I'm setting the auto-pilot, but this better not be a ruse. –A ruse? Brring-brring! Hello? Hi, it's the 1930s! Can we have our words and clothes and shitty airplanes back? –Let's go, kid. –Call you back, 1930s, and hey... watch out for that Adolph Hitler. He's a bad egg!
I didn't run away from home. I'm a grown man whose fiancee was murdered in front of his very eyes. So excuse me for needing some time to grieve! –By tending bar and banging newlyweds? –Apparently that's my grieving process!
(after the X-1 has just crashed in Jerusalem) So what do we do here, Brock? –Well, that all depends. If the Israelis get here first we might have a chance. I know some guys in the Mossad. But if the PLO shows up, well, my Arabic's a little shaky. –Not a problem! Did you forget this baby runs on pure plutonium? They're gonna love us! –And that's what Christmas is all about!
Yeah, Peter, one of us has to be the Designated Driver, and I've already had four egg nogs, so I guess you're it. –Hah. That's a good one, Joe. Heh. Way to get into the spirit. Heh heh. –(konk) I'm a cop first and a buddy second, so don't think I wouldn't throw your drunk-driving ass in the slammer! (glug glug glug) All right! Let's a-wassail!
Don't you have nothing else to do but harp on Dr. Venture? Why haven't you tried the World Domination thing, you afraid of the big leagues? –Please. How stupid do I look to you? World Domination. I'll leave that to the religious nuts or the Republicans, thank you.