Gus: You're not coming in? You're gonna make me stand in that deposit line all by myself?
Shawn: No, buddy, I will be with you in spirit ... like a tiny wood nymph.
Shawn: Well, if you remember, I'm holding a bit of a grudge against this particular banking institution.
Gus: Why, because they turned you down for a small business loan last year?
Shawn: Yes, because they turned me down for a small business loan! That was completely legitimate, Gus.
Gus: Shawn, it was for a zip-line pulley system to transport snacks from the kitchen to your desk.
Shawn: Or the reception area.
Shawn: (to Luntz after he has just made a theatrical entrance) And ... cut! Great, dripping with swagger. Let's go again, though, and maybe ease up on the cocksure smile just a bit. I liked it. I'm just not sure it's gonna play in the Midwest.
Luntz: Who the hell are you?
Shawn: Oh, my apologies. I'm Shawn Spencer, lead psychic for the SBPD and dilettante of shadow puppetry. What's this? (holds up hands) What's this right here? (makes kissing noises) Oh, that's a swan kissing the moon.
(a cell phone starts to ring)
Phil: Whose phone is that?
Man: (pointing to Gus) It's his phone.
Gus: Thank you, sir! We're hostages together. We're supposed to be on the same side here.
Phil: Gimme the phone.
Gus: I apologize. I would, but it's my work phone, and I get charged the deductible for any lost or stolen items, so how about I just turn the ringer off?
(Phil grabs the phone and throws it to the ground)
Karen: You're not a trained tactical officer, Spencer.
Luntz: Are we positive he's even house trained?
Shawn: (laughs) OK, all right, maybe you and I got off on the wrong foot, and you know what? You're correct. I have had a few close calls around the house recently, but I can help you.
Shawn: (to Phil) Why don't you let me go out there and make this right? On my way back in, I'll have them throw in a couple liters of old-fashioned root beer and some cinna-stars. They're like cinna-dots, they're just—they're—they're pointy. They're good. They're not great, but I can get them free of charge.
Gus: You mouthed off to him and got yourself taken hostage!
Shawn: Of course I did. That was my plan all along, you sweet dollop of spicy goodness.
Shawn: You know I'm not really a regular person, right, Phil?
Phil: What does that mean?
Shawn: I tried once and failed. I'm just too unique and interesting. The French call it "du fromage," which, loosely translated, means "of cheese."
Phil: (reading the list of demands that Shawn wrote for him) "My Demands, by Phil. An airplane to take me wherever I want. Tour bus, blue, with full tank of gas ... and groupies."
Shawn: That's non-negotiable.
Phil: "Five thousand dollars in unmarked bills." This is a huge list. What if they won't give me any of this stuff?
Shawn: I don't expect them to, Phil. That's just to buy us time so that we can figure out who in here has put you up to this.
Phil: "A zip-line pulley system used to transport deliciously flavored snacks and such from one location to another." What is this?
Shawn: (on the phone with Juliet, about Luntz) Just—just answer me this: does he have those older guy boobies that sort of droop at the ends?
Juliet: OK, I'm hanging up on you now.
Shawn: (to Gresling) Do you recall rejecting a small business loan for a zip-line snack transportation system, calling it, and I quote, "fiscally irresponsible"?
Gresling: Yes, I do.
Shawn: Well, Mr. Nathanial Gresling, this little task of retrieving the Mini Oreos took me fourteen seconds. Zip-line? (makes whoosing noise) Five. Fiscally irresponsible? Nay, I call that my fiscal obligation to my shareholders, namely Gus here.
(Shawn tackles Phil onto the floor and out of the way of the police's gunshot as the hostages stare)
Shawn: Free hugs. Who's next?
Gus: Oh, and, Shawn ... I just want you to know that no matter what happens, I care about you, and I appreciate you, and, well ... I love you, Shawn. (he embraces Shawn)
Shawn: OK, buddy. I hear ya. You know I'm gonna be back in, like, half an hour, right? Wow, that is a tight hug.
(Shawn has just been released from the bank)
Luntz: I wanna debrief him.
Lassiter: No, no, no. No way, Luntz. This is our guy. Any debriefing's gonna be done by us.
Luntz: No, this is my investigation.
Shawn: Guys, guys! I appreciate you arguing over me, but let me just point out ... I'm not wearing briefs.
Shawn: Can we screw protocol and get the hell out of here?
Lassiter: (pauses) You take shotgun.
Shawn: You are so sexy right now!
(Shawn has just called Lassiter "partner")
Gus: Partner? Uh, excuse me. What was that about?
Shawn: Well, you gotta admit, it's better than a little boy cat ... or a little girl cat.
Gus: Not appreciated, Shawn.
Shawn: Go ahead. Slap me in the face. Tell me they call you Mr. Tibbs.
Gus: I'm not doing that.
Shawn: Come on. It'll make you feel better.
Gus: They call me Mr.—I'm not doing that.
Shawn: (laughing) You were one word away!