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Gary: Look, just keep your pants on. I got one more errand to run.

Chuck: Oh, you and your errands. All right, just so you know, I want an apple pancake and real pork sausage. And I don’t wanna hear any crap about that talking pig.

Gary: Fine. I just don’t see how you can eat sausage after seeing that movie, that’s all.

Chuck: How? I *hate* that stupid pig. I sat in that movie, and for 93 minutes all I could think about were sausage links and pork rinds.

Marissa: I thought it didn’t matter. I thought you were bigger than that.

Chuck: Are you kidding? *No* man is that big.

Marissa: Are you all right?

Chuck: Yeah! He’s great. He’s never been better. Another man is marrying his wife.

Gary: I’m fine.

Chuck: Probably wants to kill himself.

Gary: I just wanna know who *he* is.

Marissa: You know, Marcia’s right. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that now he can move on.

Chuck: Move on?

Marissa: Yes.

Chuck: Gary does not know who this guy is. For all *he* knows, she could be marrying the *most* successful, *best* looking guy in the city, with the *biggest*...

Marissa: Chuck.

Chuck: Boat. The biggest boat. A yacht, on Lake Michigan.

Marissa: It takes time, but he’ll get over it.

Gary: The truth is...

Chuck: Not if it’s a Kennedy. He’d never get over it if it was a Kennedy. I know *I* wouldn’t.

Marissa: This is *exactly* what he needs. Closure.

Chuck: Wrong. What he needs is a martini and a date....with a supermodel.

Marissa: Oh, great. That’s your answer to everything.

Chuck: Ask him yourself. Gar - closure? or a supermodel? I’ll bet you two to one.

Gary: *Guys!* Thank you very much for all your input, but I’m fine. I’m over it. I’m good. And I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.

Chuck: Touchy. He’s *very* touchy.

Marissa: *Very* touchy.

Marcia: No, Gary. No, I just opened up the yellow pages, closed my eyes and picked a name.

Gary: Oh, well, that would make a *lot* more sense.

Chuck: And a concussion. Tell her about the concussion.

Gary: It was an *accident.*

Chuck: Are you sure?

Gary: What do you mean, am I sure? What, do you think I aimed at him? I didn’t even *see* his fat face. [Weasley] whiny voice, yapping behind me - “Yeah, Marcia this, Marcia that, Condo on the lake.” What, you don’t believe me?

Chuck: Come on, Gary, haven’t you ever read Freud? There *are* no accidents. This was no game of squash. This was a textbook Reverse Oedipal Triangle.

Marissa: Here we go.

Chuck: Two father figures, in an enclosed space, fighting for the favors of the same woman, using *rackets.* Come on, people. The symbolism is all here.

Gary: Oh yeah? Well, Chuck, sometimes a racket’s just a racket.

Chuck: Sometimes, yes. This time? No. I don’t think so.

Gary: Marcia’s gonna kill me.

Chuck: Tell her it was an accident.

Gary: It *was* an accident!

Chuck: Yes. Now, if you tell her like *that,* with that kind of conviction, *then,* then she might believe you.