Scrubs2001

J.D.:
You know, Dr. Cox, we've known each other for over two years. Let me in, okay? Help me help you, help me help you, help me help you...

Dr. Cox:
[interrupting] Stop it!

J.D.:
Help me help you.

Dr. Cox:
Fine, Newbie. Let me, let me tell you a little story. It starts every day at 5 in the morning which is just about the time that you're setting your hair for work when I am awakened by a sound. Is that a cat being gutted by a fishing knife? No, that's my son. He's hungry and he's got a load in his pants so big that I'm actually considering hiring a stable boy but I go ahead and dig in because I do love the lad and gosh, you know me. I'm a giver and [whistles] I'm off to the hospital where my cup runneth over with both quality colleagues such as yourself and a proverbial clown car full of sick people. But, what the hey, my pay is about the same as guys who break rocks with other rocks and I only have to work three or four hundred hours a week so, so far I'm a pretty happy camper. And then I head back home where I am greeted by the faint musk of baby vomit in a house that used to smell like, well... nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I-I-In fact, it used to smell like nothing at all and all I want to do before I restart this whole glorious cycle is, you know... maybe lay on the couch and have a beer, watch some Sports Center and, if I'm not too sweaty for the day's labors stick my hand right down my pants buuut apparently that's not in Jordan's definition of pulling your weight. So, uh... there you are, superstar. Fix that.