Meemaw: I'll have the rib eye, medium rare.
Waiter: And for you?
Dale: Uh, just the house salad, please.
Waiter: Very good.
Meemaw: House salad? You watching your figure?
Dale: I have a physical tomorrow.
Meemaw: Oh, so your plan is to start eating healthy now?
Dale: Can't hurt.
Meemaw: It ain't gonna undo years of red meat and beer.
Dale: I'm not trying to undo it, I'm just trying to hide it under some lettuce.

Dale: You actually bought this thing?
Meemaw: It's fun, huh?
Dale: I feel like I'm riding in a banana.
Meemaw: Oh, come on. It's a beautiful day. The top is down. Feel that wind.
Dale: Yeah, I feel the wind. I just can't feel my feet.
Meemaw: Well, put your seat back.
Dale: If I put it any further back, I'd be in the trunk.
Meemaw: Starting to wish I had put you in the trunk. [Dale covers his mouth] What are you doing now?
Dale: Keeping the bugs out of my mouth.

George Jr.: [o.s.] Did you like school?
Dale: Hated it. I quit and I joined the Army.
George Jr.: [o.s.] How was that?
Dale: Less girls, more getting shot at.
George Jr.: [enters] Well, at least you made it out alive.
Dale: Well, then I got married. Made me kind of miss getting shot at.
George Jr.: Have you ever been happy?
Dale: Ooh, let's see. No.

Dale: Have you tried the meatballs here? They are fantastic.
Meemaw: I haven't. But speaking of meatballs, I hear you're gonna hang out with my son-in-law.
Dale: Yeah.
Meemaw: Hmm.
Dale: Oh. You don't like that at all.
Meemaw: No, it's fine with me. I hope you all go out and have a grand old time.
Dale: Oh. Yeah, well, what's the matter? You afraid I'm gonna find out all your secrets?
Meemaw: Calm down. You're enjoying this a little too much.
Dale: Enjoying it? I'm loving it. Look how mad you're getting. Come on, what's he got on you? Did you do some jail time? Were you a go-go dancer?
Meemaw: Hmm.
Dale: Have you got a tattoo in a naughty place? Can I see it?

George Sr.: Should we get started?
Malcolm Green: Yes.
Adult Sheldon: I realize some people may find the ins and outs of tax law a little tedious, so allow me to spice this story up. Instead of an audit, imagine this is a showdown between two warriors in the most brutal and exciting form of combat there is... chess. Am I the only one who just got chills?
[fantasy:]
Malcolm Green: Let's start with the business deductions from Schedule A on the tax return dated 1989.
Adult Sheldon: I know, bold opening move. Don't worry, I came to play.
Sheldon: Happy to. I've got those receipts right here. Dated, highlighted... and itemized.
Adult Sheldon: Told you. For the next three hours, we battled it out. Two mighty brains locked in mortal tax code combat.
Malcolm Green: Justify this expense.
Sheldon: Our AGI was less than $50,000.
Malcolm Green: Improper classification.
Sheldon: Rolled over from the previous fiscal year.
Malcolm Green: The receipt has barbecue sauce on it.
Sheldon: Dad.
George Sr.: Sorry.

Dale: Well, you're not a fan of doctors, huh?
Meemaw: They never have good news. They just want to find something wrong.
Dale: It's kind of their job.
Meemaw: If something's wrong with me, I don't want to know about it.
Dale: That's dumb.
Meemaw: No, it's not. If I'm gonna drop dead, I'd rather do it quick and leave lookin' good.

Adult Sheldon: I'm very much a creature of habit. Perhaps it's a trait I got from my father. Every night he would go through the mail, and every night, like clockwork, he would get very cranky.
George Sr.: Damn bills.
Mary: George.
Adult Sheldon: You'd think he'd get used to it, but night after night it upset him all over again.
George Sr.: Jury duty? Son of a...
Mary: George.
Adult Sheldon: It was complicated. I didn't like seeing him upset, but what can you do? I love consistency.