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Cleveland: Fidel Castro was there to throw out the first pitch. He was wearing the same outfit as always. Later, we would find out he had a fashion disease known as chronic fatigue system. We would write more jokes about him but our dum-dum writers only know what he looks like.

Cleveland: In Cuba, we hated Amurrica so much we copied everything they did and died trying to get there.

Cleveland: We tried to play but it was difficult because hyurricane season was February through January. Every time, a hyurricane would sweep through, decimating the island, causing hundreds of dollars worth of damage.

Cleveland: Cuba was nice. We had a bay of hotties but also another bay of less attractive women. I forget what they called it.

Cuban: Oy, hermano. We're gunna cave to the Cayman islands.
Cleveland: Cayman in my ass. I'm going to Amurrica.

Cleveland: Okay, when he land in Amurrica, we all have to stop saying Coooooba.

Peter: Wow, Cleveland. I had no idea you played baseball. Too bad you couldn't hit a home run with The Cleveland Show.
Cleveland: Well, it certainly wasn't a whiff.
Joe: More of a foul out.
Cleveland: It. Was. A. Double!

Quagmire: On my first birthday, my mother gave me a little 'Head'.

Quagmire: It was understood, I'd grow up to be a tennis player like my father, and his father before him, and his father before him. We came from a long line of tennis dicks.

Quagmire: It was an honor playing for Freddie on grass that day. He later died. The doctors said it was asphalt.

Quagmire: In 2001 at the US Opening, my first serve hit a plane, causing it to go tragically off course and hit a building. Everyone blamed the Muslims. My second serve was no better.

Jerome: You guys talking sports stories? You know, I won a bronze medal back in the '84 Olympics.
Quagmire: Are you serious!?
Jerome: Track and field. It's a pretty good story. It's a series of coincidences that if someone wrote, no one would believe.
[Jerome displays his medal]
Cleveland: Oh my God. Why's there only half a medal.
Jerome: Whooo. How much time you got?
Peter: We've got about 7 minutes and I haven't gone yet. Rocky.

Peter: Yo, hey turtles. How you doing? How come they're not moving?
Lois: You sat on them yesterday. They're dead.

Peter: Yo, Lois. The San Gennaro Festival was last weekend. You know, I was wondering if uh, maybe you'd like to go to it with me.
Lois: When is it?
Peter: Last weekend.
Lois: Well, then, I don't think that's possible, Peter. No.

Peter: Want to maybe go to the park and feed the pigeons yesterday?
Lois: Peter, I already did yesterday stuff. Sorry.
Peter: Well, then how about we just get coffee this morning before you got to be at work?
Lois: It’s 4:00 in the afternoon. I’m afraid that’s not gonna work, either.
Peter: Okay, well, I’ll circle back last week and see what your schedule looks like.

[Peter gets tied up in the boxing ring ropes]
Peter: Little help? ... Is my butt out? ... My butt's out, isn't it? [notices a woman behind him] Yeah, sorry you gotta see that back there, ma'am. Yeah, I ... I couldn't wipe. I had my gloves on already. [the woman vomits and people take pictures of his butt] Stop taking pictures please.

[Peter hits his head on the ceiling and knocks over a bunch of dishes on the top floor]
Upstairs Guy: [offscreen] Aaaah! Our dinnerware hutch!
Peter: Sorry!
[Another dish breaks]
Peter: Sorry ... Ohhh, they're mad.

Lois: Peter! The Rothko Exhibit at the museum is reopened! Are you busy last week?

Peter: Tragically, I died in training. I fell into a vat of Philadelphia cream cheese and suffocated. I guess it was a little taste of Heaven. Let's just say at my funeral, there was quite a spread.
Cleveland: Some of this story ain't holding up for me.
Peter: I was cremated.
Joe: I don't think any of this is true.
Peter: My ashes were spread over an everything bagel.

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