— I can't believe they're playing with that butt hamster.
— That is disgusting.
— What you got there, sir?
— Dead hamster.
— If no one's officially called dibs...
— Take it, freak.
— What? I'm making a hamster vest for one of my squirrels.
— A few quick things: Don't talk while I'm talking, never utter the phrase «It's Miller time», and I don't like the smell of cologne in my operating room. Now, I'd like to take a minute to listen to any questions or comments that any of you might have, and then after this minute I never want to hear from any of you ever, ever, ever again. Anyone?
— Uh... I'm allergic to shellfish...?
— Ok, all we have to do here is kill space goblins.
— And what's my motivation?
— You're motivation is to kill space goblins.
— Yeah, but like killing them because I hate them or because I don't share their space goblin values?
— Whatever you want.
— You're the only man who's ever been inside of me.
— I just took out his appendix.
— You know, you didn't have to save me from Mrs. Cropper's husband. I could have handled him.
— How? By ramming your face into his fist over and over again?
— You can make jokes, but I did that to Paul Edwards in college, and who won that fight? He broke two knucles, but I only fractured one skull. Scoreboard, Turk. Scoreboard.
— The girl one just called you Dr Jerk.
— No sweat. You should hear what they call Dr Mickhead.