Tim: Anyway, let's get back to our salute... to lubricants. For this demonstration, we've split this straight six-cylinder down the middle.
Al: Tim, my mother has very fine taste. Her shirts look nothing like this.
Tim: Right, Al. Anyway, try to imagine, if you will, that my fists are pistons. All right, Al. Close up the engine.
Al: Gladly, Tim.
Tim: OK. Let's try to start this engine. Well, it won't start. That's because the pistons are stuck. Just like they were last year during the NBA play-offs. But they will move if they're lubricated. That's if the oil pump is pumping oil through the system, the pistons will move. So, let's open the engine up and show 'em how the oil gets in there. Grab the oil and open me up, Al.
Al: Ah, here it is, of course, motor oil. Well, gee. I wouldn't want to get any of this on my nice shirt my mother gave me. I better go change before I let you out.
Tim: Come on, open this up, Al. Al! Tool Time tip of the day: when you're insulting your coworker's mother, make sure you're not locked into an engine compartment. Al, I know you're back there. Al, I know right where you're standing. Al, let me out.

Tim: Come on, let me in.
Al: [o.s.] Go away, Tim.
Tim: Al, you can't end it like this. We've had a relationship for three years.
Al: [o.s.] It's over between us.
Tim: [sees Cynthia] Al, open the door.
Al: [o.s.] No! You should never have made that recording of me in bed. [Cynthia drops her groceries]

Jill: I'm so glad Mark is finally better. I'm just exhausted.
Tim: In the hotel room, the bed was like sleeping on a bag of rocks.
Jill: And the room was so small, wasn't it?
Tim: Small? So small the mice were hunchbacked. It was so small, I put my key in the door, it went through the window. So small, all you could order was condensed milk. I had a folding toothbrush. It was so small, there was no room for complaints.