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"There are no two words in the English language more harmful than "good job"."
"Were you rushing or were you dragging?"
"Not quite my tempo."
"And here comes mister gay pride of the Upper West Side himself. Unfortunately, this is not a Bette Midler concert, we will not be serving Cosmopolitans and Baked Alaska, so just play faster than you give fucking hand jobs, will you please?"
"I can still fucking see you, Mini Me!"
"I'm not gonna have you cost us a competition because your mind's on a fucking happy meal instead of on pitch."
"That is not your boyfriend's dick. Do not come early."
"And I am not gonna have my reputation in that department tarnished by a bunch of fucking limp-dick, sour-note, flatter-than-their-girlfriends, flexible-tempo dipshits. Got it?"
"If you deliberately sabotage my band, I will fuck you like a pig."
"What the fuck are you looking for? There's no pot of gold down there."
"Oh my dear God. Are you one of those single tear people? Do I look like a double fucking rainbow to you?"
"When did you become a fucking expert on what I can or cannot do, you fucking weepy willow shitsack?"
"Let's go with the Irish Mick fucking Paddy cracker. You know, you actually do look quite a bit like a leprechaun. I think I'm gonna start calling you Flannery."