Stan: Sweet Sally Struthers. [gasps] Sweet Sally Struthers! I can say, "Sweet Sally Struthers!"
Roger: Well, going to the beach as a Saudi exchange student was an awful idea.
Hayley: Well, I'm sorry no one talked to you, but we can't risk anyone seeing you.
Roger: Hayley, I'm a social creature. I need to mingle. You know, back home, I was a greeter at Falaxido. It's kind of like Wal-Mart, except when people work there for 18 years, they aren't proud of it.
Greg: The cyber-terrorist has struck again.
Terry: That's right, Greg. This time he hacked into the computer system at the largest refinery on the East Coast, essentially shutting down all oil production.
Greg: Oh, well, I hope that doesn't include olive oil. Someone promised to make me paella this weekend.
Terry: Great, now it seems like an obligation instead of a treat.
Francine: Stan, stop grinding your teeth. It's not your fault that nut-job is still out there.
Stan: Forget national security! We have a real crisis! Our son is a geek!
Francine: So our son is a geek, who cares?
Stan: You knew? What else have you been hiding? Maybe the fact that he's not even my son. Please, please, tell me you slept with another man. Tell me it was in our bed and he was wearing my tie as a headband. And-and you grabbed the tie to gain leverage, and then apologized, embarrassed. But he said, "No, baby, you grab what you need to grab to keep doing what you're doing." Tell me! If you ever loved me, you'll tell me that's what happened!
Hayley: Look, you said you wanted a job so you could meet people.
Roger: [while in a "Jumbo Juice" costume] No, no, it's good. It's fine. The costume's nice and spacious. There's enough room in here for everything, except my self-respect.
Hayley: It's not my fault the job market sucks. I didn't vote for Bush.
Roger: Let it go, Hayley.
Stan: If you wanna get good at something, you have to see it done up close, by professionals. That's why I took your mother to Bangkok last summer. Her Pad Thai is delicious now.
Roger: I bet if you let me inside your hard shell, I'd find a lump of soft meat. That came out wrong.
Roger: I got beat up by a taco.
Steve: I steal your bag of holding, cut off your head with my vorpal blade, and throw your corpse in the fires of Lake Piracima!
Snot: Whoa! Easy, Steve.
Barry: I am not your father, okay? I'm just Balthor, a simple ogre blacksmith trying to make a living.
Toshi: [in Japanese] Fool. Now who will shoe our horses?
Barry: Look, Mr. Smith! Your stress zits are going away. Yaaay!