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“No offense, but you girls need new outfits, and I’m the damn Isaac Mizrahi of spandex.”

“No, my name is not Clark fucking Kent, it’s Billy fucking Batson. Now give me a damn martini before I SHAZAM your damn ass.”

“They all looked like this before they had a drink, right?

Despite endless billing disputes, the Justice League of America’s all-star production of The Iceman Cometh took Broadway by storm in 2012.

“Okay, okay, okay. This is not Florence Nightingale Night! When is Florence Nightingale Night?”

“You can’t miss her. She’s five eleven, with adamantine bracelets and a golden lasso. Plus, she’s got a robot plane, but that’s invisible, so don’t worry about it.”

“I thought this wasn’t arm-wrestling night. That’s why I came here.”

“No, I’m not the Accountant of Steel, I’m the Accountant of Steal! Get it? It’s a joke we have.”

“Unless I shit kryptonite I’m in trouble, huh? Well, maybe I do shit kryptonite.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t need X-ray vision to see through your smooth line of jive!”

“As a matter of fact, I am a T-1000. A tweaked T-1000.”

“When I said the big green guy ate all the goldfish I was making an observation, not a complaint. I mean, you might want to give him some more.”

“I’m bummed too, but, you know, I think the odds are that the next asteroid the size of Manhattan to enter the Earth’s gravitational field is going to smack right into us. I mean, they can’t all fall into the Sun.”