Dwight K. Schrute: For several weeks, my Secret Santa has been giving me pieces of a machine that I've been attempting to assemble. I'm suspicious of this because I had the exact same idea for catching Osama bin Laden. I would simply send him a different piece each day. He would assemble it to find himself... in jail!

Dwight K. Schrute: In a head-to-head contest, people prefer Belsnickel over Santa every time. There aren't as many songs about him, but I attribute that more to rhyming difficulties. My brother and I wrote one once. It was about a fickle pickle salesman who would tickle you for a nickel.

Pam: Hey. I need to give you your Christmas gift now, because- Well, I'll just tell you.
Jim: What?
Pam: For the past few months, I've been sending Dwight letters from the CIA.
Jim: Are you serious?
Pam: They're considering him for a top-secret mission. There's his application. Oh, and this is where I made him list every secret he promised he'd never, ever tell. "Last year, my boss, Michael Scott, took a day off because he said he had pneumonia, but, really, he was leaving early to go to magic camp." Wow. So, here's the gift. You get to decide what his top-secret mission is. Sorry I didn't wrap it.

Michael Scott: I need my entourage. Jim! Dwight! Ryan. Come on. We're going to Asian Hooters.
Ryan: Oh, man, I can't.
Michael Scott: Why not?
Ryan: I'm not feeling so well. I got a ton of work to do here. MSG allergy, peanut allergy. I just ate there last night.

Angela: Phyllis, I need you to pick up green streamers at lunch.
Phyllis: I thought you said green was whorish.
Angela: No. Orange is whorish.