[Schitt's Creek tourism video, on the street in front of Bob's Garage:]
Moira: Oh, hello, you. I'm film and television's Moira Rose. Won't you join me for a little stroll through the slice of paradise I like to call... the town where I currently am.
[in the cafe:]
Moira: Did someone say fine dining? The Café Tropical has certainly been described as "fine." Oh, hello, Twyla. I'll have the Miso Black Cod, please.
Twyla: We don't have that.
Moira: You mean, you're sold out, is more like it!
[in Rose Apothecary:]
Moira: And when it's time to escape the hustle and bustle of the downtown core, you'll find all the peace and solitude your body craves here at our local apothecary. No noisy customers or busy cash registers here, to intrude upon your inner cogitations.
Patrick: It's-it's not usually this quiet.
Moira: Oh, it's always nice and quiet here.
David: Can you stop saying that?
[outside the Rosebud Motel:]
Moira: And finally, when it's time to lay down your weary head, you'll find comfort and safety at the partially renovated Rosebud Motel. And don't forget to say hello to your handsome proprietor, Mr. Johnathon Rose.
Johnny: Thank you for having us.
Moira: John, no.
[outside Rose Apothecary:]
Moira: So why wait? Book your vacation now to this humble little oasis. If heaven had a creek, it would be this one.
[title: the end]

Johnny: Could I get a coffee, Twyla, please?
Twyla: So I see Alexis is getting back out there.
Johnny: Has she told you anything about this guy?
Twyla: No, but I think he dated my aunt. I don't know, I was a baby at the time, but there's a photo of him holding me at Christmas. And I remember that, because that was the year Santa brought me a lighter.

Moira: Stevie! Either a flock of poultry has delivered its ova mid-flight upon our car, or I've become the victim of a vandalization!
Stevie: Oh wow. Um... you sure it's for you, Mrs. Rose? Because that's a family car, and I can think of a handful of people who'd wanna egg David.
Moira: You're sweet, dear, but I know of what I speak. Stevie, you are blessed with anonymity, and thus will never have to know the crippling fear that accompanies global repute.
Stevie: Yeah, I can't imagine.
Moira: After my first centerfold with Soap Opera Digest, a deranged fan deposited locks of hair into my glove compartment. And now my return to prominence has painted another giant bulls-eye on my thorax!
Stevie: Um, I could give you this bucket of soap.
Moira: No! You never tamper with a crime scene. I'll have to go to council. Get in please, Stevie. As of now, you are my star witness. And sit low, no point endangering both our lives.
Stevie: Fine.