Jack Potter: Marty knew dick about being a dick. Marty Mackenzie:
Three things I learned being a private eye: never trust a girl, always get it on tape, and bring backup.
Jack Potter: When in Rome, do like the Romans. But Marty wasn't in Rome... Rome's in Italy. Bearded Guy: [referring to music on radio] I'm a songwriter. I wrote this, and I recorded it with a buddy down in Bakersfield. He used to have a studio, but he's dead now. Yeah... Somebody killed him for being selfish. Look, this song's called "Last Train to Trussburg." Do you think you could help me get it published? I mean... , look, you could sing it. Hell, you could even record it! Hey, I got words! Listen. [singing] Bearded Guy: Two-lane redwood highway, bumping along... Two-lane redwood highway, it's a song... Two-lane redwood highway, two-lane redwood highway... [abruptly stops singing] Bearded Guy: Oh, I think I might add a couple yippee-ai-yays to give it a cowboy feel. What do you say? Jack Potter: I don't sing other people's songs, you know? I'm a loner. You know what I mean. [he turns to walk away] Jack Potter: Is there a place around here a guy can take a pee? Bearded Guy: [angrily grabbing Jack and putting a knife to his throat] You think you're one bigshot singer, don't you? You think you're better than I am. Well, look out that window. What do you see? That's a two-lane redwood highway. I wrote that, huh? Two-lane redwood highway. You're selfish. That's what you are. Jack Potter: We're headed out to a town full of devil-worshipers on a tip from a dame who sees two-headed mules. Marty Mackenzie: Jack, in de detective business you can not leave any stone unturned. Marty Mackenzie: So, what do you know about Danny Harkness? Skinny Woman: I know everything there is to know about Danny Harkness. He's my relative in three different ways. He was first cousin, my ex brother in law, and my nephew ones removed. Jack Potter: Who was it? Skinny Woman: We're talking about... Washington. Marty Mackenzie: My God, what, the governments involved? Skinny Woman: No, George Washintgon. That's right! The kid who couldn't tell a lie. Shocked? So was I. He's livin' right up in that old mine up on the hill. Him and Elvis and M.L. King and JFK and John Lennon and Harry Truman. They got a cult going on up there. The Blue Oyster Cult. Jack Potter: [narrating] A couple of peckers with a box of dildo's. Marty's hunch had crapped out worse than a tourist in Tijuana. But, there was one more sex-toy waiting for Marty: A cold cock. [Marty is punched in the jaw]