J.D.: [v.o.] Mornings in a hospital are filled with possibilities. You could encounter a disease you've never seen before. Make a life-saving diagnosis. Or try out the best new nickname ever.
J.D.: Good morning, Black Whale.
Turk: No.
J.D.: No to "black" or no to "whale"?
Turk: Just no.

Janitor: Hey, idiot. [laughs] I said "idiot" and you looked.
J.D.: I looked because you did the "Hey, idiot" thing to me, like, six months ago.
Janitor: Did you look then?
J.D.: Yeah.
Janitor: Heh.
J.D.: You know what? I think you're out of ways to bother me.
Janitor: No, you're wrong.
J.D.: Think of a way to annoy me right now. [the Janitor is stumped] That's what I thought.

Nurse Roberts: Thanks for the SeaWorld tickets, Sean.
Sean: So you got family in town or something?
Nurse Roberts: Hell, no. I'm going to sell these.
Sean: Oh, okay.

Sean: Well, it wasn't even a dolphin that bit me.
Carla: What was it?
Sean: Black whale.
Turk: You rang?
J.D.: Yes, I knew you'd end up liking it!

Janitor: You're stupid.
J.D.: See, now you're just embarrassing yourself. Pick someone else to annoy.
Janitor: I don't pick 'em. They pick me!

Janitor: You know, loose debris can get sucked up into the air conditioning vents. And when that happens, I have to spend the entire day crawling around inside the wall, and I don't like that. You know why? 'Cause there's not enough air. I've hallucinated. I spent a day inside that wall thinking I was a mermaid. So here's the thing: you don't throw around loose trash, and I won't have to waste an entire workday granting the wishes of imaginary fisherman. 'kay?
Turk: Dude, I'm not scared of you. Life's too good. [whispers] I'm untouchable.
Janitor: That's what I hoped you'd say.

Dr. Kelso: Dr. Murphy, how about you start us off by describing the medical condition of your patient Mr.
Eronson here.
Doug: He's got hypertrophic cardiomyopathy with severe secondary pulmonary hypertension.
Dr. Kelso: Wrong. He's dead. Another one bites the dust, huh, sport?

Doug: Hey, Dr. Kelso, none of my patients have died today.
Dr. Kelso: Really? Mr. Ferguson's corpse begs to differ.
Doug: Darn it!

Elliot: Greenberg needs 2.4 milliunits of penicillin IM.
Carla: Why, does he have a spinkle in his gherkin?
Elliot: Carla, you're right, okay? That stuff makes me uncomfortable. And there was a time when that would've sent me into a shame spiral, but now I'm just gonna get over it at my own pace. And until then, I honestly don't mind that you're making fun of me, but what does bother me is that no one is ever allowed to make fun of you.
Carla: People can make fun of me.
Elliot: Come on! What about that delivery guy yesterday? I mean, you practically tore him a new binglebore.

J.D.: Mr. Randolph.
Mr. Randolph: What's he doing here? You know I don't like these people. Surgeons. Not African-Americans.
Turk: Oh! We're actually saying "black" now, sir.
Mr. Randolph: I was right, Catherine!