Wilson: Jill, let me ask you something. Did you ever go against your parents' wishes and take a risk that involved physical danger?
Jill: Yeah, I did. I married Tim.

Tim: You know the important news? Bud has turned a good tool company into a fascist dictatorship.
Jill: So what, he's gonna declare war on Home Depot?
Tim: You know, this is serious. We're not allowed to use any tools on the set that don't have the Binford logo on them. And since Binford doesn't make any automotive tools, I can't do any car-related Tool Times.
Jill: That's ridiculous. I knew they were giving you problems down there. I didn't know they would go this far.
Tim: Oh, this is just the beginning. They start taking away your diagnostic equipment, the next thing you know your money looks different and you're waiting in line for vodka and toilet paper.

Dr. Hennessy: Well, look, Brad's knee should be around 85 percent by game time.
Tim: 85 percent! That's like a B-minus.
Brad: All right!
Jill: But 85 percent means that there's an increased chance that he'll get hurt.
Tim: Well, yeah... Yeah... But what if he only plays 85 percent of the time? That would eliminate the 15 percent chance of injury!
Brad: All right!
Jill: [to the puzzled Dr. Hennessy] Welcome to my world.

Tim: This is unbelievable! Every time I call Bud, he's not home. I keep getting some guy that sounds just like Bud talking through a thick sock.
Jill: Sounds like he's trying to duck you.
Tim: I'll show him. I'll call him back and pretend I'm not me.

Tim: Welcome to Tool Time. I am Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor. And of course, you all know my assistant, Al Borland. All right. Now, all of us take our car to the mechanic now and then for a tune-up. But do we really know what they do?
Al: I do. Sorry. I'm just excited 'cause I know the answer.
Tim: There's nothing I like better than giving a car a tune-up. Tightening belts, new spark plugs, oil change, scraping my knuckles. [grunts] Oh, yeah. Quickest way to find out what's going on is to use a diagnostic machine. We'll get... Where's the diagnostic machine? Oh, let me guess.
Heidi: It wasn't a Binford.
Tim: Well, everyone, I guess you showed up for no reason, thanks to my... [audience groans] No, no. Thanks to my friends at Binford who removed my diagnostic machine. I'm supposed to do a tune-up! How the hell am I supposed to do it without the machine?
Al: I know.
Tim: You have the answer, Al?
Al: By using our Binford hand tools.

Al: That's right! Trusty hand tools made by Binford. All you need is a Binford screwdriver to listen for valve noises the old-fashioned Binford way. Heidi? [Heidi starts the engine]
Tim: Now, if you find this as dull as I do, why don't you contact the CEO here? He's Bud Harper, care of Binford Tools, and tell him Tim sent you.
Al: Always the kidder. Now, you want to take this and place it against the valve head with the handle to your ear, making sure to keep away from the alternator belt, the fan belt, and most importantly, the electrical coil.
Tim: Look at Al. Putting on a good front. But under that bearded grin, he's just as mad about this as I am. You're a real trouper, Al.
[As Tim pats Al on the back, the screwdriver touches the coil, sending electricity surging through Al's body, sending him hurtling back from the car]
Al: [screams]
Tim: Been there.

Brad: Did the mail come in yet?
Jill: No.
Brad: Gosh, you'd think the post office is trying to torture me. I mean, they know I'm waiting on these college acceptance letters and all of a sudden the mail's coming late.
Jill: Well, it's all a diabolical plot masterminded by the CIA, the FBI and Bill Gates.
Brad: Really?
Mark: And you're going to college?

Tim: I think we should call Dr. Hennessy and see what he says before we make our decision.
Jill: Think we can get an appointment with this short notice?
Tim: Drop my name, they'll send a car.

Tim: What about wardrobe?
Al: Well, apparently, we're supposed to wear these.
[Al holds up two pairs of yellow overalls featuring the Binford logo]
Tim: What are we? Gay exterminators? Are we actually supposed to wear these things?
Heidi: Actually, one of us is supposed to wear this. [holds up a skimpy yellow bra and thong]
Tim: If Borland puts that on, I'm walking.

Jill: How long can a knee exam take?
Tim: My personal best, about six and a half minutes, indoors.
[A man is wheeled by wearing an upper-body cast]
Tim: Been there. [answers cell phone] Hello? Hey, Bud. Where the heck have you been? I've been trying to get a hold of you for three days. What's going on at work? Binford's... They're insane... Hold on. Did you just call me a chicken nugget? What? Hold on. [stands up] I can't...Wait a minute. Bud, hold on. I can't... Bud? [knocks over a woman with a broken arm] Yeah. Where are you? Bud? Bud? [bumps into a guy on crutches] Hold on. Bud, come on. I can't... [knocks into the man helping the guy in the wheelchair] Sorry. [sits down] I lost him! I think he's at the Big Boy on Woodward. Maybe you should tail him.
Jill: Tail him?
Tim: Yeah. He'd expect me.
Jill: Just once I'd like to be inside that head of yours.
Tim: You wouldn't last five minutes.