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 [...]

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 [...]

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.