Wait a minute, wait a minute, Doc, are you telling me that you built a time machine out of a delorean. Of course, from a group of Libyan Nationalists. They wanted me to build them a bomb, so I took their plutonium and in turn gave them a shiny bomb case full of used pinball machine parts. What? Don't tell me anything. My god, do you know what this means? It means that this damn thing doesn't work at all.
Looks like a airplane, without wings. Take that you mutated son-of-a-bitch. My pine, why you. You space bastard, you killed a pine. Well, what if they didn't like them, what if they told me I was no good. I guess that would be pretty hard for somebody to understand. Marty, you seem so nervous, is something wrong? Who are you?
George: you ever think of running for class president? Stop it. I know what you're gonna say, son, and you're right, you're right, But Biff just happens to be my supervisor, and I'm afraid I'm not very good at confrontations. Hey, don't I know you from somewhere? I do understand. If I know too much about my own future I could endanger my own existence, just as you endangered yours.