J.D.: My dad flaked on me again.
Dr. Cox: I'm sorry. Um, you're not on drugs, are you?
J.D.: What? No.
Dr. Cox: Are you in jail? Have you been beaten? Are you malnourished?
J.D.: I skipped lunch, but I've been snacking all day.
Dr. Cox: You are, in fact, a perfectly healthy 26-year-old doctor who keeps crying about how horrible his father was.
J.D.: Well, he did some considerable emotional damage, so...
Dr. Cox: Every one of our parents does considerable emotional damage. And from what I've heard, it just might be the best part of being a parent. Now, if some guy ever does put a ring on your finger, and you're lucky enough to pop out a youngster, I'm sure you'll understand. But for now, trust me when I tell you that I wouldn't care if today was the first time you ever even met your daddy. Because in reality, well, he could've done a much, much worse job, okay.

J.D.: Can I help you, sir? Sir?
Janitor's Father: You can help me by minding your own damn business.
J.D.: Excuse me?
Janitor's Father: Oh, aggressive, huh? Do you really want to get it on with me, pipsqueak? Because if you do, I guarantee it'll be the last stupid thing you ever do on God's green earth.
J.D.: Nice meeting you.
J.D.: [v.o.] What the hell was that all about?
Janitor: Dad, don't wander off like that.

Dr. Kelso: Great job at rounds today, Dr. Reid.
Elliot: Thank you, sir.
Dr. Kelso: Your dad must've been very impressed.
Elliot: Yeah, I think so. I could tell that he respected you, sir.
Dr. Kelso: Well, that's very nice, but lucky for me, my self-esteem isn't tied up in that kind of poppycock. You see, I didn't become a doctor to impress my daddy or anyone else. I did it for me. I've seen lots of doctors get into this for the wrong reason. You know what happens to them?
Elliot: No.
Dr. Kelso: They quit and get their real estate licence. You look upset, sweetheart. You shouldn't be. I think you'd look super in a gold blazer.
Elliot: Thank you.
Dr. Kelso: This is almost too easy.

Turk: Hey, Mom, guess what.
Carla: Hi, Mrs. Turk, I'm gonna cut right to the chase. I'm Carla and I apologize if your son hasn't told you about me. Honestly, I don't know how you've put up with him as long as you did. Still, you should know he loves me very much, I feel the same and we're really good together.
Margaret Turk: Are you two sharing a bed?
Turk: No!
Carla: Yes, ma'am, we are. But if you're a good judge of character, I think you can tell I'm not messing around.

Margaret Turk: Carla. It's a nice name.
Carla: Thank you.
Turk: Yes, it is, Mother.
Margaret Turk: Oh, please. Not telling me about her. Dear, do me a favor. Don't give him any for a month or so.
Carla: Done.
Turk: No, it can't go down like that. It just can't go down like that.

Sam Dorian: How you doing, Elliot? [Elliot is silent] Great talk. Anyway, Johnny, I was talking to my buddy, Jake, this afternoon. You remember my buddy Jake?
J.D.: No.
Sam Dorian: Anyway, Jake's my buddy, and he's leaving the country for who knows how long. So I thought I might get out of here tomorrow and go catch up with him, which would I'd miss your thing, but I wouldn't know what I was hearing anyway. Right?
J.D.: Right.
J.D.: [v.o.] I think what surprised me the most is that I was actually surprised.
Sam Dorian: You still talking to yourself? I thought you'd outgrow that by now.

J.D.: [v.o.] So here's the deal: A month ago, Turk and Elliot wrote a paper on peripheral vascular disease and now they're upset because they have to present it at a big conference.
J.D.: Do you know how many interns would die to do something like that? Not me, because I don't really care about that sort of stuff. Besides, I know in my heart that my paper was, like, a trillion times better. Anyway, it's so political. I mean, surprise, surprise! They went with the black guy and the girl.
Carla: Bambi.
J.D.: What? Come on, what right do they have to be so damn mopey?
J.D.: [v.o.] And that's when Elliot said something that explained everything.
Elliot: Our parents are coming.
J.D.: Oh, I am so sorry.

Sam Dorian: Wowser, Rowdy's a boy dog.
J.D.: [v.o.] My mom and dad got divorced when I was seven. I know that's not so unusual, but even though everybody's relationship with their father is different, mine has always seemed very different.
Sam Dorian: God, I'd like to take a run at her. Would you look at that rack.
J.D.: Dad, please.
Sam Dorian: I'm sorry, Johnny. I'm just a man. You know what they say about men.
Turk: They love boobies.
Sam Dorian: That is correct, Christopher.
J.D.: OK, you know, I think I'm gonna hit the sack before I get even more uncomfortable.
Sam Dorian: Your mother had a beautiful bosom.
J.D.: There it is.

Dr. Cox: What in the hell is this, parents' weekend?
J.D.: Well, sort of. Elliot and Turk wrote this paper, then my dad decided "I wanna come too," so...
Dr. Cox: Look, Reba, if I ask you a question that doesn't specifically deal with a medical issue, you can bet your powdered bottom that I don't want you to answer. Do you understand?
J.D.: Yeah.
Dr. Cox: It's like working with a monkey.

J.D.: That sucks. I totally wanted to spend some time with my dad tomorrow.
Dr. Cox: Then take him.
J.D.: What do you mean?
Dr. Cox: Uh, I don't know? Secure a vehicle of some kind: car, balloon, tricycle, and transport your father from wherever he is to where you're going to be.
J.D.: Well, I don't think you get my dad. He's not really interested in my work. He's more of like a buddy.
Dr. Cox: OK. That was my mistake. Here, I engaged you and gave you the impression that I actually care, which is just so wrong! God!
J.D.: The thing is, I don't need really a buddy. What I need is a father.
Dr. Cox: Well, you definitely need something. Maybe a backbone. Or perhaps some testicles. At the very least, a pillow that you could carry around the hospital and just cry your sad eyes out into whenever trauma I have testicles.