Norm: Terrorists, Sam. They’ve taken over my stomach and they’re demanding beer.
Norm: I know, if she calls, I’m not here.
Another layer for the winter, Woody.
Norm: Like I just ran over its dog.
Well, I never met a beer I didn’t drink.
Norm: The question is, “What’s going in Mr. Peterson?” A beer please, Woody.
Norm: Yeah, she has to like you.
Norm: A transfusion with a head on it.
Norm: Yeah, now let’s get Joe Beer nipping at my liver.
Just the usual, Coach… I’ll have a froth of beer and a snorkel.
Norm: I am going to need something to kill time before my second beer. How about a first one?
That’s funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.
Norm: Like it caught me sleeping with its wife.
Norm: My butt cheeks on that bar stool.