Fletcher Reede

— I object!
— And why is that, Mr. Reede?
— It's devastating to my case!

— What the hell are you doing?
— I'm kicking my ass! Do you mind?

— I'm starved for affection. I'm driven into the arms of another man.
— Seven!
— Yeah, whatever.

— Mr. Reede. Several years ago, a friend had a burglar on her roof. He fell through the skylight, landed on a butcher's knife, cutting his leg. The burglar sued my friend. He sued my friend Because of guys like you, he won! My friend had to pay the burglar $6,000. Is that justice?
— No. I'd have got him $10,000.

— Fletcher. How's it hanging?
— Short, shriveled and always to the left.

— Boss, it's Skull. He knocked over another ATM. This time at knife-point. He needs your legal advice.
— Stop breaking the law, asshole!

Hi. I'm Max's bad father.

I'm on my knees in a $900 suit!

Your hairpiece looks like something killed on the highway. I don't know whether to comb it or scrape it off and bury it in lime!

— Except Miranda's looking for you.
— I broke my leg and had to be shot.

— Thank you! I can't tell you how much this means to me.
— I can. $1,654.11.

— New in the building?
— I just moved in Monday.
— Oh! You like it so far?
— Mmm-hmm. Everybody's been real nice.
— That's because you have big jugs.

— What did he look like?
— About 6'2', 180 pounds, big teeth, kind of gangly.

— How are we doing this morning, Counsel?
— Fine. Thank you.
— And you, Mr. Reede?
— I'm a little upset about a bad sexual episode I had last night.

Wake up, sisters! There's no such thing as a weaker sex!

Need some change? Take everything! But it's not gonna make you happy.