Quotable Quotes (eps 113-116)

DONOVAN: Get a load of that floor, Slate!
JENNY: Clean enough to eat off of -- if you're into that sort of thing.

DONOVAN: What I mean is, I have seen the future, Slate.
JENNY: And it's so shiny, he can see his monkey in it.

ANNOUNCER: Quark Industries, the people who brought you Big Guy, now bring you the latest line of defense...against dirt! It's Squeeky Gleem! Just pop open a can, and it does the rest!
[Squeeky runs around the kitchen, cleaning with glee]
SINGERS:
For the meanest clean you've ever seen,
It's more than clean! It's Squeeky Gleem.
ANNOUNCER: And remember, Squeeky Gleem leaves no unsightly residue.

DONOVAN: Jenny, I'm thinking of buying Guam.
JENNY (slowly): Ka-ching, ka-ching.

BIG GUY: Venus flytrap. Unusual variety.
RUSTY: So there is life on Venus!

BIG GUY: Looking for flies? Try these flying treats!

BIG GUY: Say hello to my weedwhacker!
RUSTY: Say hello to my green thumb.

DONOVAN: All we need is a simple testimonial! Something like -- hmmm....
JENNY: 'After a hard day of battling mutants, nothing makes my armor sparkle like Squeeky Gleem.'

BIG GUY: As much as I endorse free enterprise as one of the building blocks of this great republic, the Big Guy name is not for sale.

DONOVAN: Celebrities.
JENNY: Maybe Seinfeld'll do it.

RUSTY: I named him Squeeky. So...can I keep him? Please, please, can I?

SLATE: Huckle! I told you not to sneak up on me like that!
HUCKLE: You told the old me. You are now in the presence of Quark Industries' Tekkie of the Month! [holds up plaque]
SLATE: It's...nicely laminated.
HUCKLE: So...you'll be my date to the Quark Stockholders Ball? You, uh, never RSVP'd my emails.
SLATE (under her breath): All thirty of them. [Huckle looks crestfallen and Slate unwisely takes pity on him.] The thing is, I just can't make plans that far in advance. Heck, I don't even know what I'm doing tonight!
HUCKLE: Oh, oh! Then how 'bout a movie?
SLATE (sighing): Okay. But just one.
SQUEEKY: No!
HUCKLE (putting arm around Slate's shoulders): Why don't we just see how tonight develops?

HUCKLE: Rrrow!

HUCKLE: Thrrrilling, no?
SLATE: No.

DWAYNE: Slate's dating this guy?

TAXI DRIVER: Uh, I don't think you'll fit, Mr. Big Guy.

BIG GUY: Please drive, citizen.

BIG GUY: He's wily, for an overgrown amoeba.

HUCKLE: I, uh, hope we can do this again sometime, Erica. I mean, except for the, uh, killer blob....

BIG GUY: One size fits all.

DWAYNE: Slug that size oughta leave a slime line wider than a Yugo, but I'm getting nada! No residue.

RUSTY: You shoulda seen it, Squeeky! It was the size of a house and all...blobby. Kinda like you...except it was mean!
SLATE: Naaah.

