Jill: Oh, certainly. Yes.
Dr. Hanover: [puts on a grey wig] What do you think of this?
Jill: You can wear it, but can you defend it?
Dr. Hanover: Touché.

Tim: Well, good news. Your dad, the pompous Dr. Hanover, loved your mom's thesis.
Mark: Really? Cool.
Gregory: Yeah, sure. It's cool for her. When's the last time I ever got a compliment? People mock me day in and day out. They call me a mama's boy. What kind of future do I have?
Tim: I don't know. How good do you look in flannel?