My Drive-By

	J.D.: Come on, Mr. Gilmore. Turk: Come on, Colonel Mustard! Turk: HA! Pay up. J.D. sighs and slaps a bill into Turk's hand. Mr. Gilmore: Can I get some Jell-O, please? J.D.: Jello-O is for winners. Mr. Gilmore: What? J.D.: I'm just kidding. We'll have some sent right to your room, big guy. Mr. Gilmore: Thank you.
	Realtor: It's fully furnished, and the owner of the main house is just great. In fact, if you look out the window, you can see him right now. Owner: Ohh, he's perfect. J.D.: Perfect for what?
	Janitor: Aaaand finished. I remember the bordello being a little bit bigger and there were probably a few more prostitutes, but maybe I just remember it that way 'cause I was a kid -- it was my twelfth birthday. I asked for a bike. I got a 48-year-old whore. Doug: It's beautiful. It's almost a shame I get these casts off in a week. Janitor: A month. Doug: A what? Janitor: Yeah, I worked too hard on this -- you can take 'em off in a month. Doug: I'll call my orthopedist.
	Dr. Cox: Oh! My God! It was me! I did it, I'm a genius, I'm a huge brain in a ripped up body, I am Jesus H. Cox...M.D.
	Dr. Cox: Still, I probably couldn't have done it by myself, so I'd like to go ahead and recognize some of the other players who were involved. There was the intern who originally misdiagnosed the patient... Lonnie: That's me, daddy. J.D.: Put your hand down, Lonnie. Dr. Cox: And then there was the resident who confirmed that misdiagnosis. J.D.: In my defense, I was up late watching a 'Designing Women' marathon.
	Dr. Cox: And, last but not least, there was the surgeon who wanted to crack open Mr. Blake's chest like a walnut and put in a pacemaker that he didn't even need. Now, he's too modest to introduce himself to the group, so I'll do the honors. He is so black, so bald, and he can't eat cupcakes because he's got diabetes. Ladies and gentlemen, Chris Turk!
	Turk: Can you just get out of here so we can get back to work? Dr. Cox: Not until people start chanting my name so that I can exit the room with my hands held high above my head in a victorious gesture. Capisce? You see, this diagnosing machine, this fabulous thing? Well, it runs on props, so I'm going to need to hear it. Come now. Group: Cox...Cox...Cox...Cox...Cox...Cox.... Dr. Cox: Me. Me. Me. Oh, so me!
	Elliot: Look, I have just been thinking about all of my relationships, and every time one has potential, I go too fast and ruin everything. Long story short, Jake's not getting any. J.D.: Oh, please, you're a half a glass of wine away from nuding up and doing your go-to move. Turk: Which is? J.D.: Her on top, eyes closed, yelling, "Don't look at me! Don't look at me!" Elliot: Sex is disgusting! Carla: I know, sweetie.
	Turk: Heh! Perry, Perry, Perry. You know what the difference between us is? Well, besides the fact that I can carry a conversation without checking my own reflection every five seconds? Dr. Cox: I'm sorry. I--I get lost in my eyes.
	J.D.: Can you really swallow your whole fist? Elliot: Yeah. Guys: Ohhhhhhhhhhhh. J.D.: Shhh. Don't ruin it.
	Dr. Cox: Huh! Why, you handsome son of a gun! Have you looked at me lately, fellas? Ohhh, bellisimo!
	Dr. Cox: We are both egotistical peas in a giant narcissistic pod
	Mr. Hoffner: Why do I have to have my gallbladder taken out? Dr. Cox: Because, Mr. Hoffner, you have gallstones. Mr. Hoffner: Why do I have gallstones? Dr. Cox: Did you possibly eat a large gall-boulder and then fall on your stomach?
	Dr. Cox: Lookit, I know what you're doing in there. You think that if you act like Dr. Sad Sack that the patient's gonna opt out of surgery and I'll have to spend yet another week with a man who has such an unnatural attachment to his gallbladder that, left to his own devices, he would rent a motel room and have sex with it.