Office Space

Lawrence: [shouting through the wall from his apartment] Hey Peter, man, check out channel 9, it's the breast exams.

Napoleon Dynamite

Well, I have all your equipment in my locker. You should probably come get it cause I can't fit my numchucks in there anymore.

Old School

Frank: Do it again. Do it again. It tastes so good when it hits your lips.

Old School

Therapist: Frank, this is a safe place. A place where we can feel free sharing our feelings. Think of my office as a nest in a tree of trust and understanding. We can say anything here.

Frank: Anything? Well, uh I guess I, deep down, am feeling a little confused. I mean, suddenly, you get married, and you're supposed to be this entirely different guy. I don't feel different. I mean, take yesterday for example. We were out at the Olive Garden for dinner, which was lovely. And uh, I happen to look over at a certain point during the meal and see a waitress taking an order, and I found myself wondering what color her underpants might be. Her panties. Uh, odds are they are probably basic white, cotton, underpants. But I sort of think well maybe they're silk panties, maybe it's a thong. Maybe it's something really cool that I don't even know about. You know, and uh, and I started feeling... what? what I thought we were in the trust tree in the nest, were we not?

Old School

Woman: What are you doing?
Frank: You tell anyone about this and I'll fucking kill you. I'm kidding, I'm kidding, we'll return him tonight, honey.