“good call. A second drag and your next stop's the wastepaper basket - and not to toss your kleenex, true.”

“Fine, good, Mary thought. Then how about dragging your skinny ass out of here and making sure your replacement is an ugly, two-toothed gorgon in a muumuu.”

“And if that bastard’s innocent,” Rhage spoke up, “I’m the fucking Easter bunny.” “Oh, good,” someone quipped. “I’m calling you Hop-along Hollywood from now on.” “Beasty Bo Peep,” somebody else threw out. “We could put you in a Cadbury ad and finally make some money—” “People,” Rhage barked, “the point is that he is not innocent and I’m not the Easter bunny—” “Where’s your basket?” “Can I play with your eggs?” “Hop it out, big guy—” “Will you guys fuck off ? Seriously!”

“I'll cab it home." "Naw. I'll hang until you're through. Then I'll drag you back to your apartment. Watch you throw up for an hour. Push you into bed. Before I leave I'll get the coffee machine set up. Aspirin will be right next to the sugar bowl." "I don't have a sugar bowl." "So it'll be next to the bag." Butch smiled. "You'd have made a great wife, Jose." "That's what mine tells me.”

“Stop it.Do not feel safe with him. The Stockholm Syndrome is not your friend.”

“And second, I don't think there's much of a market for your particular brand of psychology." "So not true.""Butch, you and I just beat the crap out of each other.""You started it. And actually, it would be perfect for Spike TV. UFC meets Oprah. God, I'm brilliant.""Keep telling yourself that.-Butch and V”

“When he turned back around, his characteristic smart-ass smile was back in place. "Your wish is my command, prince of mine." Don't call me that."How about good ol'-fashioned 'master'?" When John just glared over his shoulder, Quinn shrugged. "Fine. I'll go with fathead then. But that's your damage, I gave you options." [John & Qhuinn]”