I’ll tell you what. When we’re all done here, I’ll buy you a nice, big, family size bottle of top-shelf lube and I’ll tickle your balls till you beg me to stop and even then I won’t. I just won’t do it.[to Hughie]
When they’re apart, they’re absolute f***ing rubbish. But, you put them together, they’re the goddamn f***ing Spice Girls.
He’s got a hard-on for mass murder and giving kids cancer, and his big old answer to the existential clusterf*** that is humanity, is to nail his own bleeding son to a plank.[about God]
You tell anyone what you saw or heard here today, and I’ll cut your hands off and shove them so far up your ass, your fingers’ll give us a little wave out your throat, yeah?[to Mesmer]
This is a f***ing mess, son. We got a Supe terrorist, Rayner’s blown her canister, and we’re the most wanted c**ts in the country. But don’t you worry. Daddy’s home.[to Hughie]
People love that cozy feeling that Supes give them. Some golden c**t to swoop out of the sky and save the day so you don’t got to do it yourself.