American Gods, Season 1

Technical Boy:
Hello, Shadow. Don't fuck with me.

Shadow:
Okay. I won't. Uh, but if you could just drop me off at the Motel America-

Technical Boy:
Hit him.

[one of the faceless toadies punches Shadow]

Technical Boy:
See, I said don't fuck with me. Now that, that was fucking with me. Keep your answers short and to the point, or I will fucking kill you. Or maybe I won't. Maybe I'll just have the children break every bone in your fucking body. So don't. Fuck. With. Me.

Shadow:
Got it.

Technical Boy:
You're working for Wednesday.

Shadow:
Yeah.

Technical Boy:
Smoke?

Shadow:
No, thank you. [coughing] Well, it's not tobacco, and it ain't weed. Smells like an appliance fire.

Technical Boy:
Synthetic Toad Skins. What the fuck is Wednesday after? What's he doing here? There's got to be a plan. What's the game plan, man?

Shadow:
I started working for Mr. Wednesday this morning.

Technical Boy:
How auspicious. You must be special.

Shadow:
No, I'm just an errand boy.

Technical Boy:
Is that all? [coughing] Wednesday is history. Forgotten and old. He should just let it happen. We are the future, and we don't give a fuck about him or anyone else like him anymore. They are consigned to the dumpster. Now we have reprogrammed reality. Language is a virus. Religion, an operating system, and prayers are just so much fucking spam.

Shadow:
Okay, w-well, y-you're saying all this like I'm supposed to know what the fuck you're talking about.