It's a hip-hop world, son. Keep up or get out of the way.

OK, either the heat in my office is broken or I drifted off and fantasized about Rudy Giuliani again.

— Where do we meet up in heaven?
— At the milk shake pool on the lesbian cloud.

— At least you've stopped crying.
— No, not really. My body can't produce tears anymore. I've intentionally dehydrated myself. It's a risky move, I know, but Dr. Jarvis here said it'll be all right.
— There's nobody standing behind you.
— I'm going to need an IV.

God knew my people would go through some struggles, so He gave us a lifetime supply of cool to compensate.

Too much talking, too much talking, too much talking, too much talking.

— I don't see why you can't be there for the major events in Jack's life.
— I'd love to see him turn three.
— The major events, Paige: His graduation, his wedding, his divorce and his funeral. The big four.

Keith, you're late, which doesn't surprise me because you're a bad person.

They say that, in life, all good things must come to an end. Sometimes it comes quietly. Sometimes, not so quietly. And suddenly, you realize you've taken something as far as it can go.

— I am gonna let Big Bob here give the first excuse.
— Blah, blah, blah. I'm not doing it.
— I'm caught on his collar!

— Who the hell ate my scone?
— That would be me. It was delicious. My compliments to the little lady.
— I made those.
— I know.

— I hate to do it, but I'm giving you back the pencil. That's right. The pencil you gave me on my third day of work. You handed it off to me like a tiny yellow baton, like you were trying to say to me, «J. D., you are the new me. You, J. D., are my mentee. You... are my son».
— What pencil?

I've predicted a couple things: The kitchen fire of '97, the kitchen fire of '98, the arson conviction of Luis the cook, and the termination of the hospital's "Convicts-to-Cooks" program.