Justin (singing): Baby killer, baby killer. The rest of this song...is purely filler. Fa la la la la.
Deprived of marijuana, hippies become far too focused for their own good.
Sometimes, just sometimes, even poindexters get the girl.
The gals stand around while discussing the most discreet places to hide tommy-gun parts.
Rachel: Oh Jeff, I do declare I'm coming down with a case of the vapors. You'll be speaking with my attorney.
And people say crime doesn't pay.
Joe: We may be hippies Rachel, but there ain't no way we're having a group hug. Half these people didn't wear deodorant today.
Jennifer: I've got a fifth of vodka and a gallon of orange juice in my backpack. Wanna get out of here?
If only Sean's "uptight hippy buster" costume was a costume.
Jeff was dying to make a "sweating to the 80s" headband joke, but he resisted.
Gabe remembers his runny eggs from this morning. Mmmm, eggs.
Colleen: Wes, if I were to, hypothetically, ask you to kill a hobo for me, what would you, hypothetically of course, say to that proposal?
Nicole (internal): Damnit. If they had just waited another 10 minutes I'd be done with my part. I love orange juice.
The Rough Bunch. Well, except for Jon.
