Sam and Max Hit the Road

Max:
He's not a real guy, Sam! Can I keep his head for a souvenir? Why do you suppose its ticking?

Sam:
That's no head, Max! It's one damned ugly timebomb! Let's leave this criminal cesspool pronto!

Max:
Good idea, Sam. Maybe we can ditch the head somewhere while the credits are running. Mind if I drive?

Sam:
Not if you don't mind me clawing at the dash and shrieking like a cheerleader.

Max:
Sam, is "pronto" a real word?

Sam:
Well, that was a pleasantly understated credits sequence.

Max:
I enjoyed the cheesy retro ambience.

Sam:
What the hell are you talking about, Max?

Max:
I'm not a malefactor, I'm a lagomorph!

Sam:
I can now control the speed and direction of the rotating diner via these mounted binoculars!

Max:
That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.

Sam:
Hello.

Max:
This don't look like the Lincoln Tunnel, Sam.

Sam:
Looks to me like we've got a marginally volatile hostage situation here, Max.

Max:
Oohh! Does this mean we get to kick some puppy-white mad scientist butt?

Sam:
Can't think of a reason not to.

Sam:
I wonder what causes these inanimate objects to dance their infernal jitterbug.

Max:
I think it's all controlled by really big magnets beneath the Earth's crust.

Sam:
You're an ignorant dolt, Max.

Sam:
The words "big" and "large" only begin to describe this thing.

Max:
I think "stupid" and "inane" would be useful additions.

Sam:
Not to mention "grotesque."

Sam:
I haven't seen that much twine since that night in Tokyo in '68.

Max:
Another confused census taker?

Sam:
Actually, it was the Commissioner with another idiotic and baffling assignment.

Max:
Does it involve wanton destruction?

Sam:
We can only hope.

Sam:
You mean the wholesale destruction of 100 years of civilization in the western United States? You bet we are!

Sam:
You know, Max, I can't help but think that we have may have tampered with the fragile inner workings of this little spaceship we call Earth.

Max:
Gosh, Sam, if 100 years of western civilization have to be destroyed just to provide a bunch of smelly quasi-human creatures with a safe haven for their disgusting lifestyles, then so be it!

Sam:
I'm sure this thing is somehow useful, but I'll be damned if I know how.

Sam:
"If laid out from end to end, the twine would stretch from here to the far side of Jupiter. Also, scientists predict that by 2053 the sheer weight of the ball will push Earth out of its orbit, on a collision course with the sun."

Max:
Good thing my life expectancy's only six years.

Sam:
Way to take the short view, little buddy.

Sam:
My mind is a swirling miasma of scintillating thoughts and turgid ideas.

Max:
Me too.

Sam:
Who was that?

Max:
I don't know, but if it weren't for the sheer carefree innocence of this carnival, I'd be breaking his kneecaps.

Sam:
You're a demonic little imp, Max.

Sam:
I hope you know that watching too much TV is super bad for the eyes.

Max:
Gratuitous acts of senseless violence are my forte!

Sam:
You're such an adorable urchin, Max.

Max:
Hey, it IS all controlled by big magnets under the Earth's crust!

Sam:
Lucky guess.

Sam:
I don't have anyone to call.

Max:
Call me, call me!

Sam:
You'd have to get cellular.

Max:
I'm pixular! It's better than cellular!

Sam:
That was bad, Max. Really bad.

Max:
Hey, who cares? I'M CUTE!

Sam:
I'm thinking of a number between one and ten, and... I don't know why.

Max:
Me too.

Sam:
I think I've got something in my eye.

Max:
Try digging it out with a fork. That always works for me.

Max:
Why don't I get an inventory?

Sam:
Where would you keep it?

Max:
That's none of your damn business, Sam.

Sam:
So what kind of handicap does your average bigfoot have?

Sam:
Goodbye you nutsy, primitive, man-beast, you.

Max:
I'll miss the way he smelt like a bag of damp hamster shavings. Just like Grandpa.

Sam:
I'm feeling a little morally conflicted about returning Bruno to the circus.

Max:
I'm not. Let's go.

Sam:
Let us ride the "Cone Of Tragedy," or my partner here will chew off all your tattoos.

Max:
Not bloody likely.

Sam:
It doesn't look much like a frog.

Max:
My innocence has been shattered by this blatant tourist trap. I want my money back.

Sam:
We didn't pay anything.

Max:
Well, somebody better give me some money.

Max:
Boy, it sure gets dark quick around here.

Sam:
I don't think this is a natural occurrence, Max. In fact, I think we're witnessing a celestial convergence of some sort.

Max:
Will it make that rock look more like a frog?

Sam:
It's a 1/200,000th scale model of the Ball of Twine.

Max:
And it's only 1/200,000th as stupid as the actual ball of twine.

Sam:
I bet it's really a soccer ball covered with string.

Sam:
So let me get this straight. You want us to go traipsing all over the country looking for a soggy bigfoot?

Max:
I've never been traipsing before. Does it hurt?

Sam:
Excuse me. We need some help, and although you seem dangerously unequipped brain-wise, we've come to you for advice.

Max:
Sam, either termites are burrowing through my scull, or one of us is ticking.

Sam:
Oops, oh yeah.

Sam:
Max where should I put this so it doesn't hurt anyone we know or care about?

Max:
Out the window, Sam. There's nothing but strangers out there.

Sam:
It's a possessed outhouse!

Max:
This kind of thing wouldn't happen if they had indoor plumbing.

Sam:
Percent sign, ampersand, dollar sign.

Max:
And colon, semicolon too!

Sam:
Swearing in longhand, asterisk-mouth.

Max:
In fact, if I didn't find his pitiful sobbing so amusing, I'd come out there and rip your limbs off

Sam:
Hey Sam, I mean Max.