Missy: Why didn't you eat with us?
Sheldon: I'm not hungry. Dad's mad at me.
Missy: Mom's not thrilled with me, either.
Sheldon: Why?
Missy: Mom made chicken, and I said chickens cluck a lot, so they should be called "cluckers." And some chickens are moms, so you could call them "mother..."
Sheldon: I don't care.
Missy: Mom sure did.
Missy: What did you do wrong?
Sheldon: I got Dad in trouble with the IRS. He has to hire an accountant, which could cost us a lot of money.
Missy: Dang, makes me not want to have kids.

Mary: Missy, if you want a minute with Dad before they close the casket, now's the time. [Missy looks unsure] It's okay if you don't.
Mary: I have to. [Missy stands up and walks up to her father's casket]
[flashback:]
George: Here, let me help you with that. Okay.
Missy: [eats] Holy moly.
George: It's good, huh?
Missy: Unbelievable.
George: I'll leave you to it.
Missy: No, sit with me.
George: Okay.
[present:]
Missy: [crying] Thank you for that. Thank you for everything. [sniffles] I love you.

Sheldon: Is Mom okay?
George: How the heck should I know?
Missy: She left. You can say "hell."

Dr. Sandra Thorpe: Have you always been that way?
Missy: I guess so. I think when you're on your own a lot, you get good at seeing that kind of stuff.
Dr. Sandra Thorpe: Really?
Missy: My dad does football with my older brother, so they're like a team. And my mom and meemaw spend all their time fussing over Sheldon, so they're like a team, too.
Dr. Sandra Thorpe: So no one's on your team?
Missy: Nope. It's just me.

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.