Haley: Oh, gosh, I guess your name must still be in my phone as my emergency contact. I use boyfriends to avoid lectures from my parents. I don't want to wake up in a Tijuana prison and them be all like, "You're grounded."

Fred: The stroke may have scrambled some of Becky's memories.
Mitchell: So she doesn't remember me coming out?
Fred: Correct. And now presumes you're straight. That part I can't explain.
Phil: [quietly] Have you tried popping her on the noggin?
Jay: She's not a jukebox, Fonzie.
Gloria: And besides, it doesn't work. It only made my uncle worse. He never woke up.

Haley: Andy, um, I have to tell you something. And I'm really, really sorry, but I'm seeing someone.
Andy: Really?
Haley: Yeah.
Andy: Yes! Whoo-hoo! Oh, thank goodness. Me, too. I just didn't know how to tell you, especially if you were dying. She's a Laker girl.
Haley: Oh, wow. A cheerleader. Nice.
Andy: No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Josephine scrapes barnacles off boats in the Great Salt Lake. We call them Laker girls. But they are kind of sex symbols in Utah.