Stewie: Alright, hold on, is this what your parents are paying all that tuition you can fuck dogs?

Consuela: Was already broken.

Man: Roarin' twenten tidal waven!

Brian: Well Rupert, this is a big mess.
Stewie: [grabs Rupert] What the hell were you doing talking to him?!

Stewie: Slow motion diving at you!

Brian: Oh hey, Meg. What've you been up to?

[Lois covers her ears in bed. Zoom out to Peter hold a gigantic plume feather in the form of a quill pen, and begins to write]
Peter: "Dearest Augustine, I do hope this latest damp has not aggravated your grey lung." [dips his quill] Dip-dip-dip-dip-dip. "Matters stateside have taken a tragic turn as this year's gourd crop has fallen prey to a rather unexpected infestation of salt marsh cutworms." Dip-dip-dip-dip-dip.
Lois: [sits up] Peter, it's 4 in the morning; come to bed!
Peter: [writes further] "Marital concerns continue to bedevil me."

[Two weeks later. Mort strolls thru the sidewalk with Stewie and Penelope behind]
Penelope: Oh, bloody hell, how do you go two weeks without opening your wallet?
Stewie: Hey, he's been out to dinner, like, four times!
Penelope: We're clearly not going to get him this way.
Stewie: I know which is why I just planted another bomb that's set to go off every time he burps into his hand.
[Mort stops abruptly and burps into his hand; a giant explosion engulfs the scene, then settles and Mort lands onto the pavement]
Mort: Ooohh, I'd better make sure my wallet's okay.

[Peter is on his twin bed next to Quagmire]
Lois: Peter, what's going on?
Peter: Quagmire's havin' a sleepover with me.
Lois: You can't be serious.
Peter: Look, Lois, I told ya that I need to have somebody sleepin' next to me. Alright now, if that's not gonna be you...
Lois: Fine, do what you want, I don't care, but I think it's very strange.
Peter: Okay, that's the one thing that's not.
Quagmire: Yeah, it's not strange.
Lois: I already told you, I don't care. [switches lamp off and lies down]
Quagmire: [to Peter] It's not strange.
Peter: I know.

Stewie: That Dr. Seuss reading was dreadful.
Storyteller: And when the drugs stopped numbing the pain, the sex became even more violent.
Stewie: It doesn't rhyme.
Storyteller: The new stuff doesn't rhyme!

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