— Who left this urine here?
— Someone's got a secret admirer.
You're forcing me to say what I prayed I'd never have to say again to a woman. Please, please, please, put down the cup of urine.
— 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.
Wedding talk? How lovely. Listen, Hilton sisters, Mr Quinn in 206 still has a severely shattered clavicle and he needs a surgical consult. Seeing as he's your patient and you're a surgeon, gosh, I was hoping that if you two hens have an extra moment between choosing centre pieces and deciding exactly how you're gonna attach that veil onto baldy's head, it would just be super-de-duper if you could peek in and give him the old lookie-loo, wouldn't it?
I'm happy when someone wins a battle, because around here you get your fair share of disappointment.
— It sounds like you're asking me out on a man-date.
— Turk, why are you so afraid of loving me?