MSgt. Otis V. McKinney: We'll talk again. I believe tomorrow morning you'll find you've got a team, want one or not.
Pfc. Franklin Fairchild Bean: I will not.
MSgt. Otis V. McKinney: I will not, sergeant! That's a gig, Lamar.
Cpl. Harold Lamar: Gig for Bean.
MSgt. Otis V. McKinney: And gigs mean trouble.
Jack Hammond: That's the question on the minds of all your viewers? Whether I run out of gas or not? Tell you what, Jer. You let your viewers know that I hope Miss Voss' fear and my desperation are entertainment enough for them. After all, that is what this is all about, isn't it? The story. As it breaks. Live. Coming to you from the bad guy himself. I mean we wouldn't want your viewers to change the fucking channel, now, would we?
Topper Harley: These men have taken a supreme vow of celibacy, like their fathers, and their fathers before them.
Topper Harley: Ramada, I want to be with you. I want to hold you. I want to meet your parents and pet your dog...
Ramada: My parents are dead, Topper. My dog ate them.
Topper Harley: My father used to say that not playing to win is like sleeping with your sister. Sure she's a great piece of tail, with a blouse full of goodies, but... It's just illegal. Then you get into that whole inbred thing. Kids with no teeth who do nothing but play the banjo... Eat apple sauce through a straw... Pork farm animals.
Topper Harley: Nice place.
Ramada Thompson: It's okay. The only problem is I have a nosy landlady. Well, I guess this is goodnight.
Topper Harley: I don't want to go back.
Ramada Thompson: You don't have to. I don't want to be alone. And by the way... I can go all night, like a lumberjack!
Topper Harley: What about your landlady?
Ramada Thompson: You can do her too.
James Russell: I want some answers.
Franklin Hatchett: Hey man, me and Guy just down here, checkin' out some fly rides, and mackin' some hos and chillin'.
James Russell: Imagine that. It's like a G-Dog on a fly tip. Flossin' wit da posse. Cuttin' in da crib. what THE fuck does that mean?
Franklin Hatchett: Man, I don't wanna have to beat yo ass, but I will beat yo ass.
Barclay: Who gives a rat's ass about some two bit hustler?
James Russell: The people getting ripped off by this two bit hustler give a rat's ass.
David Ackerman: Do you think I like dragging around after you all day? I fucking hate it! And I hate the way you drive. And I hate your stinkin' whiskey breath.
Nick Pulovski: And I hate your uptight regulation-spouting boy scout horseshit. And I hate the little fucking creases in your pants. And I hate these fucking donuts. These fruitcake little ones, with the goddamn pinky shit! Nobody eats that shit.
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