Marion Snow

— You don't like me, do you?
— Don't flatter yourself. I don't like anybody.
— With that attitude I can see why nobody likes you.
— Oh, come on. People love me. Just ask your wife.

— This is the best offer you'll get.
— Don't get me wrong. It's a dream vacation. I mean, I load up, I go into space, I get inside the maximum-security nuthouse, save the President's daughter if she's not dead already, get past all the psychos who've just woken up. I'm thrilled that you would think of me.

— What is that?
— Engine oil, coffee, some water I just got out of the toilet.
— And just what do you plan on doing with it?
— I plan on putting it in your hair.
— If you would like to play witness protection and shampoo in toilet water, be my guest. Not me.
— Come on. It'll be fun.
— Not on your life.

— Again. What happened in that motel room?
— Uh, it was coupon night and I was trampolining your wife.

— Who are you? Who sent you?
— Your old man did.
— My dad. What did he say?
— Well, I didn't get to meet him personally. He kind of delegated your rescue. He had a big conference on the corn surplus.
— You're kidding me?
— No. No, apparently, we should all be eating more corn.
— About my father.
— Oh, yeah, I made that other bit up.
— Did he have a message for me?
— Yes, you are adopted.
— Are you the only type of jerk they found for this kind of mission?
— The only one stupid enough to say yes.

Harry Shaw: — Get those off of him, please.
Scott Langral: — I can't tell if he's stupid or a really good liar. Either way, M. S. One would have been good for him.
Harry Shaw: — Guy's a tool. Nut?
Marion Snow: — Nah, I'm trying to give them up.

Harry Shaw: — So there she is. Right in the hornet's nest.
Marion Snow: — Let me know when you've picked up on it, won't you?
Scott Langral: — When I want your opinion, I'm gonna give it to you.
Marion Snow: — Okay.
Scott Langral: — Hey. Picked up on what?
Marion Snow: — Oh, nothing. You know, just that they don't know they've got the President's daughter, that's all.
<...>
Scott Langral: — Hey, Snow. How do you figure that out?
Marion Snow: — Far be it from me to teach you how to suck eggs, but you'd think they might have said something. And they've got her playing doctor. I'm just saying.

— You should see a ladder in front of you. Do you see it?
— Yeah.
— Okay, I need you to take it. And then, when you're over, you gotta go straight ahead. And here's where it gets a little bit tricky. I need you to get to the other side. Correct?
— What do you want me to do, fly? 'Cause I think I left my cape at home.

— You're a pig.
— Thank you.
— You always treat women this way?
— Always. Well, only if I like them.
— You have any idea what my father would do to you?
— Oh, jeez! Not raise taxes again? Here. Yeah, you look good. Though, something's missing.
— What?
— It's okay, it's okay. It's only cosmetic. It's only cosmetic. It's nothing personal. Here, look, look. It'll probably save your life.

— Oh, there you are.
— Oh, yeah. I thought I could smell you coming.
— I'm here to tell you the good news, Snow.
— You're finally getting spayed? Oh, congratulations.

Harry Shaw: — Snow, what's going on?
Marion Snow: — Uh, you know, global warming, some celebrity is getting a boob-job, Congress is screwing the pooch again. You know, same old.
Harry Shaw: — Snow. Come on, man. I mean, what's going on there?
Marion Snow: — Oh, yeah. Well, your wildcat smacked me in the head with a fire extinguisher and locked herself in some room. So she's safe. Send the cavalry.
Scott Langral: — Listen, Snow. You stick to the plan. You better do your job or I'll hit you with a Sherman tank. Got that?
Marion Snow: — A Sherman tank? Yeah, right. Toss my caber, Langral. I've got other things to do.

— Shit! They've cut transmission.
— Who did?
— The little transmission fairies. Who do you think?