Alan: Yeah, So does Disneyland.

Alan: You can't do this Judith, you cannot keep us apart, Herb and I will find a way to be together.
Mailman: Hi.
Alan: Hi, that must have sounded kinda strange.
Mailman: Not at all, Herb is a very handsome man.

Alan: You don't understand. The money isn't for me.
Charlie: Really? Who's it for?
Alan: Old Alan.
Charlie: Old Alan?
Alan: Yeah, you know, the Alan of the future.
Charlie: You're kidding, they're still gonna have Alans in the future?
Alan: No, see, [sighs] the thing is, [sighs] I've been going through kind of a rough financial time since... well, high school. Anyway, it-- it occurred to me that I could wind up an old man with no one to take care of me. I mean, who will Old Alan be able to count on? Certainly not Jake, 'cause let's face it, his best hope of a steady income is if missing the toilet becomes a professional sport.

Alan: You know why I was being audited? Not because I have unsubstantiated deductions, which I have. Not because I take the occasional cash payment from a client and forget to report it, which I do. It was because no one at the IRS could believe I was paying as much alimony as I claimed! It took me three hours to convince them that, yes, I am that big a schmuck!
Charlie: Oh, boo-hoo. You want a real fun time? Try finding an extra-small Ben Franklin costume at 9:00 in the morning.
Alan: Oh, right! The play, uh, how was it?
Charlie: Boffo. A smash. Among the highlights were a twelve-year-old Chinese George Washington with a powdered wig and a snot bubble, and your kid in a bald cap and granny glasses holding a Tweety Bird kite and announcing he's discovered "elasticity".

Alan: You know what the pecking order is in this house? Charlie, women Charlie sleeps with, Charlie's bookie, women Charlie hopes to sleep with, termites, me!
Berta: Well, that's just not right.
Alan: Yeah, but what am I supposed to do? I-I-I can't really afford my own place. I mean, I could, but it certainly wouldn't be on the beach, unless the beach was Guadalcanal.
Berta: It's a shame, you paying all that money for an ex-wife and an ex-wife's house, and you're not allowed inside either one.

Alan: You know what, Charlie? You're impossible! I give up. I'll go get Berta back.
Charlie: Fine! Good!
Alan: All right, where does she live?
Charlie: I don't know.
Alan: All right, what's her last name?
Charlie: I don't know.
Alan: Your entire life revolves around this woman and you don't know anything about her!
Charlie: Wait!.... She took a bus!
Alan: I stand corrected.

Alan: You know, Charlie, there's a special section in Hell reserved for people like you.
Charlie: That's good, because I'd hate to have to stand on line.

Alan: You know, I have never once seen him [Charlie] eat seedless raspberry jam.
Berta: That's because you've never applied a thin layer to your hindquarters.

Alan: You know, I-- I'd rather be a second-class citizen here in paradise than king of a urine-soaked firetrap next to Burbank Airport!

Alan: You need to get Jake dressed, make him his lunch, and get him to school by eight, OK?
Charlie: OK.
Alan: You're not moving.
Charlie: Yes, I am. I'm flipping you off under the covers.
Alan: GET UP!

Alan: You think I joined a support group to pick up women?
Charlie: No, I think you joined a support 'cause you're a whiny little wuss. But as long as you're there, you might as well nail a few.

Alan: You want to help me? Stop talking me up. It's killing me.
Charlie: OK!
Alan: And stop putting yourself down! Somehow that's killing me too!
Charlie: Got it.
Alan: Just-- just sit there and eat your dinner and I'll play your game.
Charlie: Fine! [Alan takes the open urinal next to Charlie] You want to shake on it?
Alan: You're disgusting.
Charlie: Yeah, I'm disgusting. At least I'm not the one taking a squirt on my shoe.

Alan: You'll going to Mom's funeral, won't you?
Charlie: Of course! As the eldest son it's my obligation to pound in the stake.
Alan: Typical. Nothing for Alan to do.
Charlie: OK, you can cut off her head and hold it up for the villagers.

Alan: You're going to hell, you know?
Charlie: I don't think so. I believe in a loving God who forgives little fibs as long as they lead to recreational sex.
Alan: You really wanna drag God into this?
Charlie: Who gave me the penis, Alan?

Alan: You're gonna get married?
Charlie: Yep. Settle down, have a couple of kids, and ship the penis up to Cooperstown.
Alan: Cooperstown?
Charlie: It is my bat.
Alan: Well, sounds like you've got everything figured out.
Charlie: You don't ever figure this stuff out, Alan. You just take little baby steps on a lifelong path to becoming a better man.
Alan: Uh-huh. How many pain pills have you taken?