Lyman Vunk: [instructing a managerial training class] We reserve the right... to refuse service... to ASSHOLES like YOU.
[entire class repeats]
Lyman Vunk: [instructing a managerial training class] Put those cookies back... MOTHERFUCKER.
[entire class repeats, Sister Sara crossing herself]
[Explaining how much formula has been given to Zipser]
Dr. Mole: I injected 20 cc's of bird cum. That is the equivalent of 3 tons of my new synthetic chicken.
Lyman Vunk: 3 TONS?
Dr. Mole: Yes... that would be as if he had a bucket of chicken, every day, for 500 years.
Lyman Vunk: Is there any chance of brain damage?
Zipser: Cluck... Cluck.
[an old lady pulls up to the Buster Burgers' drive thru intercom which is shaped like a giant pickle]
"Mr. Pickle" Intercom: Hi, welcome to Buster Burgers, what can I get ch'ya?
Old Lady: Um... one burger... uh, some fries... and a malte. Oh! And, uh, could you put cheese on that, please?
"Mr. Pickle" Intercom: Just say, "Buster Cheese, Bull Chips, and a Chocolate Buster Shake," madam.
Old Lady: Okay.
"Mr. Pickle" Intercom: [annoyed] So say it!
Old Lady: Shove off, pickle! I don't like talking to machines.
"Mr. Pickle" Intercom: Look, toots. Take that Falcon you're driving, chain it up, and shove it where the sun don't shine!
Old Lady: Wha? Wh-wh-why I... ooh... ack!
[collapses from a heart attack]
"Mr. Pickle" Intercom: [once again cheerful] Thanks for coming to Buster Burgers, please move forward. You may be eligible for a prize.
400 club member: [after farting] Deep and mean
Fred Domino: All right, who ordered 60 double Buster burgers?
Magneto Jones: That fat motherfucker right there. That fat motherfucker right there. Them two giggling twin motherfuckers right there. And that skinny walnut headed right there ordered 72.