Wendy: When we graduated art school, we swore two things. No more underwear-stealing boyfriends...
Lacey: What was it with those guys, we were like magnets!
Wendy: …and no more waitressing.
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Ida: It’s worth more bread than the two of you meatsocks make put together.
Wendy: See, that’s why I’m an artist and you’re a soulless android from outer space masquerading as a cranky librarian.
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Israeli Museum Curator: (in Hebrew) Are you a product of the Kibbutz movement like me?
The Middleman: A man asked me that question once. I kicked his male reproductive organs into his watch pocket. Now he must check the time whenever he wishes to copulate.
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The Middleman: You’re not ready.
Wendy: To pick up a surly Asian guy at an airport? You just described three of my last four relationships.
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Wendy: Uh, Sensei Ping. Like an unborn lotus festering in the mud waiting to blossom, I come to you with humble greetings to beseech your guidance
Sensei Ping: (laughs) Did the Middleman tell you to recite the most hallowed verse of greetings to Sensei Ping?
Wendy: Uh, yes.
Sensei Ping: He is such a comedian. You know, most of us masters of the martial arts are really very laid back.
Wendy: Really?
Sensei Ping: No! (slaps her)
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Sensei Ping: Do not speak unless you are spoken too. And never, ever let Sensei Ping’s bags touch pavement.
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Sensei Ping: Sensei Ping has never known such indignity. This mode of conveyance is beneath anyone who walks upright. Auto smells like something that was drained from a bowel.
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Wendy: Uh, Sensei Ping…
Sensei Ping: That is my name. Do not wear it out.
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Wendy: Uh, why is my car being surrounded by a bunch of lucha libre wrestlers?
Sensei Ping: That is a very long story for another day, my impudent young weasel.
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The Middleman: Well la-di-da, Dubbie. You must be mistaking the Clan of the Pointed Stick for one of the rational societies of paranoid martial artists.
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Lacey: Are things bad with Sexy Boss Man?
Wendy: Must you call him that? Must you?
Lacey: Yes, I must.
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Ida: Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s raining.
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Wendy: Bail? Parachute? How will I get back?
Ida: You’ll either be dead or you’ll rescue the Middleman and Sensei Ping, kill all the wrestlers in your way, and jack whatever plane they used to get here. What, you never watched a Bond flick?
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The Middleman: You may want to unhook your parachute, it cramps your style.
Wendy: Oh shut up.
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