— How do you celebrate without heroin?
— Uh, with cake mostly.
— Then let's score some cake.
Still, don't tear things apart just because you're afraid to feel vulnerable.
— Why are you being so weird?
— Well, of course, that could be because he's shaving his dome so much lately that the hair's starting to grow inward.
— And you were supposed to marry him, last weekend? Speaking of which, I gave you a very hied cappuccino maker, and seeing is there aren't going to be any nuptials...
— Yeah, yeah. You'll get it back.
— Great.
<...>
— Hey, wait a minute. We've only got one cappuccino maker and it was from my brother Barry.
— Worth the shot.
— How, uh, how old is this patient?
— Seventy-nine.
— Uh-huh. And... how old would you say he was when you started this procedure?
— I don't wanna give my two cents but if you do want my opinion, rest assured it will always be that you're an incredible pain and every time I see your Kewpie-Doll face it just makes me want
to pick you up and shake you until all the hours of my life that you've wasted fall out.
— Now laugh.
— What?
— Laugh so that she doesn't think l'm yelling at you.
— Half of what rappers say doesn't make any sense. Like that Snoop Dogg — Dr. Dre song? What does «still hittin' them corners and those ho-hos girl» mean?
— Many disadvantaged African-Americans have limited nutritional choices, therefore they must subsist on Ho-Ho snack cakes. It's a black thing, bro.
— Actually, Turk, it's «still hittin' them corners and them 'lo — los' girls».
— Lo-los, not ho-hos. See, Turk, in the'hood, a lo — lo is a lowrider, or a car with an adjusted suspension that allows it to bounce up and down. And Dre and Snoop enjoy driving around together in their lowriders around the corners, or lizzle — rizzles. I'm representin' for them gangtas all across the world! Still hittin' them corners and them lo — los girls! Still taking my time to perfect the beat, and I still got love for the street!
— Turk! You just got schooled on rap by the two whitest chicks in America!
— None of you can prove it!
— I got it on tape.
Elliot Reid: — Okay, Janitor, Carla's starting to push. Tell Turk.
Janitor: — Got it. Your baby has a tail.
Turk: — I told her to stay away from the microwave.
— You're right, he definitely has a cute little butt.
— It's almost like it's been sculpted.
— Who cares? Everybody's got a cute butt. I have a cute butt.
— You should bring it in some day.
Of course I'm holding back! I'm insane, you idiot. Remember when you told me I had pit stains? I've cried every 15 minutes on the half-hour since you told me. I am racked with self-doubt, I'm claustrophobic, germophobic, phobia-phobic. I talk to myself, I talk to my cat, I talk to three separate shrinks about the fact that my cats respond to me in my mother's voice, and yesterday, when that stupid, pretty surgical nurse handed you latex gloves, I almost killed a guy I was stitching up because I couldn't stop thinking about you having sex on a box of steaks. Why a box of steaks? My dad had an affair with a female butcher. And, as I mentioned before, I am insane. There, I opened up. Are you happy?
— Does this shade of red make me look like a clown?
— No, Barbie. It makes you look like a prostitute who caters exclusively to clowns.