LL: Are you getting reception? Aren’t we supposed to be tweeting about this?
SR: We’re not supposed to tweet. We’re just supposed to talk.
PD: And foock.
PD: Let’s foock, doll. My couch or yours?
LL: Um, I’m not into that. And we’re on TV.
PD: I quite enjoy that, actually. It turns me on.
SR: All right…what the hell. Sure. If it’s what we’re supposed to do. Come here, Petey.
PD: Get offa me, ya coont. I don’t want yer nasty hands anywhere on me. I know where they’ve been.
PD: What? Are ye still gay for her or something?
LL: What if I am?
PD: You can do better than that sloot. Look, doll, I’m right here.
LL: Ew! Put that away.
SR: Hey, Linds. I’ll make out with you…if he joins in.
PD: Foock no! I’ve sworn off DJs.
LL: Well, I’ve sworn off cokeheads.
PD: Like foock ya have.
SR: This is just stupid. How long does this show go on?
LL: Forever, I think. This sucks.
PD: Have ya tried that bell?
LL: Yes. It doesn’t work.
PD: Bollocks! No foocking room service? I wanted a bloody chocolate cream pie.
LL: We’re not supposed to get hungry here. Did you want it to eat?
PD: No, to foock you on!
PD: Anyone got a fag?
LL: Excuse me?
SR: He means a cigarette. Sorry, no.