Gracie: That's Mr. Lion Cub.
Tim: Sorry, I've never been a lion cub before.
Randy: I have. You know, I gotta tell you it's a tough gig. Everyone expects you to be king.
Tim: [playing tea party; in high voice] Now, what would Her Royal Fridigness like to have?
Randy: How about a lobotomy?
Tim: Well look who's here. It's the village idiot.
Tim: Hey Cousin Randy, why don't you play with Cousin Gracie so Uncle Tim can go play with Mr. Hot Rod?
Randy: Well, Cousin Randy would love to, but unfortunately I've got to spend a couple hours with Uncle Chemistry and Aunt Algerbra.
Tim: [Playing with Buzz Lightyear doll] I am Buzz Lightyear. No, *I* am Buzz Lightyear. No, *I* am Buzz Lightyear. No, I come in peace.
Doll: I come in peace.
Tim: No, *I* come in peace.
Tim: Why don't you tell the audience out there what Uncle Tim says whenever he starts a project.
Gracie Taylor: Ow, that hurts?
Tim: Come on, what does he say?
Claire Taylor: Call 911?
Tim: No. What did I say backstage?
Gracie Taylor: Al, your mom's fat?
Jill: What do you want to talk about?
Tim: I wanna talk about what Sherlock Wendell Holmes said. The reason I want daughters is because they're like rotten peaches. I should just play with my pears.
Jill: I think it would be better for all concerned if you didn't father any more children.