Jerry *singing*: Last king Christmas last arrived on the Christmas Christmas. *sniffs* Mmmm. Jerry, you are really giving it to this ham.
Summer: Dad, I’m not giving you my phone.
Jerry: Put it in the stocking, summer, or I’m joining Facebook.
Rick: Don’t worry about your *burps* C-Christmas, Jerry. *burps* I’ll be with Reuben in my workshop while you guys are having another day in Phil Collins’ proverbial paradise.
Jerry: Now, remember no tv, no phones, no laptops. We are connecting this Christmas, like old-school Jews on a Saturday.
Rick: Look, I-I-I *belches* I don’t have time for you to wrap your little walnut around everything. Just hold your breath until the process is over or your lungs will collapse.
Morty: What proc-*screams*
Morty: Oh, my god! This is insane! Spleen Mountain? Bladder Falls? Pirates of the Pancreas?
Rick: you got a problem with that last one, Morty?
Morty: Huh? No, no. I’m just reading ’em out loud in the order that I’m seeing ’em.
Morty: *screams* Rick! It’s a monster!
Rick: No, no, no. Morty. The only monster here is alco*belches*holism. That is an animatronic werewolf.
Leonard: Your mother and i have shared body, and soul, and when minds and souls are joined for eternity and when eternity is at the door, it’s an invitation to let go of the body and an opportunity to share and experiment.
Jerry: dad, please. What are you saying?
Beth: Whatever it is, it’s beautiful, Leonard, and we support you.
Jerry: hey, speak for yourself, because it *laughs nervously* sounds like you’re about to say Jacob is your lover.
Leonard: No, no, no, no, no, no. Jacob is your mother’s lover. *chuckles* I watch them sometimes from a chair and sometimes from a closet, almost always dressed as Superman. *smooches*
Jacob: Oh. Jerry, this ham has got to be all you, right? It’s incredible. *chuckles*
Summer: Happy human holiday, Dad.
Rick: Well, i can’t cure death. This is bad, Morty. You’re trapped in a dead man. Listen, if the situation keeps darkening, do yourself a favor and pop by Pirates of the Pancreas. Obviously I’m biased, but I think it’s great, Morty. It’s a bunch of *belches* pirates running around a *belches* pancreas. We don’t whitewash it, either, Morty. I mean, the pirates are really rapey.
Morty: hey, just so you know, I-I-I’m actually 14. So, you know…
Morty: Not 12.
Morty: You know, because he just said I was 12.
Annie: Oh. Good for you.
Rick: Oof. Ugh. Morty. Strike one.
Dr. Bloom: Don’t move. Gonorrhea can’t see us if we don’t move. *roars* Wait, i was wrong. I was thinking of a T-Rex.
Summer: Drummer drum drum drum drum drum drum drum drum drum drum drum christmas drums.
Leonard: Oh, sing it, Summer.
Summer: Christmas drums being played by a b-o-o-o-y!
Jacob: Jerry, no disrespect, but you really need to connect more with your family, man.
Dr. Bloom: That’s bubonic plague! What are you doing with that, Poncho?
Poncho: Everybody, get back!
Dr. Bloom: Poncho, you son of a bitch! You released the tuberculosis so you could steal from me?
Poncho: That’s right, baby. A lot of people would pay top dollar to decimate the population. I’ll take the highest bidder–Al-Qaeda, North Korea, Republicans, Shriners, balding men that work out, people on the internet that are only turned on by cartoons of japanese teenagers. Anything is better than working for you, you pompous, negligent, itunes-gift-card-as-a-holiday- bonus-giving mother-
Annie: You can put your fingers wherever you want.
Rick: Morty, you want to put it on mute or something? I’m-I’m trying to concentrate.
Rick: Morty, can you get to the left nipple?
Morty: Are you kidding? I’m hoping I can get to both of ’em, Rick.
Dr. Bloom: Would you like to ride the bone train, miss?
News Anchor: We now go to Tom Rndolph in New York. Tom?
Tom: Well, the eyes aren’t twinkling and the dimples aren’t merry, but I’m standing under a nose like a 70-mile cherry.
News Anchor: Thank you, Tom.
Morty: hey, w-w-what the hell, Rick?! What the hell, man! I liked her! I really had something going there, Rick!
Rick: Yeah, so i heard. *belches* you dodged a bullet, Morty, trust me. Puffy vagina.
Morty: W-What’s wrong with that? That doesn’t sound like a problem to me. I don’t know.
Ethan: Those guys are inside me, huh? Like, building a park?
Rick: those guys are inside you building a pce of shit, Ethan! They’re inside you building a monument to compromise! Fuck ’em. Fuck those people. Fuck this whole thing, Ethan.
Ethan: Cool. And who pays me?