Chalkboard: I am not my long-lost twin

Couch: The couch is in a desert. The Simpsons rush in, dressed in cowboy garb, and the couch gallops away.

Lucius: Your boy looks a little soft, Moe. You do remember our arrangement?
Moe: Yeah, don't worry, you'll get your three rounds.
Lucius: Stupendous. Because if he goes down before that bell rings, your future's going with him.
Moe: Okey-doke. Future's down the crapper. Gotcha.

Comic Book Guy: Yes, finally! I would like to return your quote-unquote Ultimate Belt.
Salesman: I see. Do you have a receipt, quote-unquote, sir?
Comic Book Guy: No, I do not have a receipt. I won it as a door prize at the Star Trek Convention, although I find their choice of prize highly illogical, as the average Trekker has no use for a medium sized belt.
Salesman: Whoa, whoa! A fat, sarcastic, Star Trek fan. You must be a devil with the ladies.
Comic Book Guy: Hey, I...uh, de--oh...
Salesman: Gee, I hate to let you down, Casanova, but, uh, no receipt, no return.
Bart: I'll give you four bucks for it.
Comic Book Guy: (Sighs) Very well. I must hurry back to my comic book store, where I dispense the insults rather than absorb them.

(Dolph, Jimbo, and Kearney are about to beat up Bart.)
Bart: I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but you guys asked for it.
(Bart hits a button on his utility belt that fires a rocket with a note that says "Call Police Assistance Needed")
Bart: Can't you read?! Call the police!
(They beat him up anyway)

Marge: Homer, you don't know how to box, you're 38 years old, and you haven't gotten any exercise since grade school. Of all the crazy ideas you've had, this one ranks somewhere in the middle. Before you even consider this, I insist you consult a doctor.
Homer: No problemo.
(Marge pecks Homer on the cheek and walks off.)
Marge: (yelling) A competant doctor!
Homer: (off-screen) D'oh!