DWAYNE: Hey.
SLATE: Lieutenant!
DWAYNE: You all right, Doc?
[Slate points to Rusty, in his room but within earshot]
DWAYNE: I, uh, 'heard' you ran into some trouble last night.
SLATE (briskly): I'm fine, thanks. [Worried] Any word on Huckle?
DWAYNE (unhappily): Not yet, but Thorton's got search parties covering every inch of New Tronic's sewer system.
SLATE: Well, the theater was packed. That thing could have grabbed anyone, but it wanted Huckle. [A silence falls over the conversation.]
DWAYNE: So I, uh, didn't realize you were seeing anyone.
[Erica raises her hands to say something (like "Not by choice!")]
MESSENGER ROBOT (interrupting): Slate, Dr. Erica, two tickets for tonight. [hands them to her and leaves]
SLATE: Aw. Quark Stockholders Ball. I forgot all about it.
DWAYNE: Maybe this is one dance you should sit out.
SLATE: Not an option. Attendance is mandatory.
[Slate looks at Dwayne. Dwayne looks at Slate. Slate looks at Dwayne pleadingly.]
SLATE: You wouldn't want to...? Huh. Never mind.
DWAYNE: Go with you?
SLATE: Well, I...uh, just thought....
DWAYNE: Why not? [justification mode] Well, maybe I oughta...you know...in case that blob thing returns.
[Slate smiles through all this with some amusement.]
SLATE (skeptically): At the ball? It wasn't after me.
DWAYNE: Never can be too safe. If Putty Guy shows up [gets out Big Guy signaller], Big Guy's not far behind.
[Slate smiles beatifically.]
DWAYNE: It's not a date or anything.
RUSTY: You guys are goin' on a date?
DWAYNE and SLATE (simultaneously): No.
[They smile simultaneously.]
SLATE: Okay, Lieutenant.
[She extends her hand and Dwayne begins shaking it.]
You can pick me up at 1900 hours.
[They continue to shake hands for a loooong time, while the Squeeky watches angrily.]

DONOVAN (through clenched teeth): Keep smiling, dear. Best face forward for the stockholders.
JENNY: You try making nicey-nice with your slip riding up.

SLATE (demurely): Evening, Lieutenant.
DWAYNE (real coherently): Whoa.

RUSTY: I know how you feel. We're stuck at home while the grownups are out having fun.

SLATE: So! Here we are.
DWAYNE: Yep. Think they have any of those little hot dogs?

JENNY: Oh, look, Four-eyes found a date.
DWAYNE and SLATE (chorus): It's not a date!

JENNY: I like these soirees. I'm not the only one in a monkey suit.

RUSTY: Bad Squeekys!

HUCKLE: Rusty, I love you!
RUSTY (warily): I'm gonna go warn everybody now. Okay?

WOMAN: Oh, Dr. Donovan, how did you ever devise such a product?
DONOVAN: I have my methods.
SLATE: I can vouch. He has very oily methods.

SLATE: Um...shall we....
DWAYNE: Go bowling?
SLATE: Dance.

DONOVAN: Dr. Slate, we need a little chit-chat about someone's attitude problem?

DONOVAN: Jennyyyy!
JENNY: As if.

DWAYNE (to Pit Crew on cellphone): Guys, we have a party crasher. Send in the bouncer.

SLATE: You detecting a pattern?
DWAYNE: Yeah. It doesn't like your gentleman callers.

JO: Dwayne. We're right outside with a change of clothes, but ol' Jellybelly's done a little weatherstripping on all the exits.

JENNY: Party's over. Time to slip into something more comfortable.
[rips herself out of gown and goes back to her 'monkey suit']
SLATE: Likewise.
[puts on her glasses]

RUSTY: Pretty dress.

SLATE: It's jealous.
JENNY: Well, I wouldn't get a swelled head. It is a floor cleaner.

BIG GUY: Can't battle Blubbo till I move Dumbo out of harm's way.

BIG GUY: The old colander trick.

DWAYNE: Swift, Hunter.

SLATE (to blob) : Now I want you to come out of there right now, or you'll get no more love from me.

BIG GUY: Little guys really do one heck of a spitshine.

116. "Donovan's Brainiac"

NUMBER ONE: Number Two, Number Three -- the capture of Number Four represents a grave security risk.
NUMBER THREE: Unless, of course, our friends at Quark encounter Number Four's auto-destruct feature.

BIG GUY: Hit the bricks!

BIG GUY: It's a staring contest - and I don't blink.

SLATE (to Rusty): If this works, we'll have clear access to all the information in Number Four's electronic brain.
RUSTY: Like secret hideout stuff?
BIG GUY: Map to the clubhouse, psychological profiles...heck, we might even find out who made these robot-making robots.

