Perry: You, stop multiplying.

Harry: What is it out here with these women?

Harmony: Oh please, Harry, they're no different from anywhere else.

Harry: Yes, they are. These are damaged goods, every one of them, from way back. I'm telling you, you take a guy who sleeps with 100 women a year, go into his childhood - dollars to doughnuts, it's relatively unspectacular. Now, you take one of these... gals, who sleeps with 100 guys a year, and I *bet* you if you look in their childhood, there's something rotten in Denver.

Harmony: Denmark.

Harry: That too! But it's abandonment, it's abuse, it's, "My uncle put his ping-ping in my papa!"... and then they all come out here! I mean, it's literally like someone took America by the East Coast and shook it, and all the normal girls managed to hang on.

Harmony: OK, everyone who hates Harry raise your hand!

[All the girls in the club raise their hands.]

Perry: See that? Obedient little bitches too.

Girl: Fuck you! [Throws a glass at Perry, which he ducks.]

Perry: Did your dad love you?

Harry: Only when I dressed up like a beer bottle, how about you?

Perry: Well, he used to beat me in Morse code, so it's possible, but he never said the words.

Harry: Is she dead?

Perry: No, she's just resting her eyes for a minute. Of course she's fucking dead, her neck's broken.

Perry: Go. Sleep badly. Any questions, hesitate to call.

Harry: Bad.

Perry: Excuse me?

Harry: Sleep bad. Otherwise it makes it seem like the machanism that allows you to sleep...

Perry: What, fuckhead? Badly's an adverb. Who taught you grammar? Get out. Vanish.

Harry: Wow, I feel sore. I mean physically, not like a guy who's angry in a movie in the 1950's.

Perry: Rule number one: this business, real life, it's boring. Do you have to smoke?

Harry: You want me to put it out?

Perry: Yeah, soon as you find a large, brown clump of shrubs, just throw it in there.

Harry: I peed on the corpse. Can they do, like, an ID from that?

Perry: I'm sorry, you peed on...?

Harry: On the corpse. My question is...

Perry: No, my question. I get to go first. Why in pluperfect hell would you pee on corpse?

Harmony: Well, for starters, she's been fucked more times than she's had a hot meal.

Harry: Yeah, I heard about that. It was neck-and-neck and then she skipped lunch.

Perry: This isn't good cop, bad cop. This is fag and New Yorker.

Harry: Is she a looker?

Perry: She opens the door, and she got nothing on but the radio. Yeah, invites me to sit down, sits on my lap, fires up a spliff.

Harry: Geez. Really?

Perry: No. Idiot.

Harry: Oh Wow. Woo. It's tiny. Is this real?

Perry: Yeah, it's a Derringer. It's loaded. I call it my faggot gun.

Harry: Because...

Perry: Because its only good for a couple shots, then you gotta drop it for something better. You asked, Chief.

Perry: My $2000 ceramic Vektor my mother got me as a special gift. You threw in the lake next to the car. What happens when they drag the lake? You think they'll find my pistol. Jesus. Look up "idiot" in the dictionary. You know what you'll find?

Harry: A picture of me?

Perry: No! The definition of the word idiot, which you fucking are!

Harry: This is every shade of wrong.

Mr. Frying Pan: Now, me and my men, we're puzzled lately by your behavior. Such as...

Mr. Fire: Such as, why is a savvy stand-up cad like yourself consorting with gay men? Y'know, frolicking in the lake and shit together?! What is that?

Harry: Still gay?

Gay Perry: Me? No, I'm knee-deep in pussy. I just like the name so much I can't get rid of it.

Harry: What?

Gay Perry: Talking money.

Harry: A talking monkey?

Gay Perry: Talking monkey yeah, yeah! Came here from the future, ugly sucker, only says "ficus".

Harmony: I left when you still had your tongue down her throat, Harry?

Harry: Oh god! Wrong throat, wrong one. That's bad.

Harmony: Yeah that's bad. You got 10 seconds Harry.

Harry: Oh boy! Pressure, pressure, pressure.

Gay Perry: That it?

Harry: No, that's the other corpse from the last guy who stayed here.