Howie: No one does a Foley cath like Howie Gilder. Oh, yeah. Up high!
Todd: Okay, I'm not gonna get mad because you're new. But I'm kind of the high-fiver around here. From now on, you're only allowed to high-five when I'm not here. Are we clear five? You may hit that because I'm instigating. Now get the hell out of here.

Derek: I put that central line on Mr. Phelps for you. So next time you give me an assignment, can you make it something that's a challenge?
Turk: Okay. Next time.
Derek: Make sure you do.
Turk: That's my surgical intern. He's been here less time than everyone else and that's how he acts.

Elliot: Full moon tonight, guys. Wanna know what that means? Means it's getting fricking crazy up in here! Buckle up for some nasty stuff. I'm talking nightmares that you cannot unsee. During my first full moon shift, psych patient Tony Belmont bit off his own tongue and threw it at me. We couldn't reattach the sucker so I tossed it into that very Hazmat bin. Later that night, we heard a sound coming from in there. So we open up the lid very very slowly. And inside, is Mr. Belmont holding his own tongue. Do you want to know what he said to me? He said...
[Turk jumps out of the bin with blood dripping from his mouth]
Elliot: Nailed it! Give it up!

Todd: Guys! High-fiving? I feel like I've been more than clear about this.
Elliot: It won't happen again, Todd. Promise.
Todd: You're my friends, so I hope not.
Turk: I'm sorry five?
Todd: [high fives Turk] Still.
Elliot: Still.

Elliot: Okay guys, full moon is upon us. It's only 8:30, we already have ten new admissions so let's stay sharp.
Turk: Remember, nights like this are why you got into medicine. Sunny, I'm gonna need you to get that lady in bed six to fart.
Sunny: I'm on it.
Howie: Why don't you just pull her finger?
Elliot: Howie, did you just make a joke?
Howie: I did and it felt great.
Elliot: Good for you. And as a reward, you get the gentleman in bed three. He poisoned himself. We need to know what he took. Go.
Howie: Gone.

Denise: My pneumonia patient is presenting with a crap load of fluid in her left lung.
Elliot: Crap load really isn't a technical term.
Denise: Fine. Bucket load.
Turk: Is she being sassy? Because I love it.
Elliot: More than Space Mountain?
Turk: Why, Elliot? I just forgot about it.

Turk: Derek, can you get Denise's patient a thoracentesis and get that fluid out of there?
Derek: Surgery to the rescue. [clicks tongue at Denise] You are welcome.
Denise: Oh, that's adorable. You have a crush on yourself. I'd be careful. The guy you're in love with is a douche.

Katie: I've been doing post-op on your hand surgery patient Mr. Gold. He says he can't feel anything in his arms from his elbows up. Now, I've been doing research for hours, and I think it's either a radiculopathy or a brachial plexus injury. Or...
[later, Turk pinches the patient's upper-arm:]
Turk: He's lying. Patients do that. Katie, a word please? Look, the man is homeless and not all there. You see his bandages? It means he's been chewing out his sutures. I'm probably gonna have to strap him down.
Katie: I can find another way to make him stop.
Turk: Suit yourself. If he messes up my handiwork, it's on you.

Sunny: Mrs. Powell, it's not your fault you don't want to pass gas. It's society's. Guys have always been allowed to do it. There's no shame for them. But if a girl lets out even a little squeeker, she's a freak. So come on, for women everywhere, let's do it together on the count of three. One, two, three. You didn't do it.
Mrs. Powell: Neither did you.
Sunny: There's people around.

Howie: Hey Mr. Swick, I'm Dr. Gilder. Wait, I'm gonna grab a chart that doesn't say "Elliot has slammin' tushie" on it. [exits; returns] Much better. And now, Mr. Swick... This one's got it too.
Mr. Swick: Is her butt that nice?
Howie: It's okay for a white chick. Anyway, I want you to tell me how you poisoned yourself.
Mr. Swick: I can't.
Howie: Why not?
Mr. Swick: Because you're not my doctor. You may sound like him and you look exactly like him. But you're not him.