Veep, Season 7

Furlong:
Alright, right now every Sunday pundit and poli sci major is treating this brokered convention like it's a big-titted college gymnast whose daddy fucked with her just enough that she'll do some dirty shit, but she can still come.

Selina:
Hitting a little close to home there, Roger, minus the "big-titted" part.

Gary:
We've never had a complaint, have we?

Furlong:
But if we doesn't pillow-smother this sad grandma of a convention lickety-fuckin'-split, we are gonna wind up with four more years of Montez clogging up the White House plumbing with tampons!

Gary:
That's not a problem for us.

Selina:
Gary, it's fine.

Furlong:
Tomorrow's the second ballot, okay? None of these delegates are bound to any candidate anymore. So it's time to get out there and start twisting some arms and pinching nipples. And, what else, Will?

Will:
And may the best man win. And may the hairiest man ziptie me to a slaughterhouse drainage grate and make tender hate to my rear and mouth, in that order, at his leisure.

Furlong:
Ha!