Six thousand a year tuition to listen to this.
You teach yourselves the law, but I train your minds. You come in here with a skull full of mush; you leave thinking like a lawyer.
When you put your hand into a bunch of goo that a moment before was your best friend’s face, you’ll know what to do.
Look at that face!
Just look at it. Look at that wonderful face of yours!
My God, it’s full of stars.
I is disgustipated.
OK, I’m gonna need a litterbox, a Room Service manual and the TV remote and, in that order. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my office.
There’s nothing wrong with Garfield. He’s just a happy, fat, lazy cat.
Oh, Lou, so catty. I see they’ve given you the key to the executive dumpster. All that butt-sniffing finally payed off.
Oh, you little suck-up!
I hope you washed your arse this morning; it’s about to be kissed by a king.
I can do it. I can do it. Just like falling off a log.
Sunny. Seventy-two. Our next weather report will be in four days.
Anybody not wearing 2 million sunblock is gonna have a real bad day. Get it?
Oh God… Make it easy for him. Somehow.
Jack, these are the sequels. They gotta get harder.
There are certain rules that one must abide by in order to create a successful sequel. Number one: the body count is always bigger. Number two: the death scenes are always much more elaborate - more blood, more gore - carnage candy. And number three: never, ever, under any circumstances, assume the killer is dead.
No, you are dead, this is Heaven and I am Virgin Mary.
No, it isn’t Heaven. Nope, it isn’t Hell either. Actually, there is no Hell - although I hear Los Angeles is getting pretty close.