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: I know there's really nobody to blame for this but myself, well, I don't know, maybe the Buffalo Bills, the Boston Red Sox, or Mr. T or, or the Jets... Mitch
: Wait a minute, Mr T.? Are you telling me that you bet on the fight in Rocky III, and that you bet against Rocky? Dr. Farthing
: Hindsight is twenty-twenty, my friend.
: Hey, doc, what happened to your foot? Dr. Farthing
: What I don't understand is... when you owe a bookie a lot of money, and he, say, blows off one of your toes, you still owe him the money. Doesn't seem fair to me. Especially when he's gonna kill me in four days anyway.
: Dr. Farthing, what happened to your arm? Dr. Farthing
: Well, it was either from sleeping on it the wrong way or bookmakers throwing me out of a speeding car.
: For six hundred dollars, I can sell you a perfectly good hospital bed. Sam
: Are you crazy? I don't need a bed! Dr. Farthing
: [Nods, and gives the famous Chevy Chase "ingratiating stare."
] Playing hardball, are you? Okay, five fifty.