Nick the Greek: [haggling with Tom] What else do I get with it?
Tom: You get a gold-plated Rolls Royce, as long as you pay for it.
Nick the Greek: Dunno, Tom. Seems expensive.
Tom: Seems? Well, this seems to be a waste of my time. That is a 900 nicker in any shop you're lucky enough to find one in. And you're complaining about 200? What school of finance did you study? It's a deal, it's a steal, it's the sale of the fucking century. In fact, fuck it, Nick, I think I'll keep it!
Nick the Greek: All right, all right, keep your Alans on!
[Nick pulls a massive wad of money out of his pocket]
Nick the Greek: Here's a ton.
Tom and Eddie: Jesus Christ!
Eddie: You could choke a dozen donkeys on that! And you're haggling over one hundred pound? What do you do when you're not buying stereos, Nick, finance revolutions?
Nick the Greek: 100 pounds is still 100 pounds.
Tom: Not when the price is 200 pounds, it's not! And certainly not when you've got Liberia's deficit in your skyrocket. Tighter than a duck's butt, you are. Now, come on, let me feel the fiber of your fabric.
Photo: user uploaded imageJ: [discussing their careers as marijuana growers] I've a strong suspicion we should have been rocket scientists, or Nobel Peace Prize winners … something.
Charles: Peace Prize? Oh, be lucky to find your penis for a piss, the amount you keep smoking.
Winston: Charles, why have we got that cage?
Charles: Uh, security.
Winston: That's right, that's right – security. So what's the point in having it if we're not going to fucking use it?
Charles: Well, I would've used it, but this is Willie, and Willie lives here.
Winston: Yes, Charles, but you didn't know it was Willie until you opened the door, did you?
Willie: Chill, Winston, it's me. Charlie knows it's me, what's the problem?
Winston: The problem is, Willie, that Charles and yourself are not the quickest of cats at the best of times. So just do as I say and keep the fucking cage locked! … What is that?
Willie: That's Gloria.
Winston: Yes, I know that's Gloria. What's that?
Willie: Uh, fertilizer.
Winston: You went out six hours ago to buy a money counter, and you come back with a semi-conscious Gloria and a bag of fertilizer? Alarm bells are ringing, Willie!
Willie: We need fertilizer, Winston.
Winston: Mm-hm, we also need a money counter. This money's got to be out by Thursday, I'm buggered if I'm gonna count it. Oh, and, uhm, if you do have to buy sodding fertilizer, could you just be a little more subtle?
Willie: What do you mean?
Winston: We grow copious amounts of ganja, yeah?
Willie: Yeah.
Winston: And you're carrying a wasted girl and a bag of fertilizer. You don't look like your average horti-fucking-culturist! That's what I mean, Willie.
Little Chris: Fucking hell, John, you always walk around with that in your pocket?
Big Chris: Hey! You use language like that again, son, you'll wish you hadn't!
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