Pete Quote #3
Pete: It was a veritable cacophony, culminating in a creative crescendo. [laughs]
Quote from Tim
Tim: And thus you have a beautifully decorated nameplate for your home. So when you come to my door, whose house is it, Al?
Al: Rolyat Mit.
Tim: All you got to do is read it, and it says... Rolyat Mit. How did I screw that up? Anyway, that's just one of the uses for a scrolling saber saw. Another way to make a scroll cut is use your coping saw. Say, Al, do you suppose they call these coping saws cos they're good at handling stress?
Al: I don't think so, Rolyat.
Tim: Thanks, Al. I mean, La.
Quote from Tim
Tim: To most people, saws just mean noise, wood chips. And maybe a missing finger or two. Not to me. [chuckles] To me, a saw says the sound of power, something a man can relate to. Yeah, this bad boy is raw power. [audience grunts] Ar-ar yourselves. Yeah. This is a 3.5-cubic-inch chain saw. Automatic oil, manual chain style. [runs at the audience with the saw] Yeah, you won't have this thing around too long before you hear the wife going: "Are you sure you're supposed to have that running in the bedroom?" You want to cut down on the noise, put some tape across her mouth. I'm kidding. Al, the women know I'm kidding, right?
Al: That's Tim "He's Not Kidding" Taylor... [Tim cuts Al's cardboard sign with the saw] Boy, I'm tired of that sign, Al. Besides, the women know I'm kidding. If not, they're probably too busy yapping to hear me anyway.
Al: [with a new sign] That's Tim Taylor, care of Tool Time, P.O. Box 3273...
Tim: Al, Al. Do the words "job search" mean anything to you at all? [Al rips up the sign]
Quote from To Build or Not to Build
Tim: Well, why don't we get started with that concrete? We gotta take our footing...
Pete: Excuse me, Tim. If we have just a minute, I'd... I'd like to read a poem. A short poem that I wrote for my mom. She'll be spending this Mother's Day up at Michigan State.
Pete: No. Uh, penitentiary.
Dwayne: Pete. This is neither the time nor the place.
Pete: She was framed, Tim.
Tim: I think, under the circumstances, we could drop our tools for a couple of minutes and give a salute to mothers anywhere, or anywhere they spend their time.
Pete: "An Ode to My Mother" by Peter Bilker. That would be me. "Who etched this tattoo In her purple muumuu? Mother, Mother. Who posted my bail Every time, without fail? Mother, Mother. And who rushed to the car With my severed thumb in a jar? Uh... Father, Father. But who sewed it back on When the doctor was gone?" Mother, Mother. Happy Mother's Day, Mom!