Vincent Cadby: [Ace moans and howls upon entering a room sporting numerous stuffed animal heads] Something wrong, Mr. Ventura?
Ace: Of course not. This is a lovely room of death.

That's a lovely fur you're wearing. Perhaps I could find you some slippers made from the skins of innocent and defenseless baby seals!

Ace

That's what you slipped in! That's what was on your shoe! AND THAT EXPLAINS THE ABRASION ON YOUR PALM! Damn I'm good!

Ace

Pride is an abomination. One must forego the self to obtain total spiritual creaminess, and avoid the chewy chunks of degradation.

Ace

Fulton Greenwall: WE can pay you handsomely.
Ace: I am now a child of light. Your earthly money holds no appeal to me.
Fulton Greenwall: Twenty thousand dollars.
Ace: Re-he-he-Really? No. I cannot. For I am sorely needed... here, at the ashram.
Ashram Monk: If I may interject! We're short of space, and it's important for you to use your talents. Let me help you pack.
Ace: But I am yet to attain omnipresent supergalactic oneness.
Ashram Monk: Wait! Here it is! You've just attained it.
Ace: I have?
Ashram Monk: Just now! You are one! I can see it in your eyes. You're more one than anyone!
Ace: What about my medallion of spiritual accomplishment?
Ashram Monk: Take mine!
Ace: Master. This took you eighty years to achieve!
Ashram Monk: That's okay. I don't like it anymore. Really.
Ace: In the light of this great personal sacrifice you've made, I have no choice... but to take the case.
Ashram Monk: Great! I'll go tell the others!
Ace: Master... break it to them gently.

Droz: Are we having a party tonight or what?
Cecilia: Well, there's no publicity, so there's no people; Gutter never showed up, so there's no beer; instruments just blew out, so there's no band; and I think Raji and Deege may be dead.
Droz: Wait a minute... no beer? Well, where the hell's Gutter?
Katy: Probably in a parking lot somewhere picking his nose.

These, Tom, are the Causeheads. They find a world threatening issue and stick with it for about a week.

Droz

Katy: What about Naugahyde Windpipe?
Cecilia: Too metal.
Raji: Oedipus and the Mama's Boys.
Cecilia: Too college radio.
Deeje: My Johnson Is 12 Inches Long.
Cecilia: Interesting, but I don't think it's a band name.

Bantam: America's greatest president.
Rand: It's me, Rand. Open up.
Bantam: America's greatest president.
Rand: Damn it. "Who is Ronald Reagan?"
Bantam: A casual shoe for yachting.
Rand: What are you trying to figure out, B.D.? Who could I be? "What is a blucher?"
Bantam: They killed Jesus Christ.
Rand: "Who are the Jews?" Open up, sucko.

[scene after the dog humps toy duck] I have to sew the duck's head back on... and fix his butthole.

Donna Newman

Michael Newman: My schmeckel got bigger now that I'm older, just so you guys know that.
Trudy: It couldn't have gotten any smaller.
Ted: [Laughing] It looked like a litttle Tic Tac.
Michael Newman: Yeah, come, here, I'll freshen your breath.

[on answering machine] Hello, Miles. It's Maya. Thanks for your letter. I-I would have called sooner, but I think I needed some time to think about everything that happened and... what you wrote to me. Another reason, um, I didn't call you sooner is because I wanted to finish your book, which I finally did last night. And I think it's really lovely, Miles. You're so good with words. Who cares if it's not getting published? There are so many beautiful and... painful things about it. Did you really go through all that? Must have been awful. And the sister character - jeez, what a wreck. But I have to say that, well, I was really confused by the ending. I mean, did the father finally commit suicide, or what? It's driving me crazy. Anyway, it's turned cold and rainy here lately, but I like winter. So, listen, if you ever do decide to come up here again, you should let me know. I would say stop by the restaurant, but to tell you the truth, I'm not sure how much longer I'm gonna be working there, because I'm going to graduate soon. So, I'll probably want to relocate. I mean, we'll see. Anyway, like I said, I really loved your novel. Don't give up, Miles. Keep writing. I hope you're well. Bye.

Maya

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