Mac: We're getting plowed in the ass by the oil companies and the gas companies with their ten-gallon hats and their rotten ass-plowing hearts. So, as the brains of this organization, I came up with a plan.
Dennis: Lay it on us, buddy.
Mac: It involves pulling up our bootstraps, oiling up a couple of asses, and doing a little plowing of our own. (Charlie and Dennis stand in silence) Not gay sex.
Dennis: Ah, OK, OK, OK.
Charlie: Ah, OK, 'cause that's what it sounded like.
Mac: You set the tone for the whole meeting.
Charlie: So if I'm, like, there while you guys are talking, and I'm just like—I'm like, uh... (grimaces)
Mac: That's terrible.
Charlie: I was ma—that was my wild card face. All right—
Dennis: What message are you trying to send with that?
Charlie: Really? Was that not a good one? Well, so what if it's more like—like, um, um... (makes another face)
Dennis: And you want 'em to think you're gonna take a dump?
Charlie: Seriously? That's what it looks like?
Frank: It's not a rape van! It's a spy van!
(Dee and Frank are in Frank's van, spying)
Frank: What do you see?
Dee: I can't see shit! Why would you tint the inside of the windows?
Frank: I don't want anybody to see in.
Dee: We can't see out, Frank!
(the gas station owner stops the guys from fueling)
Dennis: All right, well, wild card, do your thing.
Charlie: (opens lighter) So help me God, I'll blow this place to kingdom come.
Mac: Not that. Not that. Jesus Christ, Charlie.
Mac: (to the gas station owner) You're about to experience the hard knocks of a free market, bitch. Get ready to feel it where it hurts.
Charlie: Your dick.
Mac: No. No, not his dick. His—his wallet.
Frank: We don't wanna call the cops! They'll find the bug I'm gonna plant.
Dee: That's a baby monitor, Frank. You're planting a baby monitor?
Frank: Yeah ... lot of people are bugging their babies these days. I guess babies can't be trusted.
Dennis: Now explain to me how exactly we're gonna calculate the totals.
Charlie: Oh, it's easy, dude. You pour gas into the car using one of these funnels, right? And I count how much gas is going into the car.
Dennis: All right, let me—let me just stop you right there. How exactly are you planning on counting a liquid?
Charlie: Uh, I know how to count, dude.
Mac: So we've got to attract attention.
Mac: I, for one, suggest me blowing fireballs to get that attention.
Mac: No, I—I think we gotta stick to the paradigm that we've set up. I mean, A-Team...
Charlie: No, no, no. Your paragon is failing us, man.
Dennis: Yeah, it's a paradigm, but yeah, it—it wasn't working.
Charlie: I'm gonna get some disguises.
Dennis: Why would we need disguises, Charlie?
Charlie: So people don't know who we are, you know?
Dennis: They already don't know who we are.
Charlie: You're not letting the wild card do his thing, OK?
Dennis: Is there any reason behind what you're doing?
Charlie: Wild card!
Dennis: Well, wild card over here decided to lose his mind!
Charlie: (in a Southern accent) I say, I say, that's just damn preposterous, boy.
Dennis: Well, now you're just talking like Foghorn Leghorn!
Mac: The reason that shit hasn't been working out for us is because we are not working with our full crew! I'm the brains, (to Dennis) you're the looks, Charlie's the wild card, and Frank is the muscle.
Charlie: Well, what's Dee?
Mac: She's the useless chick!
Mac: (driving the van) Guys, why aren't the brakes working?
Charlie: Because I cut the brakes! Wild card, bitches! Yeeeee-haw! (he jumps out the back of the van)