Rick Flag

— Hey, everyone can see all this trippy magic stuff right?
— Yeah, why?
— I'm off my meds.

— That's your old lady, huh?
— Yeah.
— Well, you need to handle this shit, all right? Get up there, smack on her ass, tell her knock this shit off.
— I do not think that'd be wise.

— You can just kill me right now but... I'm going to have a drink.
— Hey, Deadshot, I need your help.
— No, sir. You need a miracle.

— Seriously? What the hell is wrong with you people?
— We're bad guys. It's what we do.

— There's your pep talk.
— Compared to your shit, she killed it.

— Damn. That is just... A mean lady.
— Yeah, you'll get used to it.
— And I'm the bad guy? That's gangsta.

— Just oh... Wait here. Please. I don't wanna gave this dude a heart attack, okay?
— Aww. He's embarrassed of us.

— Thanks.
— Shut up.

— You might wanna work on your team motivation thing. You heard of Phil Jackson?
— Yeah.
— He's like the gold standard, okay? Triangle, bitch.

— You get to the part in that binder saying I was sleeping with her?
— Yeah. I never been with a witch before. What's that like?

— What? This uh... Cheerleading tryouts?
— Let's go. Let's see what you can do. They say you never missed a shot. Prove it.

— That was a great shot, man.
— Hey, I don't do hugs. I'm not a hugger. All right?

What do we got here? 12 pounds of shit in a 10-pound sack?

— You wanna keep playing the Hollywood squares version of «I'll blow your freaking head off»? Are you next?
— You tripping, homie.

— What's going on in that city?
— Those assholes here yet?
— Yeah, they're here.