George: Here we are.
Missy: Red Lobster?
George: You love this place.
[flashback:]
Missy: Holy moly.
George: It's good, huh?
Missy: Unbelievable.
[present:]
Missy: Yeah, when I was, like, eight.
George: Well, come on, we had our first daddy-daughter date here.
Missy: Oh, my God, don't ever call it that again.
George: What?
Missy: I have friends who come here on actual dates. They might see us.
George: Thought it'd be nice.
Missy: Can we please go anywhere else?
George: [sighs] Fine. You know, they have those cheddar biscuits.
Missy: Dad.
George: Fine.

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.

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.

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.