It's just that I would be more thankful if we had roast beef.

The playoffs are over. The Superbowl is over. Gone. Gone. Gone.

Susan, this might be just the wine talking, but - I think I want to order more wine.

You had me at goodbye.

You may rush in.

I’d like to believe we’re redefining the way future generations will waste their time.

Ah, spring—when a young skinhead’s fancy turns to kicking ass.

Rain, Your Holiness—may I suggest the plastic papal vestments?

You’re a disgrace to your tax bracket.

Remember, son, these are your tax-free years. Make the most of them.

Globally warm enough for you, buddy?

I’ll be in, honey, as soon as I rake the leaf.

His coffee’s always crap for about a week after the MacArthur genius-grant winners are announced.

Your skin is enlarged.

Don’t these fools realize they’re violating every principle of feng-shui?

Forgive me, Doris, but some computer hacker from Rosyln, Long Island has just gained access to my feelings.

As far as I'm concerned, they can do what they want with the minimum wage, just as long as they keep their hands off the maximum wage.

I feel like my best passwords are already behind me.

Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do with your life after the Super Bowl?

Creative, imaginative, and fierce—these are just a few of the words I’m reading off the teleprompter.