Smallest Park

So, you're saying you want me to choose a new font? Yes, essentially, I'd like you to choose a new font.

Jerry, you're number three. There's only two of us.

It is point-zero-zero-zero zero-zero-three square miles.

But guess what, Terryville sucks old car tires and so does Martin Luther... No. He does not suck old car tires.

Oh, I did not graduate college because I did not 'attend it.'

Horizons are dumb. Never broaden your horizons.

Of all my coworkers, he is one of a small number whom I do not actively root against.

There I go, getting all sappy.

The only good font is the Sopranos one, where the R is a pistol.

I'm more of a Steve Harvey. I dream big, I shake things up, and I always wear dope suits.

I barely haven't even ever seen a gor-tar.

Guess what. I was secretly an undercover rock star this whole time.

For what it's worth, I think you would make an incredible brunette.

So, please join us for the grand opening of Pawnee's smallest park on November 12th, 2070.

Well, there's barely room for an actual basketball, much less a court.

One of the most significant bummers of my lifetime.

Today I'm a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon. And the Parks Department is a wrinkly old housewife in her early 30s.

I once hosted a forum about a new bike rack that lasted seven hours. Now, when I need these people to complain, they're done in 45 minutes?

Why would I take a class on something that's already happened?

I want to be burned at the stake.

Andy Dwyer will be taking Women's Lasers. Women's Studies. Sorry. God, I cannot stop thinking about lasers.

Andy Dwyer will be taking Women's Lasers. Women's Studies. Sorry. God, I cannot stop thinking about lasers.

I do, Joe. Yeah, that's how I know just how high this conspiracy goes.

Well, guess what, Jerry. I'm a dreamer. Okay? I dream big. Deal with it.

So, I don't think we should work together anymore.

Hello, ma'am, who is just as equal as men.

I would like one ticket for Women.

I'm going to beg for money on the street like a drug addict.

You are a massive, enormous, runaway steamroller, with no brakes and a cement brick on the gas pedal.

Well, then, you should call me a bulldozer rather than a steamroller.

The roll-y thing on the front of the machine. What do you call that? Roller? Probably.

Heck, I still use my original ID card from my first day on the job.

Good news, son. You have just won a Ron Swanson scholarship.

One thing I promised myself when I buried gold in my backyard was that I'd never be a hoarder or a miser about it.

She once made me eat an entire cheesecake at a potluck so she didn't look bad.

Thanks. But most of the credit goes to my number four, Jerry.

There is another option. We could just say, 'Screw it,' and do this thing for real.

That is extremely incorrect. I thought maybe it was.