Connie: You know, Meg, there's no dogs allowed. So, you're going to have to leave. But Brian can stay.
Brian Griffin: You know, Connie, I think I have this theory about why you're such a bitch.
Connie: Excuse me?
Meg Griffin: Brian, let's just go.
Brian Griffin: No, no, no, no, no, no. Hang on a minute, Meg, hang on. You see, Connie, you're popular because you developed early and started giving handjobs when you were twelve. But now you can't stand to look in the mirror because all you see is a whore. So you pick on Meg to avoid the inevitable realization that once your body's used up by age nineteen, you're gonna be a worn out chalky skinned burlap sack that even your own stepdad won't want. How is that? Am I in the ballpark?
[Connie runs off crying].
[The Smiths have just heard a news report on TV about a crime on their street.]
Stan: Right in our own neighborhood. Well it's clear the time has come for me to show you where we hide our guns.
[Pulls a gun out from under the table.]
Stan: Glock. Seventeen shots. [Takes pen from a pen holder.] Pen gun. Mightier than the sword. [Pulls sword out of knife holder.] Sword gun. Mightier than the pen gun. [Opens pantry door.] AR-15. MK-5. Mac-10. Paprika.
Francine: That's weird. I use that pantry a lot.
Stan: And the paprika not enough.
Hayley: I can't believe this house is teeming with guns. Guns kill.
Stan: Oh. Guns kill. Is that right? [Takes gun out of jacket and puts it on the table.] Well, let's see about that. Okay, gun. Kill. Go ahead. Kill someone. Don't be shy. See? Guns don't kill people. People kill people. Guns defend people against people with smaller guns.
Hayley: You're such a fascist.
Stan: Peace pusher.
Stan: I'm swinging wild, Francine.
Mr. Krabs: What's the most important rule here?
Spongebob: No free napkins?
Mr. Krabs: No, the other most important rule!
Spongebob: Only discuss the secret formula with Mr Krabs.
Mr. Krabs: As long as you do that, the formula is safe.
Squidward: I thought the most important rule was why do today what you can put off for tomorrow?
Mr. Krabs: But what's today, but yesterday's tomorrow?
Fry/Bender: Pop a Poppler in your mouth, When you come to Fishy Joe's, What they're made of is a mystery, Where they come from, no one knows. You can pick 'em, you can lick 'em, You can chew 'em, you can stick 'em, And if you promise not to sue us, You can shove one up your nose.
Rick: Cute, your sister's boss gave me a microscope that would have made me retarded.
Morty: Ooh. Oh, boy, Rick, I, I don't think you're allowed to say that word, you know.
Rick: Morty, I'm not disparaging the differently abled. I'm stating the fact if I had used this microscope, it would have made me mentally retarded.
Morty: Okay, yeah, but I don't think it's about logic, Rick. I, I think the word has just become a symbolic issue for powerful groups that feel like they're doing the right thing.
Rick: Well, that's retarded.
Jake's Mom: Your sister really looks up to you.
Jake Long: She's two feet tall! She looks up to everybody!
Oro Dassyne: I wonder how many they'll send. We've got so much firepower in here, these walls are ray-shielded. They can't take this fort. It'll probably be, uh, fifty Jedi. They'll need at least that many. Huh, maybe a hundred Jedi! They'll never take this base with less. Ha, they'll need an army of Jedi!
Battle Droid: I have a visual.
Oro Dassyne: Jedi?
Battle Droid: I think so.
Oro Dassyne: How many? A thousand?
Battle Droid: No.
Oro Dassyne: Eighty?
Battle Droid: No, sir.
Oro Dassyne: What? Fifty?
Battle Droid: Less.
Oro Dassyne: Forty? Come on, how many?
Battle Droid: Two.
Oro Dassyne: What?! Give me those!