Brad: You know what your problem is? You're jealous of me.
Randy: Oh, please, what would I possibly have to be jealous about?
Brad: That people like my article better than yours, or maybe people just like me better.
Jill: Brad.
Tim: Jill.
Brad: No, no, no. I'm more popular, I'm more athletic, and it looks like now I'm a better writer.
Randy: You are such a deluded egomaniac.
Brad: No, no, you're the one that's deluded. I mean, you think people want to read your boring, intellectual crap?
Jill: Knock it off!
Tim: Guys, guys, guys, stop! What is the problem here?
Randy: Oh, no. The problem is, Dad, is your oldest son is so stupid he should be writing an article called, Hey Duh.
Brad: Hey, I'm taller than you too!

Randy: You know, Wilson, I've worked for two years at that paper trying to produce quality journalism.
Wilson: Then Brad waltzes in and steals your thunder.
Randy: Well, it's not so much that he stole my thunder, it's just what he stole it with.
Wilson: Jock itch.
Randy: You got it.
Wilson: Randy, let me ask you something. If Brad had written a brilliant article, would you feel any differently?
Randy: I might be a bit jealous, but at least I would've respected it.
Wilson: You know, despite what anyone may think of Brad's article, it doesn't diminish the quality yours. You know, Robert Kennedy once said, "Each time a man stands up for an ideal, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope."
Randy: Wilson, I'd like to believe that, but how do I keep pouring my heart into my writing if people are more interested in who's scratching where.

Wilson: You know Randy, once I was a young columnist for the Wichita Star, then I got bumped from my feature column by this hot-shot named Walter Winchell.
Randy: Walter Winchell?
Wilson: Oh, yes, the God of Gossip, The Earl of Innuendo, The Prince of Propaganda, The Duke of...
Randy: Wilson, I get it.
Wilson: No, no, no, I've got one more. The Baron of Baloney.
Randy: What were you gonna say?
Wilson: It's just I was so outraged by being upstaged by Winchell, I wanted to quit. And then suddenly, I realized, if more people buy the paper to read Winchell's column, more people are gonna read mine.
Randy: So maybe Hey Yo can do for me what Winchell did for you?
Wilson: Absolutely. As a matter of fact, because of him, the readership doubled for my column, Rock Beat.
Randy: You wrote about Rock and Roll?
Wilson: No, no, no, no, no. Rocks.

Jill: "Genetic Mutations in the Second Half of the Twentieth Century?" That's pretty ambitious for a high school newspaper.
Randy: Yeah, well, I'm really excited about this one, I've been working on it for two weeks.
Jill: Great. You know, your commitment to quality comes from my side of the family.
Randy: What makes you say that?
Jill: Tool Time.

Jill: Look, I want to tell you a story about when I was 14.
Randy: Oh God, not the flute story again.
Jill: It's not the flute story, OK. Now, this is a story about my mother. She bought me my very first... tuba.
Randy: Oh, this is the flute story!
Jill: It's a good story.
Randy: I know, Mom, but I can't sit through it again.
Jill: You know how much I hate it when you guys fight.
Randy: Well, then you shouldn't be telling it to me, you should be telling your flute story to Mr. Hey Yo Yo.

Heidi: Next, we'll show you how to take out a stud.
Tim: Just buy me a meal baby. We'll do the town together.
Heidi: I don't think so, Tim.

Brad: I'll think of the ideas on my own.
Randy: Good luck.
Brad: Randy, haven't you learned by now that luck has nothing to do with my success?
Randy: What success? You live with you parents and share a bathroom with Mark.
Mark: You live in the basement, with no windows, and a laundry chute.
Randy: Yeah. But it's mine. All mine.

Jill: Tim, do you have those receipts we talked about?
Tim: Got them right here, all categorized and alphabetized. [empties the shoe box onto the table] Next time, I'm not letting the government off so easy. I'm gonna claim all seven dependents.
Jill: Seven?
Tim: Three boys, four cars.
Jill: You can't count the cars as dependents.
Tim: Why not? I buy them things, I feed them, I bathe them.

Mark: Mind if I put Brad's article up on the refrigerator?
Jill: No, I think that's so sweet that you're so proud of him.
Mark: Actually, I'm doing it to annoy Randy. See, the more they fight, the less they rag on me.
Brad: You guys know where Randy is? I need to talk to him.
Jill: Talking is good. That's a good idea.
Brad: Hey idiot. Why didn't you tell me Samantha called?
Randy: Oh, well I'd figured she'd call you back seeing as how you're popular and tall.
Mark: It doesn't get any better than this.
Brad & Randy: Shut up!

Jill: This auditor is in for a big surprise. After adding together all the receipts from three years ago, we overpayed our taxes. We're going to get a refund.
Tim: Hello, speedboat.
Jill: Uh, three dollars and seventeen cents.
Tim: Hello, sunblock.
Jill: Yeah.
You know, as long as we're in this tax mode, I think we should finish this year's taxes, and mail them in early.
Tim: Why would we want to do that?
Jill: Because, every year we wait until, what, five minutes before midnight on April 15th, and then you get in the car and drive 150 miles an hour, your heart pounding, your face drenched with sweat.
Tim: Please don't take that away from me.