Chuck: Nice suit, little dude. Off the rack?
Brick: Out of the box.
Chuck: What's the label?
Brick: I don't know. Shah-nee-a Twan.
Chuck: Shania Twain?
Brick: The "Man! I Feel Like a Woman!" collection. Oh, no, this isn't Cousin Ryan's. It's Cousin Allison's. I've been wearing women's clothes for the last three days.
Chuck: It's cool, baby Mike. Man, woman, we're all just energy.

Brick: Come on, Dad. I finally have a reason to go out. I've got a real suit. It doesn't wrinkle. It has secret inside pockets. The color's majestic. It broadens my shoulders, slims my waist, and gives me the muscles of an eighth grader. But it's more than just superficial high-end apparel. It feels like armor that protects me against whatever life throws my way. Today, it was sloppy joe flicked from a spoon. This suit makes me feel like a winner, and I want to show it off at your awards ceremony. Not moving you, huh?
Mike: No.

Frankie: You know, you are a really difficult person. Let's just say you had to say something. Gun to your head, you had to say something what would it be?
Mike: Uh, I guess I would say... "For 20 years, this job's put a roof over my family's head. I've had a great group of guys working for me hard-working guys who show up on time, rarely take sick days. We've seen each other's kids grow up. I've been lucky, not only for the work, but my crew has made this a good place to go every day."
Frankie: Well, where have you been hiding that? That's beautiful. Can't you just go and say that? It's one dinner, Mike. One dinner that maybe doesn't mean a lot to you, but might mean a lot to everyone else. [Mike groans] Oh, yay! You're gonna be so good! You know, if I wasn't wearing five pairs of pajamas, I would totally break out the lady jazz.