Michael: Your Uncle Gob seems to think that he saw you down at the docks today. Was that you?
George Michael: No. No. Maybe it was the other George Michael. You know, the singer-songwriter.
Michael: Yeah, that makes sense.
Michael: [after confronting his son about marijuana] He's lying to me! I don't believe it! Where the hell is this family's morality?
Gob: [lets out a puff of marijuana smoke] I don't know. Oh, it's... cold out.
[Michael wants to teach his son a lesson like the ones his father used to teach him]
Michael Bluth: I need the guy with the fake arm, J. Walter Weatherman.
George Bluth, Sr.: Oh, he's dead. You killed him when you left the door open with the air conditioning on.
Michael: [about George Michael's test] A-?
George Michael: Are you proud of me?
Michael: Very proud... minus.
George Michael Bluth: ...It was for me. I was going to smoke the marijuana like a cigarette.
Michael: [after strippers dressed as cops have taken off their uniforms] You knew all along, didn't you?
George Michael: Sorta. One of the hot cops was my choir teacher.
George Michael: [Arguing with his math book] Dumb, dumb George Michael, dumb...
Michael: Hey, calm down there, you two; it's just a math problem.
George Michael: Yeah, but if I fail math then there goes my chances to get a good job and have a happy life full of hard work, like you always say, right Dad?
Michael: [to George Michael] I want you to take the rest of the day off. Here's 20 bucks, buy something you don't need, be a kid, make mistakes, get in trouble.
Buster: Yes, make a mistake. Take 225 from me.