Missy: Son of a Mitch.
Mary: Melissa Cooper.
Missy: What? I said "Mitch." There's nothing wrong with that.
Mary: But you meant another word.
Missy: I'm sorry, what other word?
Mary: Just watch it.
Missy: Hold on. So you're saying if I have a friend whose dad's name is Mitch, I'm not allowed to talk about him?
Mary: I know what you're doing.
Missy: Okay, I just feel bad for my friend. That poor son of a Mitch.
Mary: Melissa Cooper.

Mary: Bless us, Lord, for the food we are about to receive and bless the hands that prepared it.
Missy: And bless Mom.
Mary: Thank you. Amen.
Missy: Amen.
George Jr.: Amen.
Sheldon: She's the hands that prepared it. Your blessing is redundant.
Mary: Let's eat.

Missy: Eat dirt. Eat it.
Meemaw: Kick his ass!
Missy: Does it taste good? Huh?
Dale: Yeah, listen to your meemaw. Kick his ass!
Missy: You gonna cry? Huh? Do it. Cry.
Mary: Do something. Break it up.
George Sr.: H-Hang on. She's winning.
Mary: Missy! Missy Cooper, you stop beating up that boy!
Meemaw: Punch him in the nuts!

Missy: Someone's Underoos are in a knot.
Sheldon: My Underoos are fitting just fine, thank you.
Missy: Then why is there a stick up your butt?
Sheldon: Stop making inquiries about my bottom.
Missy: But I enjoy 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.

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.