Loose Lips (108)

Season 1
Head Cases
Still Crazy After All These Years
Catch and Release
Change of Course
And Eye for an Eye
Truth Be Told
Questionable Characters
Loose Lips
Greater Good
Hired Guns
Schmidt Happens
From Whence We Came
It Girls and Beyond
Till We Meat Again
Tortured Souls
Let Sales Ring
Death Be Not Proud

Season 2
The Black Widow
Finding Nimmo
A Whiff and a Prayer
Men to Boys
Witches of Mass Destruction
Truly Madly, Deeply
Ass Fat Jungle
Legal Deficits
The Cancer Man Can

Paul Lewiston: Why are you in a Santa suit?

Alan Shore: It's after Thanksgiving. Surely you're not suggesting I still dress as a pilgrim.

Paul Lewiston: And who is this? gesturing at a little woman dressed as an elf

Alan Shore: She's my elf. Sometimes, especially after Santa's been drinking, he needs a little helper.

Paul Lewiston: Have you been drinking today?

Alan Shore: No. Today I just brought her for amusement. My doctors are concerned these staff meetings

could cause me to lapse into a coma.

Tara Wilson: Not that I've been doing background checks, but I have a friend who evidently knows an old friend of yours, and...

Alan Shore: And?

Tara Wilson: You once cohabited with a little person.

Alan Shore: Two lovely years. I lived with her for three.

Tara Wilson: Do you have a thing for little women?

Alan Shore: I have a thing for women. You've never fallen for someone shorter than you?

Tara Wilson: Well, I believe I'm involved with one now.

Alan Shore: Either you're mistaken, or I'm jealous.

Denny Crane: Alan! Excellent! Alan, Gil Furnald, Alan Shore. Alan. Turns out that my Santa Claus is a sort of cross-dressing sicko. He's more... you.

Alan Shore: He is absolutely more me, Denny. But, unfortunately, my schedule...

Denny Crane: Alan, I have trouble with this sort of subject matter.

Alan Shore: You're homophobic.

Denny Crane: It's not that.

Alan Shore: What is it then?

Denny Crane: It's my father. Sometimes he wore dresses. He called it a kilt and sang all those Scottish songs, but we knew. Please, the hearing's at 2 o'clock.

Brad Chase: Is it true, you're taking over the Santa case?

Alan Shore: Yes, I am, Bradley. Is it of interest to you?

Brad Chase: No. But it could be, if we, say, bet on it.

Alan Shore: Another wager.

Brad Chase: Why not?

Alan Shore: And would you already have stakes in mind?

Brad Chase: I keep thinking about your elf. How 'bout if you win, I become your elf for the day, but if you lose, you become mine? Complete with a costume, of course.

Alan Shore: And bells.

Brad Chase: Oh, can't leave out the bells.

Lori Colson: Alan? Hey. Can I steal you for a second?

Alan Shore: A second? A minute I could maybe do, but a second would be pushing it. Would you like me to push it?

Lori Colson: You are so disgustingly vulgar.

Alan Shore: Well, if it were me, I'd meet with him myself, pretending to be one of your colleagues.

Lori Colson: That's hardly an option.

Alan Shore: Why? You need objectivity...

Lori Colson: You can't go there pretending to be a doctor.

Alan Shore: Of course I can't, because I'm in trial. But you can do it.

Lori Colson: Oh, sure. And get disbarred?

Dr. Konigsberg: I'd likely lose my license.

Alan Shore: Oh, well. Silly me. I was thinking about the ex-wife. If it's merely a bar card and a medical license you're looking to preserve, you first opine to Lori that you're not at all convinced the man intends to follow through on his threats. Then, you draft an opinion letter to the doctor telling him he need not disclose. Your respective asses will be covered, and everybody's happy, assuming you like your asses covered. Personally, I love the feel of a stiff breeze against my rosy cheeks. In any event, pardon my misunderstanding. I thought it was potentially human life at stake.

