Bob: Eric is a mental midget. And you know what else? He runs like a girl.
Red: Bob, you run like a girl.
Bob: Only when I'm scared of something.
Pamela: Oh, honey, I'm sure Eric has a good explanation. On the several occasions I didn't show up for one of my weddings, I always called to say I had appendicitis.
Bob: Well, Eric's not here, my little girl's unhappy, and I want to punch somebody.
Kitty: Bob, you don't want to fight. I've known you for a long time, and I know what you really want is a piece of cake.
Bob: A piece of cake, Kitty? My daughter is devastated, and you offer me cake? You just tell me one thing, is it chocolate?
Kitty: Devil's food. I can have it on the table in less than a minute.
Bob: Eh, let's do that, then.