[Dr. Cox explains his problems to J.D]
Dr. Cox: There you are, superstar. Fix that.
J.D.: Well, that's easy! Just tell her about it. Tell her everything you feel.
Dr. Cox: Should I give her every reason to accept that I'm for real?
J.D.: First of all, no-one understands relationships like Billy Joel, okay? "Uptown Girl" got me through high school - long story for another day.
Mr. Randolph: Do you know what channel that Queer Guy show is on?
[inferring that J.D. is gay. J.D. just stares at him]
Dr. Cox: Go ahead, you can tell him.
J.D.: Bravo, Tuesdays at 10, 9 central, 8 Mountain.
[Mr. Randolph nods as if to say 'thought so']
J.D.: You don't want to end up like the Randolphs back there, just not saying a word to each other, do you?... You wish WE were more like the Randolphs, don't you?
Dr. Cox: [looking up & smiling blissfully] God save me, I do. I reeeeally do!
Dr. Elliot Reid: I honestly don't mind that you're making fun of me but what does bother me is that no one is ever allowed to make fun of you.
Nurse Carla Espinosa: People can make fun of me.
Dr. Elliot Reid: [scoffs] Come on, what about that delivery guy yesterday? I mean, you practically tore him a new binglebore.
Nurse Carla Espinosa: But he's not my friend. My friends can make fun of me whenever they want.
Dr. Elliot Reid: Really? Well in that case you're a know-it-all smartypants and if you're not telling someone what to do, you're probably not talking.
Nurse Carla Espinosa: Okay, I guess I can be a little bossy.
Nurse Laverne Roberts: A little? Girl, please. If you met Jesus hisself, you'd be trying to tell him where to park his donkey.
J.D.: Oh, are we allowed to do this now? What about that whole like, hands on the hips Carla from the block thing she does when she's mad when she's like
J.D.: "oh Bambi, you do not want to mess with me right now."
Dr. Doug Murphy: [laughs] You do sound like that.
Nurse Carla Espinosa: [with her hand on her hip] Careful, Doug, we are not that close yet.
J.D.: You know, Dr. Cox, we've known each other for over two years. Let me in, okay? Help me help you, help me help you, help me help you...
Dr. Cox: [interrupting] Stop it!
J.D.: Help me help you.
Dr. Cox: Fine, Newbie. Let me, let me tell you a little story. It starts every day at 5 in the morning which is just about the time that you're setting your hair for work when I am awakened by a sound. Is that a cat being gutted by a fishing knife? No, that's my son. He's hungry and he's got a load in his pants so big that I'm actually considering hiring a stable boy but I go ahead and dig in because I do love the lad and gosh, you know me. I'm a giver and
Dr. Cox: I'm off to the hospital where my cup runneth over with both quality colleagues such as yourself and a proverbial clown car full of sick people. But, what the hey, my pay is about the same as guys who break rocks with other rocks and I only have to work three or four hundred hours a week so, so far I'm a pretty happy camper. And then I head back home where I am greeted by the faint musk of baby vomit in a house that used to smell like, well... nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I-I-In fact, it used to smell like nothing at all and all I want to do before I restart this whole glorious cycle is, you know... maybe lay on the couch and have a beer, watch some Sports Center and, if I'm not too sweaty for the day's labors stick my hand right down my pants buuut apparently that's not in Jordan's definition of pulling your weight. So, uh... there you are, superstar. Fix that.