Judge Harry Hingham: A ho-mo-sexual? That's where we're at now? Santa Clauses being played by ho-mosexuals?

Alan Shore: I believe "homosexual" is one word, Judge. But to avoid confusion, let's say, "gay."

Atty. Phillips: Let's say, "transvetite," because that was the stated reason...

Alan Shore: Well, if dress code is the issue, my client promises to comply with...

Judge Harry Hingham: A ho-mo-sexual transvestite?

Judge Harry Hingham: Would you sit in his lap?

Alan Shore: Sure. Why not? And he hasn't gone homo erectus on me, if that was your fear.

Alan Shore: Ah, well, you'll remember at the behest of Mr. Crane, you made an appearance in one of my cases involving an African-American Little Orphan Annie. And you were extremely effective. "Give us a black Spiderman. Give us a black Superman who can leap tall buildings." All the big icons. Now I have another case featuring a gay man who's being discriminated against. And this one involves the biggest icon of them all - Santa Claus. My problem is the judge. His tiny brain has been calcified by intolerance. However, he's certainly a slave to public opinion, as judges tend to be. But I can't really move the public. You can. Do you understand what I'm asking?

Reverend Al Sharpton: You want me to be your rabbit.

Alan Shore: I want you to be Reverend Al Sharpton in all his massive glory. I want you to charge in there, say, "Give us a gay Santa Claus," and button it with three "God Almighties!"

Reverend Al Sharpton: Stop. I don't do things big. I'm subtle.

Alan Shore: Yes. Three "God Almighties." Look, I've written it all out for you. Give that a look-see. I've seen you move mountains, Reverend. I need you to move this one tiny-brained judge. Please. Pretty please.

Alan Shore: Uh, oh.

Gil Furnald: What?

Alan Shore: We're 10 minutes early.

Bailiff: Please be seated.

Judge Harry Hingham: Mr. Phillips, have you got anything to say before I listen to him?

Atty. Phillips: Mr. Furnald was fired mainly because my clients feared he'd share his secret proclivity with a child, which, by his own testimony, is exactly what he did.

Alan Shore: I object to that summation; it was entirely too short.

Judge Harry Hingham: What?

Alan Shore: I'm only worried for you, your Honor. If you're inclined to rule against us, he's got to at least give you a good argument to hang your hat on, so it looks good to all this media. Did you notice the media here?

Judge Harry Hingham: Are you on drugs? You've got 30 seconds.

Judge Harry Hingham: All right, already. I've heard enough. I'm going to rule on this.

Alan Shore: You can't rule yet.

Judge Harry Hingham: Why not?

Alan Shore: I don't know. Well... What if, say, some big celebrity were to come charging through the door?

Reverend Al Sharpton: Sorry, I'm late, Judge. I'll make this quick.

Alan Shore: And subtle.

Judge Harry Hingham: Who the hell are you?

Reverend Al Sharpton: The image of Santa Claus has been crafted for hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of years, but we're supposed to be in a different day. Give the world a black Santa Claus. Let the people have an African-American come down the chimney bearing joy and good will.

Alan Shore: Gay, not black.

Reverend Al Sharpton: The prejudice against gay people must stop. We all say we're for gay rights. We all say we accept homosexuality. But give a gay man a hug, sit in his lap...

Judge Harry Hingham: Who is this man?

Reverend Al Sharpton: Let the bells of tolerance ring out this Christmas. Let people open their minds as they open their presents underneath the tree. We need your mind, judge, today. Let the gay man be my brother, be your brother, be the schoolteacher, be the construction worker! Give the world a gay Santa Claus! God Almighty, God Almighty, God Almighty. Leave out the cookies and the milk this Christmas Eve for a holly, jolly homosexual! God Almighty!

Alan Shore: And cut.

Reverend Al Sharpton: I threw in one extra.

Alan Shore: Thank you.