George Jr.: I'm not really in trouble. I'm just dating this girl, and she's a little older than me.
Dale: What's the problem?
George Jr.: She doesn't exactly know how much older than me she is.
Dale: How much older is she?
George Jr.: Like ten years. But she's blond and she's really hot.
Dale: Well, that doesn't matter. I mean, if you're lying to her, that's not okay.
George Jr.: Hold on. You're saying if you were my age and dating this hot girl, you'd tell her the truth and blow your chances?
Dale: Well, that's not the question you asked me.

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: 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.

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?

Pat: Look, you seem like nice folk, but Yankees ain't popular around here. I suggest you be on your way.
Dr. Linkletter: Sorry to have troubled you. Let's go.
Sheldon: Excuse me. My colleagues may be from the North, but for your information, I'm a Texan, born and bred. I know that real chili has no beans, and when my meemaw says, "Bless your heart," she means something very different. Now, my friend here is in need of help, and since our state motto is literally "friendship," may he please use your phone?
Pat: Well, dang. [puts the phone on the bar]
Dr. John Sturgis: And could I trouble you for a yellow pages?
Dr. Linkletter: Oh, boy.

Adult Sheldon: After a quick burial behind the bar, we were back on the road. Dr. Sturgis tried to find some appropriate music for a proper send-off. Three Christian talk shows and a whole lot of static later, he settled on what he declared the Dixieland jazz of West Texas. ["El Son de la Negra / Guadalajara" playing] Mariachi.
Dr. John Sturgis: Vaya con dios, armadillo. Vaya con dios.

Dr. John Sturgis: Societal norms are different on road trips. Normally, I don't eat junk food, but here, it's tradition. I'm not even sure what a chicharron is.
Sheldon: It's the deep-fried skin of a pig.
Dr. John Sturgis: That seems like something they should say on the bag.