Tank Girl: You gotta think of it like...the first time you got laid. You just gotta go 'Daddy, are you sure this is right?'.
[Tank Girl is holding the madam of Liquid Silver hostage and is being threatened by the guards.]
Tank Girl: Everybody drop your guns, or I scrape off all her make up!
[Considers the madam's face.] This might take me a really long time.
Tank Girl: Ladies, lock up your sons.
Jet Girl: The tank isn't...
Tank Girl: Isn't...
Jet Girl: Isn't...
Tank Girl: Isn't...
Jet Girl: Isn't...
Tank Girl: What!? Come on, just one little adjective and we'll have a whole sentence here. The tank isn't glad. Sad. Mad. Lonely.
Jet Girl: The tank isn't o-operational.
Tank Girl: [Grabbing Jet by the throat.] How do I know you're not lying?
Jet Girl: Because if I was lying, your lungs would be full of cyanide gas.
Tank Girl: [Letting her go.] Cool. So we get a new tank.
