Eric: Wow. Golf on a Wednesday, huh, Ari? In the next life, I want to come back as you.
Ari: Wish I could return the compliment, E, but I'd rather come back as one of Michael Vick's dogs.
Eric: How are those want ads looking, Turtle?
Turtle: Depressing. You guys think I could sell myself to old broads for cash?
Eric: Yeah, if they have vision problems.
Vince: Turtle, you really don't have to get a job.
Turtle: Uh... yeah, Vin, I really do. I mean, I need a little cash in my pocket. You got your face to land pussy. What do I got?
Eric: A point.
Drama: What I'm looking for in an assistant, you don't have.
Turtle: And what's that?
Drama: An ass I'd wanna fuck.
Bob: What, the Ramones picture? It's not dead?
Alan: Not dead. Nothing's ever dead in this town.
Ari: You're living proof of that, Bob.
Ari: I don't miss putts inside 10 feet. Even Bob knows that.
Bob: Well, how would I know that? The only putz I see is standing in front of me.
Dom: E, why so close? I feel like you're about to attempt a prison rape.
Bob: You've got to cup this one to tie, Ari. I mean, it's not an easy shot.
Ari: No shit, Bob. Any advice there, Phil?
Phil: Pray, Ari.
Bob: Don't bother. I'm sure God gave up on you a long time ago.
Drama: I just walked nine miles. You're a dick!
Turtle: Why didn't you call a cab?
Drama: Out of principle and to prove that you're a dick.