Marge: Ooh, look, a complimentary basket of hooves. ...Beef salad, beef on the cob, beef fried beef ... is there anything on the menu that isn't meat?
Waiter: Hah. Not likely!
Bart: Cool! Even this menu is made of meat! It's an entire chicken pounded flat.
Marge: How clever. The kids' menu is on the beak.
Red: Red Barclay's my name. I'm a trucker, and I've eaten steaks from coast to coast with taters and toast. Take my advice -- this one's not for greenhorns.
Homer: Greenhorn? Who's a greenhorn? What's a greenhorn?
Bart: It's an insult! Sock him, Dad! Sock everybody!
Homer: Aw, you're just jealous because you don't have the belly for it anymore, Mr. No-Belly. [pokes Red in his ample belly] Mr. Hasn't-Got-A-Belly.
Red: Well, I have just finished a whole lamb, but, uh, I reckon I can take you to school. You're on, boy.
Marge: Is it safe to eat that much food, Dr. Hibbert?
Hibbert: You know, I wouldn't have thought so before I bought twelve percent of this restaurant, but now I feel a balanced diet can include the occasional eating contest.
Marge: But what if he chokes?
Hibbert: Not to worry, we have the latest Heimlich machine.
Homer: What's happening to me? There's still food, but I don't want to eat it. I've become everything I've ever hated!
Homer: My hat's off to you, Red. You're a true American hero, and you did it with style and dignity, and -- hey, you're not breathing! Don't people usually breathe?
Hibbert: This man is dead. Looks to me like beef poisoning. Probably from some other restaurant.
Homer: He called me, "greenhorn." I called him, "Tony Randall." It was a thing we had.
Homer: Don't you have school?
Bart: Don't you have work?
Homer: Ah, touché.
"if you can't find it, grind it."
Homer: Wouldn't it be great to live right here at the truck stop, watching all the people come and go? You could have a different best friend every day.
Bart: I suppose.
Homer: Great! I'll write your mother and tell her the marriage is off. Then, when the paperwork is done, I'll make Gwen my wife.
Gwen: Will that be all, sweetie?
Homer: For now.
Marge: Anyone? Anyone at all?
Lisa: Oh! Milhouse is selling seeds, and he's coming this wa-- Oh, the birds got him.
Lisa: Hey! People are coming! I think they're Jehovah's Witnesses.
Noreen: Wait, Marvin, I just had a thought. Maybe we're bothering people by trying to change their religion. What if we don't have all the answers?
Marvin: You're right, Noreen. Let's go get real jobs.
Trucker 3: Yeah, that Navitron Autodrive system's made our jobs cushier than ever.
Homer: The what now?
Trucker 4: You know, this thing. [taps box] With this baby driving your truck for you, all you gotta do is sit back and feel your ass grow.
Homer: The trucks drive themselves?
Trucker 3: Hey, hey, hey, shh. Didn't your union rep tell you about the scam we got going?
Bart: Dad, they're trying to kill us.
Homer: Oh, why do all my trips end like this?
Trucker 4: You know boys, I've been thinking. Maybe it's time we ditched the high tech gizmos and went back to driving like our daddies did.
Trucker 5: Drunk?
Trucker 4: No, no, no. Using our hands and our wits. Yeah, sure, it's hard work, and it's lonely as hell, but it has meaning and dignity. Huh? What do you say?
Trucker 3: Nah. Let's just find some other scam.
Trucker 5: Hey, how about bootlegging Beanie Babies?
Trucker 7: Sounds good to me.
Trucker 6: I like that.
Engineer: Are you crazy? I'm not driving a trainload of napalm to Springfield.
Homer: Thank you.
Wiggum: No, no, no. No dice. [draws his gun] All right, chimey, this time, the bell tolls for thee.