John Farley: You have a father?

Mr. Woodcock: Of course I have a father, Farley, I'm not Jesus.

John Farley: Lets go, Woodcock.

Mr. Woodcock: You must like getting spanked, Farley. I guess it runs in the family.

Mr. Woodcock: [after Farley flips Mr. Woodcock in hospital bed] One pothole in this entire town Farley... and you've managed to find it.

John Farley: [quietly to Woodcock, as he seems stunned] Are you okay?

John Farley: [loudly] RHETORICAL QUESTION, WOODCOCK!

[slams him in the back with a chair]

Mr. Woodcock: S-s-s-set of ten!

Mr. Woodcock: You're going to find out there are alot more important things to know than the capital of Montana. Nedderman, what's the capital of Montana?

Young Nedderman: Helena?

Mr. Woodcock: Who cares? Go run a lap!

Pizza Waiter: Woodcock's plowing your mom?

Mr. Woodcock: It's too late. She's made her mind up, Farley.

John Farley: What? My mom's the best thing that's ever happened to you.

Mr. Woodcock: One day you'll date girls and you'll understand. Once a woman makes her mind up... there's no changing it.

John Farley: Oh, I get it. You're scared. Your last marriage fell apart because she was cheating on you. Again, and again, and again.

Mr. Woodcock: The woman's a deviant, Farley. Who cares?

John Farley: So you're scared of getting hurt again?

Mr. Woodcock: Hey, spare me the self-help crap, OK? You're not a guru. You're a spoiled little kid who can't seem to let go of his momma's right tit.

John Farley: Oh, yeah? Well, you're just a pussy with a whistle!

Mr. Woodcock: Really? You cocky little shit. Do you actually think you're tougher than me?

John Farley: Ooh. Any time, any place.

Mr. Woodcock: Get the rentals, Farley.

Beverly Farley: Uh, you ready for dinner?

Mr. Woodcock: Mm hmm. I don't know about you, but I've been thinking about meat all day long.

Beverly Farley: [to John] Jasper grills the best beef in Nebraska.

Mr. Woodcock: Well, I *am* known for my meat.

John Farley: [mimmicking, mockingly] "I'm known for my meat. I'm known for my meat." Actually, you're not known for your meat, Woodcock. You're known for emotionally crippling an entire generation of children. Dickhead!

Maggie Hoffman: [to the flight attendant] Could I get a real bottle, please? I'm an alcoholic, not a Barbie doll.

Mr. Woodcock: I don't do 'Sorry'.

John Farley: What?

Mr. Woodcock: Sorry is for criminals and screw-ups... and I'm neither one.

Maggie Hoffman: Look, I don't care if your granny is on fire.

Maggie Hoffman: This is Oprah! She farts on a book and it magically sells a million copies.

Nedderman: What's next, the Hitler Calzone?

John Farley: When you make a blame sandwich, you gotta be ready to eat it yourself.

[repeated line]

Mr. Woodcock: Rhetorical question!