Brad: Look, I told you guys I was just holding it for somebody else.
Tim: What do you think, we're just a bunch of idiots? You want us to believe you're all of a sudden in the marijuana-storage business?
Jill: Is this your dope, or not?
Tim: The truth.
Brad: All right, all right. It's mine. I came to pick it up after the basketball game and I was going to take it to a party.
Tim: Well, now you're a supplier.
Brad: No, Dad. A lot of kids bring stuff.
Tim: What is it? A "pot luck"?

Tim: You telling him that you smoked pot, it's like endorsing it.
Jill: He doesn't need my endorsement. He's already doing it.
Tim: OK. OK. Tell him the truth about everything now. How about the first time we had sex? Huh? Rusty's barn dance? [hums conga music] Yeah! How about the time we cheated on our S.A.Ts?
Jill: I didn't cheat on my S.A.Ts.
Tim: Oh, rub that in my face again.

Jill: Look, I just think that being honest with Brad is our best chance of getting him to stop doing drugs. [Randy walks in] We can't-
Randy: I'm guessing you're not talking about Metamucil.
Jill: We... We caught Brad with some marijuana.
Randy: Wow.
Tim: "Wow." You smoke this stuff too, don't you?
Randy: No!
Tim: Is that a real "no" or I-don't-want-to-be-in-trouble-like-Brad- "no"?
Randy: It's a real "no".
Tim: I think we can trust him. [sniffs Randy's head]

Randy: You know, I didn't even know you smoked.
Brad: I've only done it a couple times. Come on. You've been to a ton of parties. Are you telling me you never smoked?
Randy: No! I mean, the kids who are always smoking seem so out of it. I just never pictured myself sitting in the corner, contemplating the meaning of string.

Tim: Do you think we got through to him?
Jill: I don't know. I hope so. We can reason with him, tell him horror stories all we want. But when he goes out that door, it's gonna be all up to him.
Tim: He's a good kid, though.
Jill: Yeah. I think so. God! Do you remember when the worst problem we had with Brad was toilet-training?
Tim: Well, it makes sense. Couldn't get him on the pot, now we're trying to get him off the pot.
Jill: Oh, what a miserable day!
Tim: You're telling me! First thing you know, you're crashing through a gazebo. Next thing you know, your oldest son is on drugs. Boy, I need a beer!

Jill: So Brad's not going to be driving or going to parties for two months.
Tim: We went easy 'cause he was the first one to get caught. However, the next one gets the book thrown at him.
Mark: That's not fair.
Tim: Well, no one said life was fair!
Jill: You have the benefit of learning from Brad's mistake.
Randy: You know, in some cultures it's the kid who screwed up who's expected to learn from his mistake.
Tim: Well, this isn't a fancy country like France. This is America, where one person can screw it up for everybody.

Tim: All right, we've already had a very bad ice storm this year. What we want to do now to prevent further damage is to prune some of these trees.
Al: That's right. You want to cut back any rotting or dead wood.
Tim: Right. Or you can recycle that dead wood and build yourself an assistant.

Al: Now in some areas the wind is going to get as high as 60 miles per hour, so it's also a good idea to protect your windows by three-quarter-inch plywood.
Tim: [climbs a true] Hey, guys! Holy moly, guys! You oughta see this branch near Wilson's house. It's a disaster waiting to happen. It's got, uh, stress cracks in it. Big ones Very, uh very similar to the ones I got on this branch here.
[After the branch breaks beneath Tim's feet, he crashes through the gazebo]
Heidi: Tim, are you OK?
Tim: We'll be right back with some gazebo repair tips.

Tim: Look, it's Friday night. Whoever owns this is gonna want it for the weekend. So, I say my guys fix the seat. I put it back where it belongs. We go to Wilson's house. We watch the guilty party come and nab him.
Jill: I don't know. I don't like the idea of spying on my own children.
Tim: Well, there's your mistake, thinking of them as children. If we love them, we gotta think of them as potential felons.
Jill: Don't call my babies "felons."
Tim: I said "potential felons."

Tim: I don't believe this.
Jill: I don't either. It's ten degrees here.
Tim: No, no. Brad is picking his fingernail with a fork.
Jill: That's disgusting.
Tim: No, this is really disgusting. He put the fork back in the drawer.
Jill: Gross!