Lorelai: Rory, I love you. I would take a bullet for you. But I'd rather stick something sharp in my ear than go to the club with you. Rory: Fine. Lorelai: I'd rather slide down a banister of razor blades and land in a pool of alcohol than go to the club with you. Rory: I got it. Lorelai: Don't stop me, I'm on a roll. I'd rather eat my own hand than go to the club with you. Ooh, I'd rather get my face surgically altered to look like that lunatic rich lady with the lion head than go to the club with you. Rory: Would you like me to drive so you can continue your diatribe? Lorelai: Would ya? Thanks. I'd rather cut off my head and use it as a punch bowl than go to the club with you.
Luke: Me? Raising a kid? I don't even like kids. They're always sticky like they've got jam on their hands. Even if there's no jam in the house, somehow, they've always got jam on their hands! I'm not the right guy to deal with that. I have no patience for jam hands! Lorelai: First of all, Jess is 17 so I think he's probably pass the jam hands stage by now. Second of all, you can do this. If you want to you are totally capable.