Mary: What time are you home tonight?
George: Late. I'm working at Ballard's after practice again.
Mary: How long can you keep this up?
George: Uh, maybe I'll get fired from the high school and only have one job to worry about.
Mandy: I'm sorry.
George: Me, too.

George: And Sheldon's fine. You know what he's like. If someone took him, I'm sure they'll bring him right back.

Sheldon: There's going to be a lecture on carbon dating at the Natural Science Museum on Saturday. Who would like to take me?
George: You know what? I'd be happy to.
Meemaw: What happened to helping me at my yard sale?
George: Ooh, is that this Saturday? I'm sorry. I'm taking him to a lecture on, uh what is it? Carbonation?
Sheldon: Carbon dating. A method of determining the age of artifacts and fossils.
George: Hey, we could use that to figure out how old your grandma is.
Sheldon: That won't work. You can't carbon-date something that's alive.
George: Well, then, we'll just chop her down and count the rings.
Meemaw: Oh, George, did my "lump of clay" remark strike a nerve?
George: A little.

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.

Sheldon: Oh, I'm assuming you heard the bad news.
Mary: What news?
Sheldon: Isaac Asimov died.
Mary: Oh, no, is that one of your school friends?
Sheldon: What? No, he's one of the most prolific science fiction writers in the history of the genre.
George: Never heard of him.
Sheldon: Sure you have. He wrote I, Robot, the Foundation trilogy.
George: Nope.
Sheldon: Nightfall? The Posotronic Man?
George: You ever heard of this guy?
Mary: Mm-mm.
Sheldon: Caves of Steel. Hostess. The Naked Sun?
George: Whoever he is, sorry he died. Gotta go. Bye.
Mary: Bye.
Adult Sheldon: Astonishing. Asimov wrote almost 500 books, which was apparently 500 more than my family had read.

Dr. Linkletter: I can't believe you'd use our book club to hit on Connie.
Dr. John Sturgis: And you didn't, Captain Cookies?
Dr. Linkletter: All right, if we're both gonna pursue her, let's lay down some ground rules.
Dr. John Sturgis: Fair enough.
Dr. Linkletter: And my ginger snaps are moist and delicious!
Dr. John Sturgis: Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

Dr. Linkletter: [on answer phone] Connie, Grant Linkletter. Wonderful seeing you tonight.
Meemaw: Yeah, yeah.
Dr. Linkletter: Hope you enjoyed our little book club. If you'd ever like to discuss it further, I know the perfect Italian café. The cannolis are resplendent.
Meemaw: Resplendent! [chuckles] [machine beeps]
Dr. John Sturgis: [on answer phone] Connie! John Sturgis here.
Meemaw: What a surprise.
Dr. John Sturgis: It was so nice to have you at our book club. When it comes to science fiction, those things can be real sausage parties. Anyhoo, if you're free next week, I was wondering if you'd like to... [Meemaw skips to the next message]
Dr. Linkletter: Grant Linkletter again. If you don't like Italian, I also know a sublime Vietnamese spot. Have you ever tried Bún Boò Hue? [machine beeps]
Dr. John Sturgis: I don't know why I said "sausage party." There was probably a better way to phrase that. [machine beeps]
Dr. Linkletter: Connie, Grant Linkletter...