Col. Gathers: "I could pole-dance better than half those women. Good lord, son, there should be a mandatory retirement age for strippers."
Brock: "Did you see I got cornered by Robin last night? I almost had to chew off my own arm to get away."
Col. Gathers: "Ohh, that poor woman has the saddest tits. Damn depressing."
Brock: "Mournful. She has mournful tits. They're like two suicide notes stuffed in a glitter bra."
Col. Gathers: "Those things are like a little kid with progeria cracking all his ribs trying to catch a Nerf ball—just sad. Damn it, she has gloomy tits!
Brock: "It's like she put a dollar's worth of change into some old socks and then taped them to her chest."
Col. Gathers: "I want to build two little caskets and give her tits a tasteful, dignified funeral."