HEATH: If we weren't allegedly in a giant fight and not speaking to each other, I'd tell you that I like your new Rosemary's Baby look. It's hard to pull off that haircut, but you look cute.
MICHELLE: If I were talking to you, I'd ask you why you look homeless. I'm not the only person who needed a haircut.
HEATH: Damn, can't you just say, "Thank you for the compliment, I'm thrilled that I can work the Mia Farrow, too"?
MICHELLE: Are those your shirt-tails hanging out under your jacket?
HEATH: I don't know. Maybe.
MICHELLE: God. Gross.
HEATH: I'm being CASUAL and INDEPENDENT at the Independent Spirit Awards. IT'S IN THE NAME.
MICHELLE: Really? I didn't know they changed it to the Independent Dirty Awards.
HEATH: That joke sucked.
MICHELLE: You suck. If I got to choose between going home to Brooklyn with you, and going home to a really fantastic apartment in the Dakota that just happens to be next door to a couple of elderly Satan worshippers with whom my husband will broker a deal in which I end up bearing the Antichrist in exchange for his professional success, I WOULD TAKE THE SATAN BABY.
HEATH: I'm going to sell YOU to Satan.
MICHELLE: You're certainly dressed like you just got back from Hell.
HEATH: Burn.
MICHELLE: Exactly.
