Michelle: Christ, I feel a bit bokey. [Michelle opens the curtains]
Clare: Sweet sufferin' Jesus, it's the morning already! What are we going to do?
Michelle: Well, maybe we could start with calming the fuck down.
Clare: Calm down? We're still on William of Orange, Michelle! We haven't so much looked at the famine!
Michelle: We've got the gist. They ran out of spuds. Everyone was ragin'.
James: Well, I can't tell my rebellions from my risings.
Michelle: And whose fault's that? If your lot had stopped invading us for five fucking minutes there'd be a lot less to wade through, you English prick!

Michelle: Ssh! You'll scare Clive!
James: Who's Clive?
Michelle: Clive. Clive is a wee Prod from East Belfast. Clive came back from Ibiza, got on the wrong bus at Aldergrove Airport, then fell asleep. Clive woke up in Derry, surrounded by Russians and Fenians. Clive is absolutely shitting himself.
Erin: So where's the real Artem?
Michelle: Giant's Causeway, probably. Foreigners fucking love the Giant's Causeway.
Clive: I just want to go home! But she won't let me leave! She won't let me leave.
Michelle: I also think Clive may have had too many disco biscuits on his holidays.
Clare: [enters] Here you are!
Clive: Thank God! [hugs Clare in her Union Jack top] Whatever you do, don't slag off the Pope. We're outnumbered.

Clare: We had plans tonight.
Michelle: We can turn our jeans into hot pants any day of the week. We're talking about a free house here, Clare, a free house. We're gonna be drinking, dancing and riding.
Erin: Quick question on the old riding front there.
Michelle: Go on?
Erin: Who exactly will we be doing that with?
Michelle: Young, hot farmers. Donegal is coming down with them. Big strapping lads ripped to fuck from all the turf collecting.
Clare: Oh, don't worry about me.
Michelle: There's actually quite a few lesbians as well, Clare.
Clare: Lesbian farmers? Really?
Michelle: Lesbian farming is actually huge in the Republic. We'll get you sorted, don't worry.

Michelle: Ugh. Where the hell are we?
James: I'll ask this woman. Excuse me? Sorry to bother you.
Sheila: A chairde. Cad e mar ata sibh?
James: Jesus, is she having a stroke?
Erin: She is an Irish speaker, James.
James: Oh, why can't everyone just speak English?
Michelle: Well, your crowd had a good stab at forcing the entire world to, but we didn't really enjoy it much, James. Imperialist prick!

Michelle: Jesus, this looks class. This Scottish drag queen takes on the entire English army.
James: William Wallace wasn't a drag queen, Michelle.
Michelle: He's wearing a skirt, and has a full face of foundation on him, James.

Michelle: Well, come on, then, ball-ache. Are you introducing yourself, or what?
James: Hi. I'm Michelle's cousin, James.
Orla: Why's he making that funny noise?
Michelle: He's English, Orla. That's the way they talk. He's my Auntie Kathy's wain. I told you about my Auntie Kathy. She went to England years ago to have an abortion. Never came back. Never got the abortion, either. Lucky for you, James, eh?
James: I didn't actually know that.

Clare: OK, how much money do we have?
Michelle: Look the riding of the Protestants is one thing, but I really don't see why we have to buy them a present. I mean, they already have all the land, all the jobs and all the fucking rights.
Erin: Aye, Michelle, that's definitely the attitude we should have entering into this weekend.

Clare: What are we gonna do?! What in under God are we gonna do?!
Michelle: It's fine.
Clare: It's definitely not fine! There's drug scones down there! If people eat the drug scones then we'll have drugged those people, Michelle!
Michelle: So? Drugging people isn't a crime.
James: You've a very loose grasp of the law, Michelle.
Erin: What kind of person brings hash scones to a wake?
Michelle: Typical. I try and do a nice thing and this is the thanks I get.
Clare: It's terrible. There's old people down there. What if an old person takes one?
Michelle: Why does everybody get so sentimental about old people?! Old people are arseholes!

Solider: Everyone remain seated!
James: What's going on?
Michelle: I dunno. But do you think if I told him I had an incendiary device down my knickers, he'd have a look?
Erin: Michelle, he's a soldier.
Michelle: Ach, some of them are rides. I'm willing to admit it, even if nobody else will, because I'm a beacon of truth, Erin.
Erin: You're a mouth, that's what you are.

Michelle: These aren't any old scones, girls. These are funny scones.
Orla: Aye, they do look like good craic, in fairness.
Erin: Funny scones?
Clare: They're drug scones! She's put the drugs in the scones!
Michelle: Too fucking right I have! I wanted to do brownies but this was the only recipe my Ma had, so...
Clare: We talked about this, Michelle. We agreed.
Michelle: No, we didn't. Anyway, drugs aren't illegal when you put them in food. Everybody knows that.
James: Is that right? I'm not sure that's right.
Maureen Malarkey: Any cups up here? I'll take that.
Michelle: What the fuck just happened?!