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.
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 bi***es too.
Girl: Fuck you! [Throws a glass at Perry, which he ducks].
Harry: Wow, I feel sore. I mean physically, not like a guy who's angry in a movie in the 1950's.
Perry: This isn't good cop, bad cop. This is fag and New Yorker.
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?