George: What the hell? Why are we getting audited?
Sheldon: What? Are you sure it doesn't say "applauded"? Perhaps for a job well done?
George: We're being audited for the last three years of our tax returns. I don't get it. I mailed in that check a week ago.
Sheldon: About that. I can explain.
George: Sheldon?
Sheldon: I just needed some time to prove there were no errors in my work.
George: What did you do?
Sheldon: I took the check before Mom mailed it.
George: What?
Sheldon: But I called the IRS and sorted things out.
George: Clearly you didn't. I told you to let it go.
Sheldon: I'm sorry.
George: This could end up costing us a fortune.
Sheldon: I can fix it.
George: No. I'm gonna hire an accountant and have him handle it right.
Sheldon: But I want to help.
George: You've helped enough. Go to your room.
Sheldon: Yes, sir.

Mary: So he's really good to graduate?
Principal Petersen: He sure is. I got to tell ya, usually when kids leave school after two years, it's not for college. It's for prison or pregnancy.
George: Well, between Georgie and Missy, we may hit the trifecta.
Mary: George!
George: Well, I'm not rooting for it. It's just a thing that could happen.

Georgie: You know what else is nice?
George: Hmm?
Georgie: I get to learn from all your parenting mistakes.
George: I'm starting to think letting you live this long was one of 'em.
Georgie: Like that. I'd never say something so awful to my kid. [George scoffs] Thanks, big guy.

Georgie: A bill? Really?
George: Room and board, buddy.
Georgie: $50 a month for food?
George: The way you eat, I should've gone $50 a week.
Georgie: Laundry services?
George: Your poor mother has to touch your underwear.
Georgie: What's the $10 a month "peema" charge?
George: Oh, P-I-M-A, that's a "Pain in My Ass" tax. My way of getting compensated for you taking years off my life.

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.

George: 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: 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.