Hey, is this a dolphin, or a porpoise?
...That's a trash bag...
“Logan Gets Cut Off” · Season 3
In this episode: Chase Matthews (8), Zoey Brooks (5), Lola Martinez (4), Michael Barret (3), Logan Reese (2), Stacey (1)
CChauncy
Excuse me, children, please leave this room so that Mr. Reese may speak with his son.
Hey, come on, this is my room too. [Chauncy offers him a $50 bill] You know, suddenly, I feel like standing in the hallway. Come along, Zoey. Mr. Reese. [leaves the room along with Zoey]
You're giving me half that money.
[Chauncy closes the door after them]
[feeling concerned] What's going on?
MRMalcolm Reese
[holds up a piece of paper] This is the bill for my United Express credit card.
So?
MRMalcolm Reese
$327, 000?
Oh, I bought a car.
MRMalcolm Reese
Without asking me?
You said I could use the credit card at PCA whenever I wanted.
MRMalcolm Reese
For books, food, maybe a little entertainment.
It's a very entertaining car.
MRMalcolm Reese
It's going back.
What? Dad, that's cruel!
MRMalcolm Reese
I'm cutting you off. [Logan looks shocked] No money, no checkbook, no credit cards.
What? Dad, no! [grabs Chauncy by his suit coat] Chauncy, please talk to him!
CChauncy
Let go of my lapels, or I'll poke you in your neck
MRMalcolm Reese
[as Logan faces him] The credit card. [Logan then feebly gives the credit card to him] Chauncy?
[Chauncy then takes out a pair of scissors]
[now getting frantic] What, what, what? No, no! Wait! No, no! [Malcolm takes the scissors from Chauncy and cuts the credit card in half, causing Logan to scream] [Malcolm then hands the destroyed credit card back to his distressed son, and returns the scissors to Chauncy, before walking over and opening the room's door] Dad!
MRMalcolm Reese
Gentlemen, take the plasma screen, the laptop, the stereo, and all that stuff there.
[Two movers enter the room, head over to Logan's stereo and start to unplug it]
[realizing that his dad is not only taking away his money but also his luxury items as well] No, no! Dad, please! Why? Why the stereo? I need the stereo, I have to listen to music! [The movers pick up and carry away the stereo as Logan continues to plead] Oh, no, please! Put it down! Dad, please! Please! [Malcolm continues to stand firm, ignoring his son's pleas, as the movers return, unplug the plasma screen TV, and carry it out of the room] No! Dad, not the plasma screen! No! Noooooooooooooooooo! [collapses to his knees in distress]
Oh my God, we actually feel bad for Logan Reese.
Unbelievable.
Wow.
That's insane.
He's letting kids throw tomatoes at him?
For a dollar a piece?
Can I have a dollar? (Zoey nudges him)
I miss Logan's plasma screen.
Why couldn't his dad had've taken Logan away and left all the cool stuff? (Logan walks into the room) What's up, poor boy? (Chuckles)
I hate my life.
Yeah, you've looked better.
What's wrong with your hair?
Juanita didn't fluff it. That's what's wrong with it.
Juanita?
The lunch lady. I used to pay her to blow dry and fluff my hair every morning, which is why I'd look so awesome. But now since my evil father closed my bank account, I can't pay her to do it anymore.
Yeah, life is hard.
It is now.
Why should we help him?
He wouldn't help us.
Yeah, but we're good people.
Yeah, I am a good person.
I can't believe I'm transporting Logan Reese's underpants.
Yeah, well if you're really in the mood, try typing up this 26 page history report.
Why'd he have to buy that stupid car and lose all his money? I liked him better when he was rich and obnoxious.
You know, it's really wrong to read another person's e-mail.
You want me to stop?
No! Read it!
Have you heard the song I wrote? I can sing it for you.
No! Please! What'd I ever do to you?
(singing off-key. Throughout the song, Michael is whining about the song and how horrible Stacey's singing is.) You can sip it in the morning, sip it in the evening, even at a quarter to three! 'Cause I like sassafras, you like sassafras, we like sassafras teeeeeeeeeeeeeea!
These quotes come from Wikiquote's Zoey 101 pages and are available under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License.