Mrs. Wilk: I choose Dr. Dorian.
J.D.: Oh, my God! Oh, my God! I don't even believe it! I don't believe it-lieve it-lieve it! Whoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo! Yes! I'm shaking! Look at this! It's crazy-talk!
Mrs. Wilk: He played hearts with me all night.
Dr. Cox: [groans]
Mrs. Wilk: You're a very strange man, aren't you?
J.D.: I was a preemie.

J.D.: Miss Brooks, your blood work looks fine. But I'd like to take one more sample, just for me.
[J.D. bites into the patients neck with his fangs and spits the blood out into a tube]
J.D.: You taste a little anemic. Get that down to the lab, buddy.
Keith: Right away, Dr. Acula.
J.D.: It's what they call me. How you doing?
[reality:]
J.D.: The end.
Turk: So Dr. Acula is a doctor and a vampire?
J.D.: He's both. And at the very end, I'm gonna put "Dr. Acula" across the screen, take that period, get it out of there, squish it together, it'll say "Dracula."
Turk: That is an awesome ending!
J.D.: Um, thank you for telling me what I already know, Turk.

Carla: This picture is happening.
Janitor: No, it's not.
Carla: Oh, what do you know, mop jock?
Janitor: I've predicted a couple things over the years: The kitchen fire of '97, the kitchen fire of '98, the arson conviction of Luis the fry cook, and of course the eventual termination of the hospital's "Convicts-to-Cooks" program. The bottom line, not gonna happen.

J.D.: Hello! If you're wondering what a "Thank you for being my doctor" card from Mrs. Wilk looks like, it looks a little something like this.
Dr. Cox: "Happy anniversary, gals"?
J.D.: Oops. This one's actually for my Aunt Judy and her lady friend. Must've grabbed the wrong card.
Dr. Cox: Newbie.
J.D.: Oh, right, your imaginary warning light. Don't be mad, Perry. This day was bound to come. See, I've studied you. I've taken your best qualities and my best, and I've combined them into something even better. Much the way that iced tea and lemonade were joined to become an Arnold Palmer. Incidentally, has anyone ever done less to become famous? I mean, "Yay for me! I mixed two drinks together."
Dr. Cox: Arnold Palmer is a golfer.
J.D.: I'm sure he has lots of hobbies, Perry. The man's a drink mogul.

Dr. Kelso: I heard Mrs. Wilk gave you the axe.
J.D.: She said, "I've led a great life," and every doctor in the world knows that's code for "I'm ready to die."
Dr. Kelso: How old do you think I am, Dorian?
J.D.: [v.o.] Okay, there's no way to answer and not get in trouble. Change the subject.
J.D.: Sir, I would be honored if you and Enid would join me on Sunday for some homemade jambalaya.
Dr. Kelso: Well, it would be good for Enid to get out of the house.
J.D.: [v.o.] My God! He's thinking about it. Change the subject back!
J.D.: You're 78, sir.
Dr. Kelso: You think I'm that old?
J.D.: Jambalaya.

Carla: OK, listen up, everyone! I'm sure you all got the flier I made reminding everyone of the annual staff picture. I need to know by a show of hands how many of you aren't gonna be able to make it. [all hands go up] Oh, come on! Aren't you guys embarrassed by our last three staff pictures? Laverne, I'm gonna need a little of your church enthusiasm to help sell this. Damn it, everyone! We are a family!
Nurse Roberts: A family, people!
Carla: And I know we love each other.
Nurse Roberts: Love's all we've got!
Carla: So can't we just take 10 minutes from our day to take a real staff photo?
Nurse Roberts: Yes, we can! Yes, we can!
Carla: Tambourine's a little much, Laverne.

Dr. Kelso: I'm 57, numbnuts.
J.D.: Really?
Dr. Kelso: I know they say 57 is the new 40-
J.D.: Who?
Dr. Kelso: But it seems all people see when they look in my direction is some old guy. Hell, just last week I was in the mall hanging out at Brookstone and some kid asked me if I was lost.
J.D.: Brookstone. Were you looking for gadgets, sir?
Dr. Kelso: If that's what you call trolling for mall ass, then yeah. The point is, you think Mrs. Wilk is old enough to die. I'm betting she doesn't agree.

J.D.: [v.o.] Since my scooter was in the shop, I didn't know how I was going to get to work, but luckily, my neighbor, Ronald, lent me his ride. Ronald's six. But I still got there in time to steal the guard's Arts & Leisure section.
J.D.: Hello!
J.D.: [v.o.] Around here, everyone has some sort of morning ritual. Whether it's getting help on the word jumble from your dyslexic tracheotomy patient.
Elliot: Uh, T-P-l-P-O-E.
Woman: [gasps] Pot pie.
Elliot: Save your voice, Marsha. Mmm. Save it.
J.D.: [v.o.] Cursing out an innocent orderly over a stolen physical therapy tub.
Dr. Kelso: Damn it, you better find it! Physical therapy tubs don't disappear!
J.D.: [v.o.] Or, for some, just a relaxing afternoon soak on the roof.
Todd: Oh, come on. Let me in. This totally covers my boys.
Janitor: You try and get in here wearing that thing, I'll give you a four-story atomic wedgie.
[After the Janitor's watch beeps, he goes over to the edge of the roof and directs a mirror towards J.D., who subsequently crashes]
J.D.: My eyes!

Elliot: Hey, check this chart out. This guy says he's been in pain for three months.
J.D.: [v.o.] For doctors, pain is complicated. Every patient handles it differently, depending on their race.
[A Japanese man with a blade stuck in his shoulder]
Man: Does what hurt?
J.D.: [v.o.] Gender.
[A man holding his wife's hand as she gives birth]
Man: Ow! I just bit the inside of my lip. Nothing has ever hurt so badly.
J.D.: [v.o.] Or even their sex life.
[A latex-covered man with multiple piercings]
Man: Oh, yeah! That feels good!
J.D.: [v.o.] And since there's no good way to truly gauge how much pain someone's in, we have to rely on an archaic chart.
Elliot: Mr. Peele, you're about a seven on the pain chart. Yep, you're a seven.
Mr. Peele: What's a 10?
[The Todd screams as he swings by the window, hanging from the roof by his banana hammock]
J.D.: That's a 10.

J.D.: All right, everybody. Last one here has to do a double shift this weekend. Keith, you just lost your weekend.
Keith: What? I totally beat Lisa!
J.D.: Lisa, call that androgynous husband of yours and tell him or her you're mine this weekend.
Lisa: But I feel like I edged out James.
J.D.: Okay, I guess we're not crystal clear on the ground rules. Tomorrow will be the last one to touch my face. No, no, I'm not gonna like that. The last one to touch my bot- No, that's probably illegal. Tell you what, I'll just e-mail everyone. That's what I'll do. In this day, that's what you do.