Gus: I need face time with my boss; I already missed the pamper pole trust exercise.
Shawn: I'm uncomfortable with you even saying the words "pamper pole."

Gus: I never thought I would hear you say that.
Shawn: Even more than "sinkhole sissy-feet flapjack go-go boots"?

Gus: I plead the Fifth.
Shawn: Mmm, element, dimension, Beatle?
Gus: You can't plead Billy Preston.

Gus: I still smell like stinky nuts!
Shawn: Gus, we don't have four hours to riff on that.

Gus: I think I have a bruise from all that CPR... can you see it?
Shawn: All I see is chocolate with hair on it.

Gus: I told you that newspaper thing was a dumb idea.
Shawn: Are you at all serious? We just captured a dangerous international spy and you're hung up on the newspaper bit?
Gus: No. I'm hung up on the fact that you've been obsessed with this woman this whole time, she makes the ultimate move on you, and you shut her down. That makes no sense! Are you crazy?
Shawn: I know it doesn't make any sense. Maybe I am crazy. All I can tell you is that... just now, in that moment, all I could think about was Jules. I just can't wrap myself around the fact she's dating Declan. Actually, it's actually killing me.
Gus: Shawn, that is not fair.
Shawn: I know. I know it's not fair. And you're right. She likes this guy, who am I to stand in the way?
Gus: Exactly.
Shawn: You think I don't want her to be happy? I want her to be happy. But--serious Shawn moment here--I want to be happy too, and for some reason I can't imagine that happening without Juliet.

Gus: I want some pancakes. Who wants pancakes? Whipped butter, maple syrup--what?!

Gus: I want you to call me "Guts".
Shawn: We all call you that.
Gus: No, Guts, Shawn.
Shawn: What? What are you saying?
Gus: Guts.
Shawn: You're saying "guts"?
Gus: Yes.
Shawn: That's too close to "Gus".
Gus: Never mind; call me "Old Ironside".
Shawn: Michael Ironside?
Gus: Old Iron Stomach, that's me.

Gus: I will eat you in manageable, bite-sized pieces.

Gus: I wrote the location down.
Shawn: This says "In the middle of a field". Why did you have to write that down?
Gus: The address is on the back.

Gus: I'm still not convinced, Shawn. How can you be absolutely certain that Lassiter didn't shoot Chavez?
Shawn: It's relatively easy, Gus. I decided to be and therefore I am. Socrates said that.
Gus: No, that was Descartes.
Shawn: That was the cologne we wore in high school.
Gus: That was Drakkar Noir.
Shawn: No, that's a wine.
Gus: That's pinot noir.

Gus: I've seen it all.
Shawn: You've seen it all though the cracks in your fingers while you were hiding your eyes.

Gus: Is this about pride?
Shawn: I got these jeans at a garage, not a garage sale, a garage. Clearly pride is not an issue for me.

Gus: Let me get this straight. You pulled me out of work to investigate a case, which is not a case, in which we probably won't get paid?
Shawn: Who are you kidding? I pulled you out of a Starbucks where you were pretending to finish your route you actually finished yesterday, so we could do a small favor for Juliet, that will grant us much larger favors in the future! Preferably ones that can't be mentioned in the presence of nuns or men of God.

Gus: New rule. From now on, any cover story or fake I.D. must be run past me and approved...
Shawn: Approved.
Gus: ...In writing, three days in advance.
Shawn: Gus, you're kidding, right?
Gus: No, Shawn; I need the proper amount of time to concoct my alter ego that best complements yours in a situation.
Shawn: I don't know where I'm going to be living in three days.
Gus: That's the deal, Shawn. Take it or leave it.
. . .
Shawn: [introducing Gus to a stranger] So, he is a pharmaceutical salesman who moonlights at his psychic detective agency. And once, at camp, he wet his pants.
Gus: Spilled water on my pants
Shawn: I'm sorry but if this was Saturday I would have a much better cover story