Hal: Where have you been? You've been gone all day. You haven't called. I've been worried sick about you. [points a sandwich at her] Well, I have to eat, Lois. I'm a human being.

Lois: I'm sorry I'm so late. I had to take the bus home. I sold the car. I bought a plane ticket to Kabul. There's $400 left. I'd give it to you to pay down the Visa bill, but I need it for bribes.
Hal: What?!
Lois: I'm gonna go get him.
Hal: What are you talking about? You can't just go get him.
Lois: Yes, I can. Tonight, I'm gonna buy enough frozen dinners to last you and the boys for three weeks. Then tomorrow, I'm flying to Kabul. If I don't get anywhere with the Army, I'll hire an interpreter and get the locals to help me. If I have to, I'll make friends with a warlord. Those guys are pretty organized. I'll find him, Hal.
Hal: And when does the little bird pop out of your head and start singing?
Lois: This is what's happening, Hal.

[fantasy:]
Mr. Waffles: Is this any way to start your morning?
Reese: Mr. Waffles?
Mr. Waffles: Reese, you can't give up! You got to keep going. You got to keep trying.
Reese: You don't know what I've been through. I've been shot at, chased, married, and when the guy found out I was a dude, it wasn't like a total deal breaker.
Mr. Waffles: Son, I know it's hard, but everything worth doing is hard. When third quarter profits were down, did Mr. Waffles give up? No, he did not. He put more lip-smacking delight in every bite!
Reese: I don't think I can move.
Mr. Waffles: You have to move, Reese. You have to get home to your family and friends and your country. These people have no idea what breakfast is. They take rice from the night before and cook it up into a thin paste. Is that your idea of breakfast?
Reese: No, but-
Mr. Waffles: Do you ever want to taste my buttery goodness again?
Reese: You know I do.
Mr. Waffles: Reese, listen to me. I now have 20% more blueberries in every box.
Reese: My legs.
Mr. Waffles: They plump up in the batter!
Reese: They're so juicy that way! I'm coming home!
Mr. Waffles: I'm proud of you, son.
Reese: Whatever happened to Mrs. Waffles? She was hot.
Mr. Waffles: Yes, she was. But she didn't increase product awareness in girls 3 to 18 a single percent.

Malcolm: Well, good news. God decided I don't deserve to redeem myself. I get to carry this soul-crushing guilt for the rest of my life.
Dewey: Yeah. I've been trying to compose a requiem for him. It's hard getting in the right mood using a glitter marker. Maybe we've been trying to honor Reese the wrong way.
Malcolm: What do you mean?
Dewey: Reese wasn't into helping people and doing good deeds. He loved to smash stuff and destroy things for no reason. If we're gonna honor Reese, maybe we should think about doing it his way.
Malcolm: You have something in mind?
Dewey: This kind of caught my eye.
Malcolm: An art fair?
Dewey: Just think what Reese would have done with this. They've got drift wood art, yarn owls, dream catchers, face painting, folk dancing.
Malcolm: They are kind of begging for it. [sighs] I don't know.
Dewey: There's rapping grannies.
Malcolm: Let me see that.

Malcolm: I just can't believe he could really be gone.
Dewey: I know. Wow, this diaper's got to be a five-pounder.
Malcolm: I'd like to think Jamie knew what it was for. It's so weird. It seems like all my life I've wished for something horrible to happen to Reese, and now that it has I... I...
Dewey: Miss him?
Malcolm: Yeah.
Dewey: I do, too. Remember when he shaved my eyebrows and glued them back on so I looked permanently surprised? That was genius. [crowd groans as Malcolm detonates the diaper balloons]
Malcolm: Remember that look of pure joy he'd get on Christmas morning when he was smashing our presents? No matter how hard I tried, I could never make Mom's face turn that special purple color. Reese purple.

Reese: How does this work?
Malcolm: Oh, well, we have the remote here, and you pick out a good one...
Dewey: Here. We were saving this one. It's from when Jamie had swine flu.
Reese: Nice. [crowd groans] God, I love this country.

Dewey: You know, we can wait for Mom to make dinner.
Hal: I'm sorry, she went to talk with some army administrator about Reese. She'll be gone for hours.
Lois: [o.s.] Get your hands off me! Your authority stops at my property line!
Hal: What did she do?
Military Policeman: She completely destroyed an office, made explicit threats against the United States Army, attacked my groinage region and captured same.
Hal: Listen, maybe there's a way we can make this whole thing go away.
Military Policeman: Sir, if she comes within 500 feet of my perimeter I've been given the authority to engage.

Malcolm: [to camera] We don't have to worry about Reese. All he has to do is lay low and not do anything stupid. Oh, God.

Malcolm: I'm Malcolm. I'm here Monday, Wednesday, Friday, 3:00 to 7:00.
Nurse Peterson: No one volunteers here. They're all signing up for the glamorous jobs at the burn unit.
Malcolm: I just want to do something to help veterans.
Nurse Peterson: Really? You think you can handle helping around here? How 'bout trying to give Mr. Skoros a sponge bath?
Malcolm: Sure.
Nurse Peterson: Or maybe you'd prefer to clip Mr. Deepmarth toenails.
Malcolm: Okay.
Nurse Peterson: Or how 'bout going room to room emptying bed pans and stanching bed sores?
Malcolm: You know, I think I can save us both a little time here. This is how I see it playing out: you're keep thinking of worse and worse jobs for me to do, and you know what? I'm going to do them, all of them, no matter what. Why? It doesn't matter. I have my reasons. So go ahead, knock yourself out.
Nurse Peterson: Well, it kind of takes some of the fun out of it, but okay. You can start the afternoon enemas with Mr. Klegman.
Malcolm: It'll be my pleasure.

Sgt. Hendrix: Well, ma'am, how can I help you?
Lois: It's about my son, Reese. Um, I think you know him as Private Jetson.
Sgt. Hendrix: Private Jetson. Ma'am, let me shake your hand. That boy is the finest soldier that this old dogface ever had the privilege of commanding. I wish I had a hundred more just like him. He's a fine boy.
Lois: Yes, well we think so, too.
Sgt. Hendrix: I'd be proud to help you in any way that I can. Now you just name it.
Lois: The problem is he joined under false pretenses. He ran away; he's not even 18 years old yet. We need to know where he is so we can find him and bring him back home.
Sgt. Hendrix: I'm sorry, ma'am, I can't help you. That's classified. If your son were on a secret mission, which I'm not saying he is nor that one exists, it would compromise said mission if indeed there were one. My hands are tied.