Charles Charles: I hate to look in the gift horse’s mouth, but I’m not gonna start craving human flesh, am I?
Chuck: No. Although everything does taste better.
Chuck: I need your help.
Emerson Friend help or pay help? See that? That’s the kind of body language you never hear with pay help.
Chuck: You’re not mad at me?
Emerson: Hell yeah I’m mad! I’m steamed, furious, red-hot and don’t think I ain’t gonna yell at you later! But for now let’s just put our heads together and try to figure out what to do.
Emerson: Ah. Don’t be pecking me, woman. That’s the peck of cahoots, which we are definitely not in.
Chuck: Dwight might not have been the nicest man, but everybody deserves a burial with dignity.
Emerson: Fine, I got buttloads of dignity to sprinkle on the ground. Come on. Get holy.
Chuck: Thank you.
Emerson: Here lies Dwight. Here lies his gun. He was bad. Now he’s done. Let’s go.
Emerson: What’s with the shotgun?
Lily: Military salute.
Emerson: For Dwight Dixon?
Lily: For Charles. But if I happen to miss and blow Dwight’s head off, purely by accident, well, that’s something my lawyers can pretty much sort out later.
Marianne: And you remember, now–losing doesn’t make you a loser. Oh wait–it does.
Olive: I’m going to win that blue ribbon, wrap it around her neck, and strangle her with it.
Ned: Olive. You’re baking with hate.
Olive: Ah. Rich, buttery, high-in-carbohydrate hate. You know what no one tells you about cooking with the dark side? The food is really
good.
Ned: Revenge is a dish best served cold. We’re baking pie–warm, delicious, happy-making pie.
Olive: Okay, help cook or get out of the kitchen, short-pants.
Ned: He’s not just dead. He’s extra-crispy
Colonel Likkin: I hate to go, but at least I’m going delicious.
Olive: I know it’s a tragedy, obviously, but you know what they say, when God closes a door, he opens an oven.
Ned: They don’t say that, and if they do they don’t have much compassion for a dead colonel.
Olive: You’ve never solved a murder mystery alone before.
Ned: I’m not alone.
Olive: Me? Oh. I just got all tingly. And not just in the nether regions.
Olive: Okay, how do we go about this… this whole P.I. thing? Do we just jam the gun in the suspect’s mouth and say, “Sing, canary, or I’m gonna decorate this wallpaper with your guts”?
Ned: Neither. Technically, I don’t believe you can blow someone’s guts out their mouth.
Olive: Wuss.