"It's a very long and complicated story," Brian said. "Involving sexual practices a fine, upstanding dyke such as yourself would rather not hear about. But at the central point of the story is your tender blond protégé, whose fragile artistic heart will be broken if I don't find this RH guy. Also, I might not get laid tonight."
"So if you could just find a pen, and like, a napkin or something," Michael said, looking around for any errant pieces of paper.
Brian gestured to the canvas behind her. "Or just draw on top of one of these ugly pieces of shit."
Lindsay grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him into the hallway, with Michael following along behind them.
"Brian," she said firmly. "I'm working here. I don't have time to play games with you. Is Justin all right?"
"He's fine," Michael said.
"He's dying," Brian said. "Only your art can save him now."
Michael smacked Brian on the arm. Brian immediately smacked him back. Michael responded with a flurry of slaps to Brian's chest, and Brian tried to defend himself by poking Michael in the ribs.
It's really hard to pick one thing, but that pretty much slays me. "He's dying...only your art can save him now."