Gina: Uh, you guys, I would love to stay and chat about my unborn king or queen, but I just got a text from redacted, and he wants to take me to a fancy lunch at redacted, so I gotta get outta here, but you know what? I'll be back at redacted o'clock.

Gina: Is she crying?
Jake: A little.
Gina: You should be wailing you stone-cold bitch. Now call my other grandma.

Gina: All men are at least 30% attracted to me. My mother cried the day I was born, because she knew she would never be better than me. At any given moment, I'm thinking about one thing: Richard Dreyfuss hunkered over eating dog food. I feel like I'm the Paris of people.

Gina: Have you seen Captain Holt? Tall, handsome gentleman dressed like an airline pilot.

Jake: Well, listen, we need your help.
Adrian Pimento: Great, who are we killing? I won't do kids. That's a rule. But that rule is negotiable if the kid's a dick.
Rosa: No, babe, we don't want you to kill anyone.
Adrian Pimento:What? Really?
Rosa: No.

Charles: Sarge, you think Gina will be okay?
Sergeant Jeffords: She says the doctor's can't be sure, but they're optimistic. Apparently, she has something called Ansel-Elgort Syndrome.
Charles: Oh, poor Gina.
Amy: Oh, my God.
Hitchcock: Oh, you fools. That's not a disease. Ansel Elgort's an actor. Did none of you see "The Fault in Our Stars"?
Sergeant Jeffords: No. Why did you?
Hitchcock: Teenage romance, dying chick, oxygen mask. Checks all my boxes.

Adrian Pimento: Okay, here are the ground rules: You can punch me, kick me, pull my hair, I am a-ok being stabbed, biting and scratching are on the table, you can use fire.
Jake: These are the ground rules? Is there anything off limits?
Adrian Pimento: Damn, man. You got something really sick you wanna do, huh? Oh, you little pervert. All right, I like it. Don't tell me. Surprise me. Ooh, this is gonna be fun.