Beverly: Oh, baby, sit down. We have some upsetting news about Brea. Brea's mother, Vicki... [whispers] ...is divorced.
Adam: What are you saying?
Beverly: [whispers] Divorced.
Adam: Still can't hear you.
Beverly: Dee. Vorced.
Adam: The Force?
Beverly: Dee. Vorced.
Adam: From Star Wars?

Beverly: I'm worried about Adam.
Murray: My point is, young couples say all sorts of dumb stuff.
Beverly: Well, what if this isn't just stuff? This girl could be our future daughter-in-law. We barely know her.
Murray: We know her... big girl with the Gorbachev thing on her face.
Beverly: That's very specific. Who are you thinking of?
Murray: I don't know. But why are we on the hook for all this? Call up her parents and let them destroy young hearts.
Beverly: That's a great idea, Murray. Except we don't have a phone to call them!
Murray: So go down the street and use the pay phone like I do to order calzones. Why am I the only one with good ideas?

Beverly: Murray, turn off your best friend! We got a problem!
Murray: Is that the electric bill? Because I told those kids, "Hey, you don't open that refrigerator until you know what you want!"
Beverly: It's Adam and Brea's love letters. They're discussing marriage!
Murray: They've only known each other like a week.
Beverly: They've been dating for over a year. She came to Miami with us.
Murray: Ah! I know who you're talking about. Big girl, like feet, blonde hair, pounds, big wine-stain birthmark on her face.
Beverly: No! And who is that?