Dr. Cox: All right, everybody, gather around here. Circle it up, will you? Bring it in nice and tight. Look, I know I'm pretty quick to point out other people's mistakes, but I have a son now, and I also realize that it's important to recognize when someone does something right. Mr. Blake, down in bed 3, came in here with what seemed like a basic heart block, but someone took the time to find out that recently he'd been camping, and correctly diagnosed him with Lyme carditis. Now, I'm sure some of you are gonna think this is a silly exercise, but I'd like that someone to step forward and stick your hand up in the air so that the group can recognize your great good work. This- This is no time to be modest. Come now. [Dr. Cox raises his hand] Oh, my god, it was me! I did it. I'm a genius. I'm a huge brain in a ripped-up body. I am Jesus H. Cox., M.D.

Elliot: Oh, god!
Jake: What is it? I just locked the door when a black guy walked by. Now he's gonna think that I think he's dangerous because he's black, and not just black, but with an actual 'fro and everything, which, trust me, I don't find scary at all. Not like the zigzags and the corn rows and stuff. My night's ruined.
Jake: No, it isn't.
[Jake reverses the car, spins it around and pulls up alongside the man:]
Jake: Hey, did you think she was locking the door because you're black?
Man: No, I just thought she was locking the door.
Jake: Thanks, man. Better?
Elliot: Coolio. Let's go get some ice cream.

Janitor: And finished. I remember the bordello being a little bit bigger, and there were probably a few more prostitutes, but maybe I just remember it that way 'cause I was a kid. It was my 12th birthday. I asked for a bike. I got a 48-year-old whore.
Doug: It's beautiful. It's almost a shame I get these casts off in a week.
Janitor: A month.
Doug: A what?
Janitor: Yeah, I worked too hard on this. You can take 'em off in a month.
Doug: I'll call my orthopedist.

Dr. Cox: Still I probably couldn't have done it by myself, so I'd like to go ahead and recognize some of the other players who were involved. There was the intern who originally misdiagnosed the patient.
Lonnie: It's me, daddy.
J.D.: Put your hand down, Lonnie.
Dr. Cox: And then there was the resident who confirmed that misdiagnosis.
J.D.: In my defense, I was up late watching a Designing Women marathon.

Dr. Cox: And last but not least, there was the surgeon who wanted to crack open Mr. Blake's chest like a walnut and put in a pacemaker that he didn't even need. Now, he's too modest to introduce himself to the group, so I'll do the honors. He is so black, so bald, and he can't eat cupcakes because he's got diabetes. Ladies and gentlemen, Chris Turk.
Turk: Can you just get out of here so we can get back to work?
Dr. Cox: Not until people start chanting my name, so that I can exit the room with my hands held high above my head in a victorious gesture. Capisce? See, this diagnosing machine - this fabulous thing - well, it runs on props, so I'm going to need to hear it. Come now.
All: Cox. Cox. Cox.
Dr. Cox: Me. Me. Me. Oh, so me!

Elliot: Look, I have just been thinking about all of my relationships, and every time one has potential, I go too fast and ruin everything. Long story short, Jake's not gettin' any.
J.D.: Oh, please. You're 1/2 a glass of wine away from nuding up and doing your go-to move.
Turk: Which is?
J.D.: Her on top, eyes closed yelling, "Don't look at me! Don't look at me!"
Elliot: Sex is disgusting.
Carla: I know, sweetie.

Janitor: I know we haven't taken of that whole asbestos thing from the nineties, and I know some toilets flush upward.
Dr. Kelso: Get to the point. My battery power is running low.
Janitor: The one thing that I'm proud of is that these floors are so clean you could eat off of 'em.
Dr. Kelso: Why is that?
[flashback to the Janitor's mother talking to him as young boy:]
Janitor's Mother: If you're going to throw food on the floor, you can just eat there from now on.
[present:]
Janitor: Soup night was the worst.

Dr. Kelso: I'm sorry, son. I'd love to help you out, but I could give a horse's patootie about your floors.
Janitor: My floors are my children! I've given them names!

Mr. Hoffner: Why do I have to have my gallbladder taken out?
Dr. Cox: Because Mr. Hoffner you have gallstones.
Mr. Hoffner: Why do I have gallstones?
Dr. Cox: Did you possibly eat large gall-boulder and then fall on your stomach?
Mr. Hoffner: Do I need my gallbladder?
Dr. Cox: Oh, my God. It is a completely useless organ. Oh, wait a minute, this is not completely true. Here it turns out we could remove it and jam it in your mouth to keep you from asking the same question we've been over for a three straight days. Now come on. We're both in a position to get some good news here. You're gonna feel better, and I'm gonna get the world's most annoying patient the hell out of my hair. Plus you're in a bonus situation. I hand-picked the surgeon that you're going to be torturing. Here he is now.
Turk: Is this is the gallbladder guy?
Mr. Hoffner: Do I need my gallbladder?
Dr. Cox: Enjoy.

Mr. Hoffner: So, are you a good surgeon?
Turk: I'm capable.
Mr. Hoffner: Capable. I'm not sure I want the surgery.
Dr. Cox: Gandhi. A word. Look at me. I know what you're doing in there. You think that if you act like Dr. Sad Sack that the patient's gonna opt out of surgery, and I'll have to spend yet another week with a man who has such an unnatural attachment to his gallbladder, that left to his own devices, he would rent a motel room and have sex with it. Now come on I need you to sling that, "I'm gonna get freaky-deeky with my chisel and- and swizzle up the dizzle for my bee-ai-itch" Stuff that you know, you do so well.
Turk: Sorry, I'm not that guy anymore.
Mr. Hoffner: Are you sure I don't need my gallbladder?
Dr. Cox: Oh. Dear. Lord.