SLATE: Big Guy. Abort defusion sequence. Disengage. If the brain blows, nobody wins! Repeat, disengage!
DWAYNE: [sweating and making disgusted noise] Fold. [taps off switch]
[Slate sags and sighs with relief.]
RUSTY: Does this mean we don't get to go to their secret hideout?

PIERRE (to Rusty): Your P-54 chip is imporoperly configured.
SLATE: That's because it's a P-55. (later)
PIERRE (to Slate): P-55? Hmph. Those won't be on the market till next year. How did you procure one?
SLATE (gently): I designed them.

JENNY: Poofy hair is a family affair.

RUSTY: You're going to build the best robot ever? Pierre, you must be a genius!
DONOVAN: Takes after his uncle.
JENNY: You have a brother? [shrugs] Joking.

JENNY: Bye then. Happy scavenging. Don't fall on any sharp objects.
DONOVAN: Better be nice. He'll rule the world someday.

RUSTY: Winning a science fair must be a big deal.
PIERRE: I do it for the prestige. And the grand prize winner gets to jam with Hanson.

RUSTY: Pierre! You are so smart!
PIERRE: I know.

PIERRE: Sweet Newton's apple!

PIERRE: It's alive, alive!

PIERRE: British accent -- it's cultivated!

NUMBER FOUR (on seeing his new self): Auuuuuuughhhh!

PIERRE: I am your creator. Together we will conquer the science fair -- or I'll yank out your D-cells.

PIERRE: You don't know who you're dealing with!
NUMBER FOUR: No, you don't know with whom you are dealing.

SLATE: Yuck! Donovans.

PIERRE: Whatever flips your chips.

NUMBER FOUR: I must shed this inadequate form and reclaim my proper exoskeleton.

NUMBER FOUR: The boy robot! Of course. He must be the architect of this outrage against me.

PIERRE: Just seize him. Chop-chop!

PIERRE: I merely used knowledge to gain access.

NUMBER ONE: Recovery is not what I had in mind.
NUMBER TWO: Hm. Number Four has been inefficient.
NUMBER ONE: Ineffective.
NUMBER THREE: Imbecilic, even.

BIG GUY: Mechanic on duty. Let's take a look under the hood... Cracked engine block. Another one for the scrapyard.

NUMBER ONE: Fetch him -- with extreme prejudice.

PIERRE: They'll ding his Adonis-like chassis!

BIG GUY: Son, that's lawyer talk.
RUSTY: Actually, it's Pierre talk.

BIG GUY: Duck and cover, kids.

NUMBER FOUR: You're a genius. See if you can keep up.

NUMBER FOUR: But of greater significance, it will ignite the fusion core, resulting in a massive flash of heat which will fry New Tronic City, Quark Industries, the Big Guy, those malcontents at Legion Ex Machina, and anyone or anything else that has crossed me or would ever, in the soon-to-be-nonexistent future.
Oh, and best of all, it will fry both of you!

PIERRE: My uncle is a very rich man. He'll give you lots of money if you release us!
RUSTY: Hellooo -- robot. What's he gonna buy?

DONOVAN: Slate, what is that?
SLATE: Your nephew's science project.
JENNY: Getting his degree in Mass Destruction, no doubt.

DONOVAN: Pierre, have no fear. Uncle Axel is here.
SLATE: Noone will be here for long unless we restore microfusion integrity, stat!

NUMBER FOUR: I have no need to destroy you. That will occur in... oh, a minute or so.

DONOVAN: If you don't fix this, Slate...you're fired!

NUMBER FOUR: Is my watch fast?

PIERRE: It wasn't me, it was the girl! She's the brain! She's the one you want!

NUMBER FOUR: You will destroy us both!
BIG GUY: Nope. Just you, chief.

NUMBER ONE: Bravo.

PIERRE (reciting by rote): Since the dawn of recorded history, a single question has burned like fire in the consciousness of humankind: why don't monkeys float?
JENNY (sinisterly): I will remember this, Dr. D. You will pay.

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