NCIS as John Mulaney Quotes

Now there’s new Nazis. I don’t care for these new Nazis and you may quote me on that.

First off, get out of here with your facts. You’re like the kid at the sleepover who, after midnight, is like, “It’s tomorrow now!” Get the fuck out of here with your technicalities. Just ’cause you’re accurate does not mean you’re interesting. "That was fun when we watched Beetlejuice tonight." “Don’t you mean last night? It’s after midnight.” "Why don’t you get your sleeping bag and get out of my house! Take your EpiPen, take your goddamn EpiPen and get out of my house!"

If we must go on with Salt alone, we will go on with Salt alone!

Let’s say a kidnapper throws you in the back of a trunk. Don’t panic. [chuckles] Once you get your bearings… find the carpet that covers the taillight, peel back the carpet, make a fist, punch the taillight out the back of the car, thus creating a hole in the back of the automobile, then stick your little hand out and wave to oncoming motorists to let them know that something hinky is going on.

Okay NCIS fandom, let's have a chat.

That’s the worst use of 120 grand I can possibly fathom. Other than if you, like, bought a duffel bag of fake cocaine. No, I take it back. That’s a better use of the money, ’cause I know you’d be disappointed when you open up the duffel bag and you realize it’s not real cocaine, it’s like powdered baby aspirin or whatever they do. But at least you have baby aspirin. And maybe you have a baby and one day your baby goes, “Oh, my head,” and you go, “Hey, I’ve got something for you! Come here, little guy.” And you dump it out on a mirror. You make it nice for the baby. You make it nice. You cut it up into lines with your laundry card or whatever and you make it nice, and your baby takes his sippy-cup straw and he holds it in his little ravioli-sized baby fist and he leans over–  and he snorts up the baby aspirin, and he gets rid of his baby headache, plus you get a duffel bag!

Like I was talking to Gibbs recently, and I told him I didn’t think I believed in the death penalty, and he said to me: “oh, so you’re telling me, that if you saw Hitler… walking down the street… you wouldn’t kill him?” That wasn’t what I was telling you, but alright, lets talk about this entirely new topic. What would I do if I saw Adolph Hitler just walking down the street? Well first off I wanted to know what did my friend mean? Did he mean I see a guy in like the military outfit with the little mustache, cause then I would assume that’s someone dressed up as Hitler. I’m not gonna kill that guy. I’m not gonna kill an actor and ruin Indiana Jones 5 just cause I don’t understand costumes. Or does he mean I’m walking down the street and I see like an old old man who I think might be Hitler based on my memory of what Hitler looks like. I’m not gonna kill that guy either, because I am often wrong. I'd murder him and people would be like: “Woah! You just killed an old old man!” and Id be like: “He looked like Hitler!” and they’re like: “Yeah, a little…”

We walked into the ballroom. It was a big hotel ballroom. It was the Palmer House Hilton, big Hilton hotel ballroom. Walked into the ballroom, it was packed with people. It’s actually the ballroom from the end of the movie The Fugitive, remember? So, that ballroom. So, my mom and I walk in, it’s packed with people, the… Sorry, the end where Harrison Ford, as Dr. Richard Kimble, bursts in to confront Dr. Charles Nichols, right? Okay. So, that ballroom. So, my mom and I walk in, it’s packed with people. Why does Kimble confront Nichols? Well, I know we all know this, but… No, no. But, but, but… Kimble, he found out that Nichols, along with Devlin MacGregor and Lentz, who has mysteriously died, they had hired Frederick Sykes, the one-armed man, to kill Kimble. Kimble’s wife wasn’t even the target. I know we all know this. But they were gonna kill Kimble because he wasn’t gonna approve certain liver samples to pass RUD-90. So, Kimble finds out about all of this, and, of course, he’s furious. And he bursts into the ballroom and he goes, “You switched the samples!” And Dr. Nichols is like, “Ladies and gentlemen, my friend, Dr. Richard Kimble.” What accent did that guy have, by the way? He goes, “You switched the samples! And you doctored your research! So that you could have Provasic!” Anyway, so it’s that ballroom.

Thank you. No one will ever see me again.

“Gay people are humans.” And they’re like, “We’ll think about it.”

"Who is this first woman that's like, "Yeah, cut the baby in half. That sounds like a good idea?" Like what kind of awful bitch has just stolen a ba—she stole a baby? And then the first time she's asked about it, she's like, "Look, I'll take what I can get. Can I take the legs? I'll take the legs. She can take the top part." She is so fucked up that she calls the head the top part. Secondly, that he knew it was the real mother because she knows not to cut a baby in half. Yeah, I think most people would come to that conclusion. Like even if I was just walking down the street, and there was someone about to saw a child in half, I would be like, "Hey... why don't you not do that?"

On Growing Up Catholic

Everything is too fast now and totally unreasonable. The world is run by computers, the world is run by robots and we spend most of our day telling them that we’re not a robot just to log on and look at our own stuff. All day long. May I see my stuff, please? “I smell a robot. Prove, prove, prove. Prove to me you’re not a robot. Look at these curvy letters. Much curvier than most letters, wouldn’t you say? No robot could ever read these. You look, mortal, if ye be. You look and then you type what you think you see. Is it an “E” or is it a “3”? That’s up to ye. The passwords of past you’ve correctly guessed, but now it’s time for the robot test! I’ve devised a question no robot could ever answer. Which of these pictures does not have a stop sign in it?” Fucking what? You spend most of your day telling a robot that you’re not a robot. Think about that for two minutes and tell me you don’t want to walk into the ocean.

I have hair on my shoulders now. I don’t even have a joke for that. That’s how much I hate that shit. I was sitting up in bed a few weeks ago like… Ughhhh... You know, life. And my wife was rubbing my shoulders, which was very nice of her, but then she started singing to herself. “Monkey, monkey, monkey man. Monkey, monkey, monkey man.” Not at me. Not to be mean. This was a song from deep in her subconscious. I don’t even think she was aware she was singing it. But it was certainly not the first time she had sung it.

I found out recently that jokes don’t do well in court. So, some friends of mine were sued in college for property damage. And they were guilty. And the lawsuit dragged on for years and years and eventually I got a call when I was 28 years old. It was my friend from college, he said, “Hey, that lawsuit with my neighbor is still dragging on and my neighbor just subpoenaed all my emails from college that mention him or the lawsuit.” And I said, “That’s crazy. But why are you calling me?” And he said, “Because you should be concerned.” He said, “I have an email here from junior year where I wrote, 'Hey, guys, I’m going to miss practice tonight because I have to meet with my neighbor about that lawsuit thing.' And you replied, ‘Hey, do you want me to kill that guy for you? Because it sounds like he sucks and I will totally kill that guy for you. Okay. See you at improv practice.'”  Of all the sentences in that email I would be ashamed to have read out loud in a court of law, I think the top one is “See you at improv practice.”