Better Off Ted

Veronica: I was up against this man--Walter--who had the same last name as I do, although we pronounce it differently. Linda: There's another way to pronounce "Palmer"? Veronica: In his family, the "P" is silent. I think it's Dutch. It sounds like their stupid handiwork, with their cheese and their giant propeller buildings. Linda: So Walter... "Almer"? Veronica: I know. Those people are unbelievable.

Veronica: So this is guilt, huh? In the past, I've always just counteracted this feeling with other emotions, like sugar or drunk.

Veronica: I do hate this feeling. I hate it like I hate... Linda: Don't tell me. The Dutch. Veronica: I don't hate the Dutch. I love the Dutch. That's why I hold them to a higher standard.

Janet: The company doesn't make mistakes. Ted: What about that memo announcing "Casual Fribsday"? Janet: The company said that wasn't a mistake. They explained that the ancient Mayans prophesied Fribsday--the first ever eighth day of the week which will occur in 2024. Which the company believes should be celebrated casually. I'm going to wear a denim pantsuit. Ted: And when they urged all employees to "carpoop"? Janet: That wasn't mandatory. Thank God. Ted: Although we did find out what people would do to park slightly closer to the building.

Lem: And so this new line of meals-ready-to eat gives the soldier in the field a portable meal with all the home-cooked flavor of something Mom used to chemically dehydrate and vacuum pack.

Veronica: Here, I brought you a cake. And a jar of herring. Maybe you can wait until I leave before you smear the cake with it. Walter: I'm not Dutch. And the Dutch don't smear herring on half the things you say they day.

Linda: Ted, a little chaos can be a good thing. My grandma met my grandma when a tornado blew her into his barn. He pulled the rake out of her chest and proposed on the spot.

Phil: We really should have been reading these memos. Lem: Damn! We didn't have to work on Thanksgiving! Phil: And look! Like I suspected, we were supposed to be wearing lead aprons when we were working on that genital x-ray project.

Phil: I'm terrible at insults. As a child, I was beaten up constantly. The best comeback I ever came up with was, "You're right. I'll work on that." Lem: I can help you, you sad jar of hobo urine. Phil: Pow! I've been Lem-basted.

Veronica: So I let him kiss me. Linda: Oh, my God! Veronica: But then I still felt guilty, so I let him feel me up. Linda: Oh, my... Veronica: I think I might need new breasts. These are covered in sadness. Ted: Wow. This is like the most depressing Penthouse letter ever.

(getting on an elevator) Debbie: Could you press 10 for me, you rat-face Nazi? Phil: Your breasts should be on display at the Swiss Museum of Miniatures. You said 10, right?

Linda: So not being controlling lasted for about one second? Ted: I'm sorry. The naggity-nag-nag bitchy-bitch is right. Anything anyone wants to say is fine with me. Linda: You heard the corporate chimp. Start making suggestions for meals-ready-to-eat before his head goes back up his butt.

Linda: Well, in my experience, scaring a man away is pretty easy. Basically, you're gonna want to put three words into heavy rotation--babies, future, and commitment. Veronica: Back off! I need my space! Wow, those words are powerful.

Phil: Give a man an insult, he can hurt people for a day. Teach a man to insult, he can hurt people who tease him because he never learned to fish. Anyway, I've devised a formula. Lem: Look at that. You had a problem in your life and who stepped up to help you? Math. She has always been there for you, hasn't she, Phil? Phil: If she ever took physical form, I'd leave my wife and marry her. Lem: Stand in line, my friend. Phil: Anyway, it's really quite simple. You take a person's most marked physical feature, compare it to genitalia--male, female, or animal--and end with the suffix "-bag," "-wipe", or "-muncher." Lem: You could also add an optional reference to excretion from any of the glorious openings offered by the human body.

Veronica: In fact, we need to talk about us. And the future of our babies and how they'll be committed. Walter: Wow, that's a lot to take in. Okay. Veronica: I need this relationship to have a future because I need babies. That's right--big, screaming babies shooting out of my uterus, just stacking up like cordwood. Walter: Really? Veronica: Yes, sir. That's all I ever think about--the future, babies, and commitment. Future, babies, commitment. Future, babies, commitment. Commitment, commitment, commitment, commitment.

Ted: Now I've got to go find Phil and Lem and straighten out the MRE disaster. Veronica: Don't boo-hoo me. Did that MRE touch your boobies, Ted? Then shut the hell up.

Phil: Your eyes look like two beady rabbit pellets on the face of a monkey-licking pus-bomb. Lem: You've just been Phil-abusted. Phil: Nice! Lem: That's it--fill up your canker-blossomed hole, you ale-soused apple-john. That was the Elizabethan model. Phil: Ye have been served.