Ooh! Wiggle my ears and tickle my toes, methinks I see a baby's nose!

H-how did you know? –Well, like any decent, self-respecting housekeeper, I listened in on the other phone.

When are you going to learn that girls like that are a dime-a-dozen? –Please don't quote me the price when I haven't got the time.

I'm not spending Thanksgiving in Wichita. I've got a family waiting for me.

I'm Marti Page, and I'm thankful that my dad's coming home for Thanksgiving.

How may I help you? –You can start by wiping that fucking dumb-ass smile off your rosy fucking cheeks. And you can give me a fucking automobile. A fucking Datsun, a fucking Toyota, a fucking Mustang, a fucking Buick. Four fucking wheels and a seat! –I really don't care for the way you're speaking to me. –And I really don't care for the way your company left me in the middle of fucking nowhere with fucking keys to a fucking car that isn't fucking there. And I really didn't care to fucking walk down a fucking highway and across a fucking runway to get back here to have you smile in my fucking face. I want a fucking car right fucking now. –May I see your rental agreement? –I threw it away. –Tsk. Oh boy. –'Oh boy,' what? –You're fucked.

I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure.

Where are we going? –Back of the ship. –Why? –Because the front crashes first. Think it through.