Hal: This is the turkey you got?
Reese: It's perfect.
Hal: It's really small.
Reese: Well, if it were any bigger, it wouldn't be able to fit inside of this!
Hal: What? Y-You're going to put our dinner inside that monster?
Reese: It's a monkfish. The juices of the monkfish will baste the turkey. The flavor from the turkey will saturate the fish, both melding into one fantastic dish.
Hal: Reese, this doesn't seem like a good idea.
Reese: I don't know, Dad. Maybe you're right. Maybe I have no idea what I'm talking about. [sticks spoon in Hal's mouth]
Hal: Oh! Mmm! You know, that really shouldn't work.
Reese: [to the monkfish] Listen, my ugly beauty. Yesterday you were sucking scum off the bottom of the sea. Tonight you're going to tango with the gods. [moves mouth] Yes, master, I will be delicious for you.

Reese: [to Jamie] See? The real balsamic has a smoother mouth feel. Good, you're back. I'm going to start prepping the herbs de Provence and sautéing the mushrooms. I need you to scrub these pots and pans again.
Hal: What? No, I just finished those.
Reese: Dad, look at this. The stubborn patina of tuna casserole, or enchilada loaf, or whatever in God's name this greasy spoon churns out night after soul-killing night. But not tonight. Tonight we go for greatness. Are you with me, Dad?
Hal: No! This pot is clean enough, Reese. No one will taste this.
Reese: All right, then. I guess no one will ever taste this! [sticks spoon in Hal's mouth]
Hal: Oh, my God.

Reese: That means I have exactly 12 hours left to create the most fantastic Thanksgiving feast in the history of Thanksgiving feasts.
Hal: What's with the sheets?
Reese: I can't cook with distractions.
Hal: I don't think that's...
Reese: Dad, remember the chocolate soufflé I made for Thanksgiving two years ago?
Hal: Oh, yeah. That was...
Reese: Rat puke compared to what I have planned! The crepes I made last Thanksgiving?
Hal: Ooh, they were...
Reese: Crap next to what we're having tonight! Don't think of this as a meal. This is going to be like eating the Mona Lisa.
Hal: Reese, I hardly think you can comp... [puts spoon in Hal's mouth] Oh, my God. What do you need?
Reese: Your mindless, robot-like obedience to every demand I make, no matter how small.
Dewey: Plus, we get to eat anything that falls on the floor.

Malcolm: Hey, party people.
Lois: Oh, my God, you're drunk! What on earth is wrong with you?
Malcolm: I will tell you what is wrong with me... on earth. The reason why I drank is because... I'm a coward, and probably gay. I let a perfect opportunity just slip right through my fingers, and, you know, I thought I'd cap it off by getting stinking drunk. What do you think of your golden boy now, Mom?
Lois: What "golden boy"?! Get in your room! I'll deal with you later.
Malcolm: I will go to my room when I am finished with what I have to say. [vomits into the turkey] [all groan]
Reese: Hey, come on. Some of the shrimp is still good.

Francis: I mean, it was a stupid fight, I guess, but it was emblematic of everything that was bad with the relationship. I mean, there are principles.
Lois: Principles are important. I know.
Francis: I mean, so what if I'd had a couple beers? How does it look in front of the guys if the woman's driving?
Lois: What?
Francis: She didn't care about my feelings at all.
Lois: What?!
Francis: What?
Lois: Of all the idiotic, asinine things you have ever said, Francis, this has got to be one of the worst!
Francis: I thought you were on my side.
Lois: You don't have a side! Now, you are going to go and apologize to that woman. You are going to tell her that you are wrong and she is absolutely blameless.
Francis: You really...?
Lois: Go! [to Jamie] Okay, okay. Yes, he is an idiot.

Lois: Piama... I know that you and I have had our differences...
Piama: Oh, you mean the cold, uncomfortable silences broken by the occasional veiled insult?
Lois: I'm not sure I would have put it like that.

Reese: You're only going to take off a quarter-inch on the sides, leave the top and just clean up the back.
Lois: Reese, I've done this a million times.
Dewey: [rips shirt] Mom, look. I just ripped my brand-new shirt sneaking into the reservoir - that place you clearly ordered me never to go. I don't know why I do these things that are so infuriating to you, but the funny thing is, I don't even care.
Lois: Damn it, Dewey, go to your room! [shouts] Let's get this over with!
Reese: No, Mom! Count to ten! Count to ten!

Malcolm: [to camera] Tomorrow's Thanksgiving. I'll tell you what I'm thankful for. I finally made friends with some normal kids at school. Normal kids. We've been hanging out here all afternoon, and nobody's mentioned grass allergies or pollen count.

Malcolm: There's going to be other kids from school there. It's sort of like a party. I really want to go.
Lois: Well, your family is having sort of like a party, too. It's called Thanksgiving. Now, it's true we're not a bunch of friends you just met last week. We're only the people who have sacrificed our lives for years so that you could have a home.
Malcolm: I'll only be gone a couple hours, okay?
Lois: You mean like the couple of hours you were jammed half-in and half-out of me when you were being born?
Malcolm: Half an hour?
Lois: I just don't understand what is so horrible about our family.
Malcolm: [to camera] Yes, she does.
Lois: I mean, why on earth would you prefer to be somewhere else for Thanksgiving?

Malcolm: I'll just go over there and tell them I'm not coming.
Lois: Do whatever you want. Even though your brother has traveled hundreds of miles with her.
Malcolm: Piama.
Lois: I know her name.