Concierge: I cannot believe you forgot where you parked the jet.
Muscleman: Hey, at least I remember important things. Like my wedding anniversary.
Prock: You're not married.
Muscleman: Oh, right. Forgot.
Frantic: Wait a second, it seems like once again something I took for a positive is revealing itself to be a negative. Curse you, switcheroos!
Prock: I'm sorry, was that story supposed to be helpful?
Gadget Gal: It was supposed to be a story. Do whatever the hell you want with it.
Muscleman: Yeah, I took an improv class in fourth grade. And I'll never forget the old improv rule. Yes and... something. I can never remember what goes with yes.
Frantic: Oh, come on, Prock, it'll be great! Plus, television is the perfect medium to show the world the real me. In regards to the real me, when would we start? I need a nose job, fake contacts, and that plastic surgery that makes you look like a cat. Rawr.
Prock: Can you promise this will be classy and dignified and not some cheap reality show?
Lola Gold: Here's how classy it'll be. People will put it in their Netflix queue, but they're never going to watch it.
Mr. Awesome: Relax, Malocchio. This antidote contains everything wholesome and innocent in the world. Rainbows, cotton candy, children's laughter, panda bears. But mainly chemicals.
Gadget Gal: Ew, fish penises. It's like a Ukrainian delicatessen.