Now go! I need to meditate. Or masturbate. Or both.

They damaged my stuff. They smash up my home. Damage my soul. Look at this... This, this, this, this statue here of Impotent Rage. This fucking meant more to me than Johnny K meant to anyone! And they smashed it! Those pathetic, midlife crisis, hog-riding, shaven-headed, fruity leather-chap-wearing fucking assholes!

Michael: Alright... the fuck is this bullshit? We handled your little immigration problem or whatever the fuck it was. We're straight.
Steve Haines: Oh absolutely... yeah, yeah. You killed people, you tortured people, committed a litany of other crimes... Oh we're so straight you and me, we're arrows.

Floyd: Wade, I heard you was off smoking meth somewhere.
Trevor: No, not somewhere, here. He's gonna smoke meth here. Get me a fucking lighter.
Floyd: You can't smoke here.
Trevor: Okay.

What a shit show. I'll tell you what, you could take this desert, and stick it. My life may be a world of pain, but from here on out it's gonna be cool, comfortable, air-conditioned pain.