Jim: He's an artist.
George Jr.: Cool.
George Sr.: Like, the, uh... the guy on TV that paints the clouds.
Connor: Uh, my stuff is a little more, uh, abstract.
George Jr.: Oh, sure. That means it doesn't look like stuff.

George Jr.: What are you doing?
George Sr.: Separating the whites from the colors.
George Jr.: Whoa, that's racist.

George Jr.: I think the saddest part about it is just how sad it is.

George Jr.: So, Vietnam, like in Rambo.
Tam: Yes.
George Jr.: That's a cool movie.
Tam: Yes.
George Jr.: Are you in it?
Tam: No.

Mandy: [sighs] Hey. I didn't know you were here.
George Jr.: Just checking out the loot. This is amazing. Why don't all bras do this?
Mandy: Take that off.
George Jr.: Well, that's what's great: you don't have to. Look at this.
Mandy: The father of my child.
George Jr.: Ooh, nipple cream. Maybe I should've went to this party. Sounds fun.

Dr. Linkletter: It's open.
Sheldon: Hello. [Dr. Linkletter groans] I was wondering if I could have access to the lab on Sunday.
Dr. Linkletter: I'm not here on Sunday.
Sheldon: Where will you be?
Dr. Linkletter: If I tell you that, you might go there.
Sheldon: Well, I told you where I'll be: the lab.

Mary: All right, please, uh, say goodbye to your husband.
Audrey: Well, you can tell him yourself. He's hiding behind that stack of tires.
[Jim emerges from behind the tires and gives Mary a little wave]
Mary: Bye.