Dr. Gonzo: Cows are gonna kill me. Bisexuals are gonna kill me. Let's get out of here. Where's the elevator?
Raoul Duke: No! Fuck! Don't go near the elevator, man, that's just what they want us to do. Trap us in a steel box, take us down to the basement. Come here. Don't run, man. They'd like any excuse to shoot us.
Dr. Gonzo: Hey honkies. You folks wanna buy some heroin? Goddamnit, I'm serious. All I'm trying to sell you is some pure fucking smack! This is the real stuff! You won't get hooked. I just got back from Vietnam. Ahahaha... scag! Pbbbbbbb... I wanna sell you some pure fucking smack... pure... fuck.
Man in Car: Goddammit you bastards! Pull over! I'll kill you I'll kill you! Pull over, come on.
Dr. Gonzo: As your attorney, I advise you to take a hit out of the little brown bottle in my shaving kit. You won't need much, just a tiny taste.
Dr. Gonzo: I hate to say this, but this place is getting to me. I think I'm getting the Fear.
Raoul Duke: Look, there's two women fucking a polar bear.
Dr. Gonzo: Don't tell me these things. Not now man.
Raoul Duke: Order us some golf shoes, otherwise we'll never get out of this place alive. Impossible to walk in this muck. No footing at all.
Dr. Gonzo: You took too much, man. You took too much.
Wine Colored Tuxedo: I said there are no seats left sir, at any price.
Dr. Gonzo: Fuck seats! We're friends of Debbie's. I used to romp with her.
Dr. Gonzo: We won't make the nut unless we have unlimited credit.
Raoul Duke: Jesus Christ, we will, man. You Samoans are all the same. You have no faith in the essential decency of the white man's culture.
Raoul Duke: There's a uh, big machine in the sky, some kind of, I dunno, electric snake, coming straight at us.
Dr. Gonzo: Shoot it.
Raoul Duke: Not yet, I want to study its habits.
Dr. Gonzo: You drive. You drive. I think there's something wrong with me.
Raoul Duke: You people just don't understand! This car is property of the World Bank, that money goes to Italy.
Raoul Duke: Those of us that had been up all night were in no mood for coffee and donuts, we wanted strong drink. We were, after all, the absolute cream of the national sporting press.
Raoul Duke: What kind of rat bastard psychotic would play that song right now, at this moment?
Raoul Duke: That bastard isn't gonna get away with this. I mean, what is going on in this country when a scumsucker like that can get away with sandbagging a doctor of journalism? Can you tell me that?
Raoul Duke: I was pouring sweat. My blood is too thick for Nevada. I've never been able to properly explain myself in this climate.
Raoul Duke: The possibility of physical and mental collapse is now very real. No sympathy for the Devil, keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride.
Raoul Duke: Shit, he's killing himself.
Raoul Duke: With a bit of luck, his life was ruined forever. Always thinking that just behind some narrow door in all of his favorite bars, men in red woolen shirts are getting incredible kicks from things he'll never know.
Raoul Duke: Panic. It crept up my spine like first rising vibes of an acid frenzy. All these horrible realities began to dawn on me. There I was. Alone in Las Vegas, completely twisted on drugs, no cash, no story for the magazine, and on top of everything else, a gigantic god damned hotel bill to deal with. How would Horatio Alger handle this situation? Stay calm. Stay calm.
