Cheryl: And now we're on the brink of World War Two.
Pam: Three.
Cheryl: It's not a competition, Pam!

Cheryl: BUUUURT REYNOLDS! IS ON LINE ONNNNNEEEE!!!!

Cheryl: Hey, Pam, check this out.
[Pam looks at computer]
Pam: Holy shit snacks!
Malory: We have snacks?!

Cheryl: I love that you know how to do that.
Krieger: And I love that I have an erection... that doesn't involve homeless people.

Cheryl: I spent, like, every summer there listening to my creepy great-grandmother bitch about Abraham Lincoln. Apparently slavery was pretty awesome.
Malory: Prove it.
Archer: What's to prove? It's free labor.

Cheryl: I think that's hot, like somebody murdering me is so... intimate.
[Later, discussing her fetish]
Cheryl: You seriously don't think that's hot?
Pam: I seriously think you're scary.
Cheryl: No no no no, like, a big, sweaty fireman carries you out of a burning building, lays you on the sidewalk and you think, "yeah, okay, he's gonna give me mouth-to-mouth", but instead he just starts choking the shit out of you, and the last sensation that you feel before you die is he is squeezing your throat so hard that a big, wet, blob of drool drips off his teeth and just, flurp, falls right onto your popped-out eyeball.
[Awkward pause]
Pam: Jesus Christ!

Cheryl: I'm sorry, Krieger, but it's over. So here's all your Creedence Clearwater albums back.
Krieger: And now, a sad moon is on the rise.
Cheryl: I know, devastating. But it's not you, it's your weak womany hands.
Krieger: They're not...
Cheryl: It's like being choked by a child. Which I thought would be hot, but...
Krieger: No, wait! I'll take steroids!
Cheryl: I can't wait! I need a man now, with monster hands.

Cheryl: If this doesn't work, we just paid a hundred buck for liquid fart.
Pam: Yeah, well, here's shit in your eye.
[The three toast their mugs and drink the "herbal tea"]
Ray: Oh God, it tastes worse than it smells!
Pam: Man, if I had a nickel for every time I heard a guy say that... [Brightly] I'd have eight nickels!

Cheryl: It has to be your place. Mine totally reeks of ocelot piss.

Cheryl: It's crazy stupid boring in here!
Archer: Well, now you know how Babou feels.
Cheryl: ...Crepuscular?

Cheryl: My great-grandfather was nuts for skating. That and the Klan.

Cheryl: Oh, I thought we were laughing at the dead people we set on fire.

Cheryl: Pick one. Either A, I tell Lana what happened on that scratchy green office rug, or two, you get inside me.
Cyril: Or C, maybe I just jam this mop into the engine and kill all of us.
Cheryl: I don't think that's how blimps work.
Cyril: Darn! Right, we just sort of float around. Stupid, naturally safe helium.
Cheryl: But I am liking the jamming imagery... [She rips open her shirt] and the killing.
Cyril: [To Pam, who's sitting nearby] And you are just going to sit there?
Pam: Yeah, until she tags me in!

Cheryl: That Burt Reynolds is so freaking awesome!
Archer: Yeah, he... kinda is.
Pam: After this, I am going to go home, watch Hooper and masturbate until my fingers bleed.
[Cheryl and Archer stare at her]
Cheryl: Just tape them up!

Cheryl: Trust me, you can't control a person's heart.
Krieger: You can with a little thing I call a deep cycle marine battery. [pause] Or LSD.
Cheryl: Is that what you've been giving me?
Krieger: ...Yes.
Cheryl: I just thought they were breath strips!