— I'll be in charge of the epidural. And as soon as you are ready, I'll have it make you so numb you're gonna feel like you 're passing a marshmallow.
— But that sounds sticky and uncomfortable.
— Passing a unicorn...
— That's a big horse with a horn!
— Passing a rainbow!
— That's better!

— What's wrong with me?
— You're an annoying, whining man-child.
— That question wasn't directed to you!
— What question?

Marriage is a lifelong battle, except we men have been given no weapons.

— Hey Keith.
— You came to your house while I'm packing all my stuff, even though you promised not to be here.
— Awesome. Well, you know you can't take my word. I mean, I also promised to marry you last Saturday, right? Right?

I thought about how complex the male ego is. It could make us need constant affirmation that we're strong, or even feared. It can even make us so afraid to ask for help, that instead we just quietly hope for someone to notice.

The enemy you know is always better then the one you don't.

I only play Pacman and that car jack game. There's nothing like scoring a caddy and going down on street hos.

Barbie... there you are! You're standing sideways so I didn't see ya!

— Okay, people, time to save the planet! But where to begin?
— My first step was going with all hemp underwear. It's awesome! Except when the hemp oil sips into your bloodstream, then it's awesomer!

I would give her a shot, Perry, but this... is scotch, and I'm all Hasselhoffed out.

— So, how's Keith?
— Carla. Pig whore.
— Better actually. Used to be "Stupid Pig Whore". It's only been a few days and he's already dropped an adjective.
— Wow! Maybe by the weekend you'll just be "whore".

— Ok, all we have to do here is kill space goblins.
— And what's my motivation?
— You're motivation is to kill space goblins.
— Yeah, but like killing them because I hate them or because I don't share their space goblin values?
— Whatever you want.

I should warn you, I've killed a man. Granted, it was during surgery, but... I don't need anesthesia to knock your ass out.

This is the end of our relationship, but it's sorta just the beginning.

Oh my God, Gandhidiot. We'd be all be better served if we fill this patient with the creamy caramel center. Then, would you tell me whether or not he needs surgery?