— Gee, sorry for being born.
— I've been waiting so long to hear that!

— ... please God — kill sideshow Bob.
— You can't ask God to kill someone.
— Yeah! You do your own dirty work.

— Did you wreck the car?
— No.
— Did you raise the dead?
— Yes!
— But the car's ok?
— Uh-huh.
— Alright then.

— Hey, how come Lisa gets a pony?
— Because she stopped loving me.
— I don't love you either, so give me a moped.

He died as he lived — like a dork.

— Oh, my God, I do want a brother.
— You can have mine, but he's kinda lame.

Poking dead raccoons is not research.

— I am through with working. Working is for chumps.
— Son, I am proud of you. I was twice your age when I figured that out.

— Well, maybe pulling pranks is the only thing I'm good at.
— Well, at least you have something you're good at. I'm 38 years old driving a crappy car with a son who doesn't respect me and I'm one snickers pie away from losing my foot to diabetes. Mmmm, snickers pie

— This is the worst day of my life.
— The worst day of your life so far.

— I'll go, disguised as you.
— What if he wants to hold hands?
— I'm prepared to make that sacrifice.
— What if he wants a kiss?
— I'm prepared to make that sacrifice.
— What if he...
— You don't want to know how far I'll go.

— Now be good for Grampa while we're at the parent-teacher meeting. We'll bring back dinner.
— What are we gonna have?
— Well, that depends on what your teachers say. If you've been good, pizza. If you've been bad... uh... let's see... poison.
— What if one of us has been good and one of us has been bad?
— Poison pizza.
— Oh, no. I'm not making two stops.

— What the hell's menopause?
— Son, menopause is when the stork that brings babies gets shot by drunken hunters.

— What are you doing, boy?
— Reading prayers and ignoring them, just like God.

Ugh, Bart, please! I'm trying to hear Dr. House's third incorrect diagnosis before his final correct diagnosis!

Aren't we forgetting the true meaning of Christmas? You know, the birth of Santa.