Cartman: I just want to say: I love you guys, I do... except you Kyle.
Mrs. Crabtree: Let's go! We're running late!
Stan Marsh: Oh, we're always running late you ugly skank!
Mrs. Crabtree: [shouting] What did you say?
Stan Marsh: Uh... I said I can't wait to own a new fish tank.
Mrs. Crabtree: Oh... well neither can I.
Cartman: Well, let's get home, start eating that candy.
Kyle Broflovski: We can eat it at Cartman's house, and see more naughty pictures of his mom!
Stan Marsh: Yeah!
Cartman: Knock it off, you guys! She said she was young, and needed the money!
Stan Marsh: Cartman, those pictures were taken, like, last month!
Cartman: [Incomprehensible grumble] ... screw you guys!
Kyle Broflovski: Cartman, what kind of costume is that?
Eric Cartman: It's an Adolf Hitler costume. Sieg heil! Sieg heil!
Eric Cartman: Too bad drinking scotch isn't a paying job, otherwise Kenny's dad would be a millionaire.
[Kenny doesn't get it]
Eric Cartman: I said it's too bad drinking scotch isn't a paying job, or else Kenny's dad would be a millionaire!
[Kenny doesn't get it]
Eric Cartman: [exasperated] Your... your family is poor, Kenny! Your family's POOR! I don't like Kenny anymore, he just doesn't communicate...
Stan Marsh: [dressed as Raggedy Andy for Halloween night] I bet I get more candy than you, dude!
Cartman: Are you crazy? I'm the candy master!
Stan Marsh: No no, you're the ass master. There's a difference.
Cartman: Hey! I'm not the one who walks around all day looking like Pippy Longstocking!
Stan Marsh: Oh yeah? Well, at least my mom's not on the cover of Crackwhore Magazine!
Cartman: God dammit! My mom's not on the cover of Crackwhore Magazine!
Cartman: Damnit! We'll never get any candy if Kenny keeps eating people!
Stan Marsh: Yeah! That's it, Kenny, you can't trick-or-treat with us anymore!
Chef: Damn it, boy! Why are you dressed up like that?
[Cartman is in a ghost costume, but it looks like a KKKlansman]
Cartman: [oblivious] I'm trying to trick-or-treat, goddammit!
Chef: Remind me to whoop your ass the next time I see you. Now get inside before the zombies get you!
Puffy: So remember kids, dressing up like Hitler in school isn't cool.
Officer Barbady: You're probably wondering why we're standing here with a pile of money and no pants on.
Mayot: Well I can assure you that it has absolutely nothing to do with the Japanese Mafia.
Officer Barbady: Not a thingy-dingy.
Eric Cartman: [daydreaming while watching a video, imagining himself to be Adolf Hitler] You gotta respect my authora-tah!
Principal Victoria: Good morning there, children. I love the Elvis costume, Chef.
Chef: Elvis? I'm Evil Knievel! Why the hell would I dress up like Elvis?
Principal Victoria: Well, why the hell would you dress up like Eviel Knievel?
Kyle Broflovski: Hey, dudes.
Stan Marsh: Oh good, you're here. Now, let's make sure that we got everything. Flashlight?
Eric Cartman: Check!
Stan Marsh: Plastic pumpkin pails?
Kyle Broflovski: Check!
Stan Marsh: Taser?
Kyle Broflovski: What's that?
Stan Marsh: For shocking people who try to give us granola treats, or something.
Eric Cartman: Yeah, granola pisses me off.
[about to charge at approaching zombies with a chainsaw]
Cartman: Nobody screws up my trick-or-treating... and gets away with it!
Cartman: Kenny's family is so poor, they took out a second mortgage on their cardboard box.
Chef: Doc, I've seen this kind of thing before. This ain't no pinkeye. It's the living dead. Dead people getting up and walking around. They have no heartbeat, breathing, or feeling. Observe.
[Chef pulls a patient's arm off]
Eye Doctor: Uh... Chef, Mr. Torez doesn't have pinkeye. He's here for a routine exam.
Eric Cartman: What are you supposed to be, Stan, Howdy Doody?
Stan Marsh: No, I'm Raggedy Andy, fatass!
Eric Cartman: Oh, heh, wow, you you look pretty cool.
Kyle Broflovski: Sissy!
Stan Marsh: I'll kick your ass, Kyle!
Eric Cartman: Oh, look out! Holly Hobbie's all pissed off!
Eric Cartman: Why don't you go back to Endor, you stupid wookie?
Kyle Broflovski: Wookies don't live on Endor!
Stan Marsh: [fighting off a zombie] Okay, Chef, dial the hotline number!... Chef?
[Chef has become a zombie]
Kyle Broflovski: CHEF!
Chef: [singing] I'm gonna make love, even when I'm dead / My body might be cold, but it's always hot in my bed / Make love, don't be afraid / Just because my heart ain't beating, don't mean you won't get LAID!
[lets out a whoop]
Stan Marsh: Let's get outta here!
[Chef appears brandishing chainsaws, scaring the crap out of them]
Chef: Get off my property, you brain-eating zombie bastards!
Chef: Oh! Sorry, children, I thought you were one of them!
[Zombie Pip appears]
Eric Cartman: It's the British kid! He's a little Limey zombie now!
[Zombie Kenny bites an old lady]
Eric Cartman: Nice going, Kenny! She was about to give us candy!
Stan Marsh: Yeah, she had sweetie pops.
Eric Cartman: You owe me a sweetie pop, asshole!
[at Kenny's grave]
Kyle Broflovski: He was too young to be taken away from us...
Stan Marsh: Dude, you're the one who cut him in half with a chainsaw!
[the kids go to Klu Klux Klan members' houses and they give Cartman one chocolate bar]
Eric Cartman: One Tootie Bar? You cheap asses!
Chef: Get the hell outta here Johnson, I don't want any goddamned pink eye!
[Chef bursts in on the Mayor and Officer Barbrady]
Mayor: Why Chef, what a surprise.
Officer Barbrady: You're probably wondering why we're standing here with a pile of money and no pants on.
Chef: Actually, uh...
Mayor: Well, I can assure you that it has absolutely nothing to do with the Japanese mafia.
Officer Barbrady: Not a thingy-dingy.
Pathologist: What's wrong with us, Doctor?
Eye Doctor: Well, your body temperature is only 55 degrees, you both have no heartbeat, no pulse, and no respiratory activity. You're showing marks of rigermortis, levity, and your eyes are all puffy and sticky.
Pathologist: You mean...
Eye Doctor: Yes, I'm afraid the two of you have pinkeye.
Pathologist's Assistant: I don't know what's happening to me. I'm so hungry that all I can think about eating is... brains.
Eye Doctor: Then don't touch your heads. I'll write you a prescription.