Ned: I don't like giving funny names to the pies. Does it not seem disrespectful?
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Ned: You know, now that I'm out of dead-waking and back to just pie-baking and no longer touching dead fruit, I can eat my own pie! I'm gonna get fat, aren't I?
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Chuck: Are you sure you don't want to untie those apron strings and lace up those chasin' laces?
Ned: My apron is staying on, with its strings securely tied in a double-figure-eight follow-through knot.
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Ned: I want to lead a normal life, a guy who just makes pies. Who wants to be Superman? Not me. I say no to super and yes to man. I'm Clark Kent.
Emerson: Well that's just downright crap-tastic, Clark. I now have an abnormally large amount of work to do on account of no one here wants to touch a dead lady so I can ask who killed her.
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Chuck: Emerson, Emerson! What about me?
Emerson: No conversation I ever want to have begins with those three words.
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Chuck: I mean, I may not be Superman, but I'm smart, and I'm helpful. I mean.. maybe I could be your sidekick. I could be the Alive-Again Avenger, who comes back from the dead to solve her own murder and stayed back from the dead to bring justice to murder victims everywhere, with the help of a crusty, unflappable, streetwise unflappable gumshoe.
Emerson: That'd make me the sidekick.
Chuck: I'm good either way.
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Roy "Buster" Bustamante: What do we always say about the past?
Olive: It makes an ass out of you and me.
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Emerson: Loaning pie-boyfriend to your bestie who's in love with him, in order to to pull the wool over fake papas' peepers, is the the kind of idea that gives a bad idea the will to live.
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Chuck: Maybe Coco's gone loco and she killed Erin so she could have her first solo window.
Emerson: Yeah, we need to be at that unveiling tonight just in case Coco did go loco. Fo-sho... co.
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lily: The only thing that smokes in this house is the Gouda. You want a cancer-stick, you stick it outside on the porch.
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Coroner: Exact time will take me a little conducting... and another $20.
Emerson: Thirty minutes will do, thank you.
Coroner: Oh, that's how it is. Well, then, I'll make a... mental note on that.
Emerson: Don't be making no mental notes on me.
Coroner: At a crime scene I make mental notes on whatever I feel needs note-makin'... mentally.
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Chuck: His honesty tilts a little toward the "I don't care that they died" territory.
Emerson: "Tilts"? His honesty falls right into the "I killed both of them skanks" side of things.
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Vivian: You've given me something to believe in, like the likeness of the Virgin Mary found ingrained in the center of a potato, or tortilla. Right now, you and Ned are my tortilla.
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Emerson: People who need people to do every damn thing for them aren't always the luckiest people in the world. Sometimes those peeps get pissed off and start resenting their lazy-ass bosses. Erin and Coco's peep done gone postal and killed both of 'em.
Chuck: Peep this, playa.
Emerson: Don't do that.
Chuck: Sorry.
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Olive: Ned, I never thought I'd say this, but we need to back off on the PDA, 'cause Vivian's P's and Q's have gone AWOL and I can't take much more of what I just took before I'm DOA.
Ned: Olive... use your words.
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Olive: "Try on"? You try on a sweater at the mall. You try on your best friend's bra and you smile on the inside 'cause yours are bigger and better.
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Roy "Buster" Bustamante: I'm not mad at you.
Jerry Holmes: Take "mad" and multiply that by a power of "pissed."
Ned: Don't be mad--and certainly not to a power of that degree.
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Randy Mann: Nobody gave a crap about Clark Kent. He could disappear off the face of the Daily Planet and nobody would even notice. But I bet he'd spit spandex to find someone special.
Narrator: The Pie Maker looked at Olive, the person who cared for the man and knew nothing about the cape, and silently wished for spandex saliva.
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Ned: I'm Superman. I've got a finger faster than a speeding bullet. Come on. Who can I touch?
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