CSI: Crime Scene Investigation

Brass (about Bud): So you like 'em for it? Grissom: There's nothing about this guy that I like. (holding an Emmy) But if he's smart enough to pull off a double homicide, he deserves one of these because he's a better actor than anyone on the show.

Grissom (on phone with her): Detective Flores is keeping us in the loop. We're gonna do lunch. Catherine: Okay, well don't go all Hollywood on us. See 'ya soon. (hangs up)

Hodges: Bud didn't marry Annabelle. Bud married Natasha pretending to be Annabelle. Catherine: Well, one thing's for sure. Neither one of them is pretending to be dead.

Brass: But you were newlyweds, why'd you sleep in different rooms? Bud: Well, she had kind of a rule about that. She didn't like to look at me after we had sex. Brass (shows him a picture of the rubber chicken): What did you know about the chicken? Bud: She didn't like to look at me during sex, either.

Brass (about Annabelle): Y'know, it's a tragic coincidence that she died two days after you qualified for half of what she's worth. Bud: Really? I thought that was the bright side.

Bud: Annabelle and I married two days ago. Spencer: Oh, I don't believe that. Bud: Oh, no it's true. We had a deal. She said that if I gave up coke that we could get married. Spencer: But you never gave up coke. Bud: She didn't know that. (sniffs)

Grissom: Was Annabelle bulimic? Spencer: Oh, you bet she was. Lytle: Spencer there's no need to get in the -- Spencer: It's alright, she can't hurt us anymore. Yeah, she did the two-finger dessert, but at least the vomit seemed to take off what the camera put on.

Brass (about Annabelle): When was the last time that you saw her? Spencer: When we wrapped. I got really drunk, and then I threw up, got drunk again. Went up to my room, crawled into bed and prayed for death. ... Mine. Not her's.

David: Sorry for the delay, it's a paparazzi jungle downstairs. Grissom: Yeah, well Doc Robbins isn't the only one with a scrap book.

Henry: So, the clot doesn't thicken but the plot does.

Warrick: Hey, what does this look like to you? Grissom: Hermaphrodite on rollerskates. Catherine: A puppy.

(Hodges has been doing a lot of tests on the absorption of tampons) Wendy: That time of the month, huh? I know, picking out the right feminine product can be so hard. Hodges: You're gonna mock me or help me? Wendy: I have to choose? Hodges: I can't get this to work! Wendy: Well that's probably 'cause you don't have the right equipment. ... You don't, do you? Hodges: Haha, you're lucky you're cute. Annabelle Fundt was dosing her tampons with vodka. Wendy: Does that even work? Hodges: Kinda, even at their most absorbent, tampons only hold about 19 grams of fluid or about 20 milliliters. Wendy: Well, that's enough for aunt flow but that is not going to get an alcoholic drunk. Hodges: Who's aunt flow? (Wendy gives him a look) Oh! All right, maybe she was just doing it to take the edge off but what I can't figure out is how she managed it because every time I throw one in here, it turns into Spongebob Squarepants. Wendy: You don't take it out of the applicator first. Gimme! (Hodges gives her a tampon) Thanks. Watch and learn. (she makes it clear how it works) There, that's why they call it an applicator. Hodges: I always wondered how that worked. Wendy: All men do.

Bud: Whoa hey! Easy on the Emmy there buddy. Grissom: Is that what this is?

Grissom: The L.A. coroner's office found semen in Natasha vaginal canal. Bud: What's the L.A coroner's office doing in Natasha's vaginal canal? Brass: Is there somethin' that you wanna tell us, Bud? Bud: Yeah. That's probably my ... you know, in her ... you know. Grissom: We know. Brass: So, you faked your wedding, you use Natasha as a photo double, Annabelle dies, you inherit everything that she had and split it with Natasha. Nice plan. Bud: No, no, no, no, no, no. ... Well, yeah that was the plan. But we didn't kill her. Natasha went up to her room and she was already dead.

Greg: So, that's it. Robot-man, closet-stalker-guy gets his package grabbed and a TV star dies. Nick: It is the classic story.

Nick: Looks like a comedy writer came out of the closet. Catherine: I doubt if it's the first time.

Grissom: Then the rubber chicken was inserted port-mortem. Dr. Robbins: And thus not the cause of death. Grissom: Might have been a gag. Sorry.

Lytle: Beautiful people doing high-tech police work. There might be a series in this.

Grissom: Did she also have a drug problem? Lytle: Define problem. Grissom: The kind that requires using other people's urine to pass a drug test. Lytle: Then yes.

(Grissom holds a rubber chicken prop) David: Come on, you got to say something. Uh... I suspect foul play? Or that's poultry evidence. You know, something. Grissom: Dying is easy, comedy's hard.

Spencer: Sure, I created the show. When the show became a hit, she became a star. I became a highly paid butt-monkey. Brass: Well, it's a skill like anything else.