Ramona Nowitzki: I don't have a Howard Wolowitz.
Stuart: Are you sure?
Ramona Nowitzki: I'll check again. [keyboard keys clacking] [thinking] I'm not really checking again. Just trying to be polite.
Stuart: Huh.
Ramona Nowitzki: [out loud] Nope. No Howard Wolowitz.
Stuart: Could you give us a minute?
Ramona Nowitzki: No problem. I'll be here. [thinking] Until I drop dead because I married a drummer, and this is the only way we have health insurance.

Kripke: I don't think this is gonna work.
Stuart: You got a better way to block our thoughts? [Kripke is silent by mouth and mind] I didn't think so. [quietly] One, two, three.
Group: [thinking] ♪ Come on, Eileen ♪ ♪ Oh, I swear Well, he means ♪ ♪ Ah, come on Let's take off everything... ♪
Stuart: [out loud] We were listening to it in the car. [chuckles] Real earworm.
Ramona Nowitzki: Oh, I get those all the time. [chuckles] [thinking] ♪ Dust in the wind ♪ ♪ All we are Is dust in the wind ♪

Ramona Nowitzki: How can I help you?
Stuart: I'm sure you remember we were here the other day.
Ramona Nowitzki: [thinking] I'm on so much medication, I don't remember anything. [out loud] Yes, of course. Nice to see you again.
Stuart: Mm. Anyway, uh, David Saltzberg over at UCLA asked us to bring this over to the engineering lab.
Ramona Nowitzki: Up the stairs, down the hall.
Stuart: Thank you.
Group: [thinking] ♪ Toora, loora, toora Loo-rye-aye ♪ ♪ Eileen I'll hum this tune forever ♪ ♪

Bert: Hi. Can you help us?
Ramona Nowitzki: Well, I certainly hope so.
Kripke: Great. We are wooking for Dr. Weonard Hofstadter or perhaps Dr. Sheldon Cooper.
Ramona Nowitzki: Do you have an appointment?
Kripke: Uh...
Bert: No.
Ramona Nowitzki: Oh, I wish you had an appointment. [continues typing]
Kripke: Can we make one?
Ramona Nowitzki: Of course.
Bert: Then we'd like to make an appointment.
Ramona Nowitzki: I don't make appointments. You'd have to contact their personal assistants. [continues typing]
Kripke: Okay. Mm! And h... how do we get in touch with them?
Ramona Nowitzki: You call them.

Bernadette Rostenkowski: What is wrong with you girls? Come on, pick up your feet. You're like a bunch of baby hippos.
Rebecca: [thinking] Die, bitch, die.
Bernadette Rostenkowski: You think about your mother with that mind?

Stuart: Now, the instructions that came with the device are a message from whoever's trying to help me.
Kripke: [thinking] Wook at me, PhD from Stanford, and I'm taking orders from a guy who wuns a comic book store.
Stuart: You wanna be in charge, Kripke?
Kripke: [out loud] No, you're doing fine. [thinking] I'll just wait for you to fail, then make fun of you.
Stuart: Thank you. [Kripke nods his head]

Bert: [thinking] Weird that Kripke's thoughts have a speech impediment.