Category: Season 3

Who said who to what now?

I can’t imagine anything I care less about.

Hey, studly! Now, when you were out rooting through the dumpster, you didn’t stumble across your own testicles, did’ja?

Well, you shoulda let me hire the really skinny model. At least if she ate Jack, she’d throw him up right after.

So I…I’m pretty much thinking it’s time to get the fear back. And I’m sorry, but I think life is just too short to spend your time working someplace where people don’t crap their pants at the mere sight of ya.

Looking for streamers and a–and a marching band, because this will be the ceremonial one-millionth time I’ve had to shake off something that you’ve said.

Now, I know you say you love us all equally. But you don’t, do ya. I’m onto you, Big Man!

I can’t stop!

Wedding talk! Ohh, how lovely! — Listen, Hilton sisters: Mr. Quinn in 206 still has a severely shattered clavicle and he needs a surgical consult now. And, 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 centerpieces and deciding just exactly how you’re gonna attach that veil onto Baldy’s head, well, it would just be super-de-duper if you could peek in in there and give him the old lookie-loo; wouldn’t it?

All right, I’m sure you’re wondering why I accepted the position of residency director considering my disdain for, well…all of you. Is it the extra four dollars a week in my paycheck? Or is it the fact that I finally have a chance to make a difference in this God-forsaken hell-hole.