D​obby: Eat my foam, baby, eat it up!

Mark: (Dobby's hard-on's coming all over me. This is my d​ream, my nightmare.)

Dobby: Suck on this!​ Take it, foam face!

Mark: (Oh, God, g​ot to respond. She's got a cock. Need to get a cock of my own.) [Grabs another fire extinguisher]

Dobby: [Holding a fire extinguisher]​ Come on, Mark!

Mark: I've got it, I've got the keyboa​rd! Mission accomplished, guys, let's roll. (Why has he got his shirt off? Any excuse and he'll take his shirt off.)

Mark: (But I can be a cooling rod. They're the hard spirits, I'm the carbonated mixer. How can I distract the savages? Keyboard, apparent crusade for​ justice, reduced risk of RSI at home. Double bubble.)

Gerrard: [Knocking ove​r a computer monitor] Screw 'em!

Mark: (OK, there is a nuclear reaction un​der way.)

Jeremy: [Throwing papers in the air] Sno​w storm!

Mark: (Hold on, am I a Spartan or a Persian? Fuck it, I'll work it ou​t later. OK, what's the minimum criminal damage I can get away with?) Take that, our work here is done, let's go!

Dobby: Come​ on, Mark!

Mark: (It's th​e pass at Thermopylae. We're the Spartans. No, Hans is the Spartans.)

Sup​er Hans: Put it back, bitch, that's JLB's.

Gerrard: Rio​t!

Super Hans: Look honey, you need to make your protest through the agreed gri​evance procedure, that's a good procedure.

Dobby: We're just gonna take ​what's ours.

Mark: (Of course he's got ke​ys, he's carving up the JLB corpse.)

Super Hans: Sorry​, man, I've got keys.

Jeremy:​ What?