Ad blocker interference detected!
Wikia is a free-to-use site that makes money from advertising. We have a modified experience for viewers using ad blockers
Wikia is not accessible if you’ve made further modifications. Remove the custom ad blocker rule(s) and the page will load as expected.
Marlene: What in the world are you guys doing? Skipper: I might ask you the same question, except for the guy part.
Kowalski: I’m coming, Private!
Kowalski: Marlene! (Gasps) Which one do I save? Think Kowalski, think!
(Kowalski begins working out a solution on a pad of paper.)
Skipper: (Disappointedly) No. Don’t think, man. Act. Let’s go, Rico!
Kowalski: Private’s part of the team. Then again, Marlene has vital information. Of course, Private does owe me five dollars.
Private and Marlene: Kowalski!
Kowalski: Nooooo! Curse you brain!
Skipper: You know, in Tasmania, cheating at Stomp The Wombat is a capital crime.
Marlene: The new neighbors, they took Mort! He's gone! [All gasp] Julien: Who's Mort? Oh, my easel. Right. I too am gasping in horror, but on the inside. Because, you know, I need that easel.
Skipper: Maurice, fill me in, three words or less. Maurice: Well, well I... Skipper: No capisce. Try four words. Maurice: I don't think you... Skipper: Make it five words. Maurice: If you would just listen... Skipper: All right, I'll give you six words, but we're wasting valuable time here.
[Skipper is pulling down a world map] Skipper: OK, describe the enemy's terrain. Marlene: It was jungly... so let's... let's think, that could be... they could be from where? South America? Africa? Asia? Maybe Australia? Skipper: You gotta focus, Marlene! You just named four of the eight continents. [Maurice walks to the map] Maurice: Uh,... there are only seven continents. Skipper: I count Atlantis. Trust me, lemur, if you had my security clearance, you would too. [Affectionately taps his chest and lets the map roll up]
Skipper: This next game was invented by double-jointed Hungarian acrobats from the Munich circus.
Marlene: I don't think these are the kind of creatures you can reason with. Skipper: Don't worry, Marlene. Neither are we.
Kowalski: Time to listen to that gut. Even though technically a gut cannot vocalize... I'm doing it again!
Marlene: I'm just heading over the the reptile house to welcome the new neighbors. No one's seen them yet. I figure they're just shy. You want to come with? Skipper: Not without the proper recon, Marlene. We could be dead a thousand times over in that new habitat. Venomous vipers, bloodthirsty... Private: Badgers? Skipper: Flying piranha! Marlene: Okay, yeah. Piranha don't fly. Skipper: That's exactly what Manfredi and Johnson said back in Ecuador. We buried what was left of them with a teaspoon.
Julien: I would love to join you in the meeting of the neighbors, but I am far too busy with... Maurice, what am I far too busy with? Maurice: Posing for your royal portrait. Mort: I'm an easel. Julien: Mort. Mort: Yes? Julien: Shut up a little, okay? Mort: Okay.
Skipper: Marlene, I told you to leave this to us. Marlene: No, you didn't. Skipper: In your mind, maybe.
Julien: Why is Mort in the royal painting? Paint him out now before my eyes smell him forever!
Skipper: Pop quiz, troops! What can't we trust? Kowalski: Three-day-old stir-fry mung beans. Skipper: Right. What else can't we trust? Private: Badgers! Skipper: What? Private: Maybe that's just me.
Kowalski: Unknown hostiles with tentacles and feet. Skipper: Again? If I had a nickel for every time...
[Both Marlene and Private are trapped by tentacles; Kowalski can't decide which to save] Kowalski: Private is part of the team. But Marlene has vital information. Then again, Private owes me five bucks... Marlene: Kowalski! Private: Kowalski! [Both are pulled away] Kowalski: No! Curse you, brain!
Julien: What is that hideosity?! Maurice: That's Mort. Julien: Mort?! Mort: Yes? Julien: What did I tell you? Mort: ...Shut up a little?
Skipper: Catch my drift? Listen to your gut. [Kowalski strains to move his head toward his stomach] Kowalski: Sorry, Skipper. That's an anatomical impossibility.