Archive for: March 2008

“Easy, buddy. That smell burning your nostrils isn’t just the baby throw-up on her jacket - it’s the smell of a doctor with integrity.” –>

“Ah, when it comes to torturing you, everybody’s on the same page.” –>

“If I got to be right and have a private practice doctor die due to his own idiocy, I would call that a pretty full victory.” –>

“I’m just gonna go ahead and tip myself for calling this one. Thank you, me!” –>

“Jordan said I’m the only man she ever wants to have sex with! (…) Aren’t we sharing fantastic lies we choose to believe for personal reasons?” –>

“Bobbo! No time! Gotta go tell Mr. Clancy that his tumor is benign. Is that not exciting? Should be worth a finski - whatta ya think?” –>

“Blondie! He is private practice. Those guys are cocky jackasses who don’t give two shakes about anybody else’s opinion but their own. They’re…they’re me, with one addendum: They’re whores. And I’m not talking about the good kind of whores like my ex-wife. They’re whores for money.” –>

“A tip jar. Really? So what am I supposed to do, just duke you my change because you poured hot water through beans? Well, I’ll tell you what, my friend, unless you’re also planning on giving me a complimentary reach-around with my beverage, I’m afraid the answer is yeah…no! Here’s a–here’s a novel idea: Why don’t you go fetch me a very large cup of coffee with so damn many fake sugars in it, that the coffee itself gets cancer.” –>

“A coffee place in a hospital? What’s next, Bob, an ice cream parlor in the morgue? Admittedly not a horrible idea, seeing as the freezers are already down there, plus it’ll be a perfect place for kids — one of our famous vanilla malteds definitely takes the sting out of having to identify the freshly charred remains of your father!” –>

“She’s mad. But she can’t give me the silent treatment because she knows I’d actually love that, so she’s giving me the talk-until-I-want-to-commit-suicide treatment.” –>