Woody: Jack Frost nipping at your toes, Mr. Peterson?
Norm: Yeah, now let's get Joe Beer nipping at my liver.
Sam: What'll you have Normie?
Norm: Well, I'm in a gambling mood Sammy. I'll take a glass of whatever comes out of that tap.
Sam: Looks like beer, Norm.
Norm: Call me Mister Lucky.
Sam: What's new, Normie?
Norm: Terrorists, Sam. They've taken over my stomach and they're demanding beer.
Woody: Hey Mr. Peterson, there's a cold one waiting for you.
Norm: I know. If she calls, I'm not here.
Woody: Pour you a beer, Mr. Peterson?
Norm: Alright, but stop me at one. Make that one-thirty.
Woody: What's going on, Mr. Peterson?
Norm: The question is what's going *in* Mr. Peterson. A beer please, Woody.
Coach: Norm, how come you and Vera never had any kids?
Norm: I can't, Coach.
Coach: Gee, I'm sorry Norm.
Norm: I look at Vera. I just can't.