Dr. Gonzo: [Holding key] Where did this one come from?
Raoul Duke: That's Lacerda's.
Dr. Gonzo: Yeah, yeah I thought we might need it.
Raoul Duke: What for?
Dr. Gonzo: What for? So we can go up there and blast him out of bed with the firehose, man!

Wine Colored Tuxedo: I said there are no seats left sir, at any price.
Dr. Gonzo: Fuck seats! We're friends of Debbie's. I used to romp with her.

God damn mescaline. Why the fuck can't they make it a little less pure?

Let's find a nice seafood restaurant and eat some red salmon, I feel a powerful lust for red salmon.

Raoul Duke: Well, they've nailed me goddamnit. I'm trapped in some stinking desert crossroads called Baker. I don't have much time man, the fuckers are closing in! They'll hunt me down like a fucking beast!
Dr. Gonzo: Whoa, getting a little paranoid?
Raoul Duke: [yelling] I need a fucking lawyer immediately!
Dr. Gonzo: What are you doing in Baker, didn't you get my telegram?
Raoul Duke: What telegram you worthless bastard? I'll cripple your ass for this.
Dr. Gonzo: You brainless scumbag, you're supposed in Vegas covering the National District Attorney's Conference, I rented a suite at the Flamingo. Now what are you doing out in the middle of the desert?

Dr. Gonzo: This is it. Lacerda. Room 208.
Raoul Duke: [eyes askance] Huh? Lacerda?
Dr. Gonzo: Yeah, man. Lacerda...
Raoul Duke: [narrating] I couldn't remember. The name rang a bell but I couldn't concentrate. Terrible things were happening all around me.

Dr. Gonzo: We won't make the nut unless we have unlimited credit.
Raoul Duke: Jesus Christ, we will, man. You Samoans are all the same. You have no faith in the essential decency of the white man's culture.

Dr. Gonzo: Can we make it? I wanna leave fast.
Raoul Duke: Okay, let's pay this bill, get up very slowly... I think it's gonna be a long walk.

Dr. Gonzo: Cows are gonna kill me. Bisexuals are gonna kill me. Let's get out of here, where's the elevator?
Raoul Duke: No, fuck! Don't go near the elevator man, that's just what they want us to do. Trap us in a steel box, take us down to the basement. Come here. Don't run, man. They'd like any excuse to shoot us.

Are you ready for that? Checking into a Las Vegas hotel under a phony name with intent to commit capital fraud on a head full of acid? I sure hope so.

Sounds like big trouble. You're going to need plenty of legal advice before this thing is over. As your attorney, I advise you to rent a very fast car with no top. And you'll need the cocaine. Tape recorder for special messages. Acapulco shirts. Get the hell out of L.A. for at least 48 hours.

Raoul Duke: Alright listen to me. In a few hours, she'll probably be sane enough to work herself into some kind of towering Jesus-based rage at the hazy recollection of being seduced by some kind of cruel Samoan who fed her liquor and LSD, dragged her to a Vegas hotel room and then savagely penetrated every orifice in her little body with his throbbing, uncircumcised member.
Dr. Gonzo: That's so ugly, man!
Raoul Duke: Fuck. Truth hurts.

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