Roger: Steve, look at those kids their athletes. When was the last time you ran any where? I mean with your actual legs not by pressing X.

Stan: You're damn right I won't sue if you're paralyzed!

Roger: If I have one more piece of vomit pie I'm going to pumpkin.

Francine: I don't vote, it's just so confusing. I go into the booth pull the curtain and count to 10. Then I come, out yell "Democracy!" and run to my car.


Roger: Steve, I don't think a make-out session is going to help but I guess that's what coaches do.

Steve: I've never seen my dad cry. I don't think he can.
Roger: When we get through with him, he'll be bawling like a baby, sobbing like a poor African woman who just lost all of her kids to a scatter bomb. [Steve gasps] Powerful enough for you?

Francine: Here's a recipe for Black Muslim Bean Pie. I can make it "Allah mode". That means "God be with ice cream."

Roger: [After slapping Stan in the face] Take that Sir! Behold a grown man weeping like...[Stan breaks a chair over Roger's face]
Steve: That! That was your plan? Are you crying?
Roger: Yes I'm crying, he hit me with a chair.

Roger: Hey Steve, before the game how many ears did you have?

Steve: [After Stan tries to hang himself] Ahhh. Oh my God, Dad!
Roger: Hang on Steve he's still breathing. Stan are you trying to kill yourself or thrill yourself?

Hayley: Dad, why did you do this?
Stan: Because I lost!
Steve: Don't you think that's a bit of an overreaction? So you lost! Nobody cares.
Stan: I care! I know I lost, and I couldn't bear to carry that shame around for the rest of my life.
Roger: Don't want to pile on, but you probably could've done a little better job with this whole suicide thing. I mean, you own guns.

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