Ernest Goes to Jail (1990)
Ernest P. Worrell: Did you hear the one about the three legged dog that walked into a bar and said, "I'm lookin' for the guy that shot my paw."
Ernest P. Worrell: [finding Rimshot in the trashcan] What kind of person would throw away a perfectly good dog?
Ernest P. Worrell: I came! I saw! I got blowed up!
Ernest P. Worrell: Mr. Poodle-Smurf is lucky to have me. One day, I'm gonna walk into his office and I'll say: 'Oscar Babe'.
Oscar Pendlesmythe: WHAT?
Ernest P. Worrell: Oh good morning Mr. Poodle-Smurf, Puddle-Smit, Smiddle-Poot...
Oscar Pendlesmythe: Pendlesmythe you idiot!
Ernest P. Worrell: I've never been inside a restaurant that doesn't have a drive-thru window before.
Chuck: We're sorry, Ernest, Bobby didn't know the mace can was loaded.
Ernest P. Worrell: We're sequestered. And on top of that we can't even leave! This is just great.
Ernest P. Worrell: Like in real, really, really, really, really real prison? The hoose-gow, the slammer, the joint, Alcatraz, San Quentin, Sing Sing, Oh no. I'm in... I'm in... jail!
Ernest P. Worrell: Death row? You mean like the chair, the hot seat, dead meat, deep 6, it's over pal, you're outta here bub, the groundhogs are bringing you your mail, you're picking turnips with a step ladder, the no tomorrow row? That kind of row? Oh no. The row?
Charlotte Sparrow (Miss Sparrow): [thinking Nash is Ernest] What happened to your voice? You sound different?
Felix Nash: Oh, I got a little laryngitis.
Auntie Nelda: The way they run this institution is an outrage, for a poor, tight, old lonely woman like me. Her only son of feathers is a terribly successful one. Young man? Young Man?
[the gate guard comes out]
Auntie Nelda: Young Man, Would you please open that gate, I left my car running outside?
Gate Guard: Ma'am, You tell me how you got through this gate, the visitors area's on the other side of the prison.
Auntie Nelda: I brought him up with the best I could, but sometimes a bad thief pulls from even the most fragile flower.
Gate Guard: Ma'am, you are not going through this gate.
Auntie Nelda: Is this the way you'd treat your mother? Is this the kind of abuse that poor woman must endure?
Gate Guard: Well, I guess that my mother is a little bit mad at-...
Auntie Nelda: Mmmhmm! You ought to be in the slammer with the rest of these misfits! If you had any remorse at all for the HORROR you pushed your mother through, you'd open that gate! I have a car overheating as we SPEAK!
[Ernest makes a snooty expression at the Gate Guard]
Gate Guard: Ok, Ok.
[picks up phone]
Gate Guard: All right! Let's open the east gate.
[hangs it up]
Gate Guard: There, now you satisfied?
Auntie Nelda: Now tell your mother how her son has improved despite his shady and somewhat checkered past.
Felix Nash: Don't worry about that diet, tubby. Once I set this fuse, you'll lose all that weight.
Ernest P. Worrell: So it's come to this. A pointless, miserable end to a shallow, meaningless life. But it's as it should be. It's the hand I've been dealt, and I have to play it as it lays. Oh, I'm not going to cry because life's thrown me a curve. I'm not going to whine because I got mashed potatoes when French fries is what I really wanted. It's time for me to step up to the plate, belly up to the bar! It's time for me to look fate square in the eye, flare my nostrils, breathe life's last breath! It's time for me to lie down with lions so I can soar with the eagles! All right! I'm ready! Come and get me! Let's do it!
[Ernest and the crew he's with are being forced to go into a jail cell, and Ernest is mistaking the prison he's in for his jury crew, and a guard comes up from behind him and hits him]
Ernest P. Worrell: I hope you've got a good story to tell my boss! After all, I do have a living to earn.
Mean prison guard: Now look, Nash -...
Ernest P. Worrell: My name is "Worrel, Ernest P. Worrel."
Mean prison guard: Oh, Mister Funny-Man, huh? Yeah, Mister Funny-Man. You'll think funny when you're tapping to the tune of 2-20, son!
[throws him into his cell, right next to them]
Ernest P. Worrell: That is the rudest bailiff I have ever seen in my life.
Felix Nash: [to Chuck] That's it. Is everyone who works here a moron? Can't you see what I'm doing? I'm robbing the bank. I'm gonna blow the safe, take the money, and leave. I'm robbing the bank. I"m stealing the money that you were paid to protect. I'm robbing the bank.
[Chuck starts laughing, Felix Nash laughs as well, then hits Chuck on the head with a flashlight, Chuck continues laughing for a few seconds, then suddenly collapses on the floor, out cold]
Lyle: Let him go.
Ernest P. Worrell: Lyle! You talk! That's great!
Rubin Bartlett: Have you flipped? Come on, we've got to get of this guy before he blows the whole thing!
Lyle: No! He's different than us!
Rubin Bartlett: [before Lyle knocks him out] Shut up and get out of my way!
Lyle: You better go. Mister Nash is probably robbing the bank right now.
Ernest P. Worrell: Nash? Well, come with me.
Lyle: I don't belong out there. I got a place in here.
Ernest P. Worrell: Well, I'm gonna miss you, buddy.
Lyle: Ernest, things won't be the same without you. You know what I mean?
Guard: Eat, Greaseball!
Ernest P. Worrell: I didn't order grease ball.
Chuck: This guy is in love! L-U-V! Ernest is in love. Ernest and Charlotte sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first come love, then comes marriage, then comes Ernest pushing a baby carriage.
Ernest P. Worrell: [to lawyer as he's being taken to the chair] You pal, you're not getting anymore of my business!
Auntie Nelda: [lying about her prison balls] The doctor told me that I'd only have to wear these until after the surgery.
Ernest P. Worrell: [after being electrocuted by the electric chair] You better watch out, Ruben. I'll zap you.
Rubin Bartlett: You're a dead man, Worrell.
Ernest P. Worrell: Very well. You asked for it. After all, I am Ernest P. Worrell... Electro-man.
Ernest P. Worrell: [after drying himself off with his body dryer and checking the circuit board] Oh, there's my problem right there. This wire's got a little sh...
Ernest P. Worrell: short in it.
[Then a metal comb clings to his vest]
Ernest P. Worrell: Gosh, not again.
Ernest P. Worrell: [after removing a metal lid that clinged to his face with a lobster still stuck on his face] I recommend the lobster.
Ernest P. Worrell: Real men are not intimidated by physical threats against their personal selves, and, ironically, neither am I.
Ernest P. Worrell: [when Ernest notices that metal things are attacking him] Huh?