An unhinged war veteran holes up with a lonely woman in a spooky Oklahoma motel room. The line between reality and delusion is blurred as they discover a bug infestation.

Agnes White: I am the super mother bug!
[last lines]
Peter Evans: I love you.
Agnes White: I love you.
Agnes White: You don't sound like you're from Oklahoma.
Peter Evans: I'm from Beaver.
Agnes White: Well, we're all from beaver, ain't we?
Agnes White: I'd rather talk with you about bugs, than nothing with anybody.
Peter Evans: [Referring to the smoke detector he's just knocked off Agnes' ceiling] You should get rid of that.
Agnes White: How come?
Peter Evans: They're dangerous. They have Americium-241 in them.
Agnes White: What's that?
Peter Evans: It's an element. A radioactive element.
Agnes White: No shit?
Peter Evans: More radioactive than plutonium.
Agnes White: Jesus... No wonder I feel so lousy all the time.
R.C.: Aphids can't bite.
Peter Evans: You know a lot about aphids?
R.C.: ...No.
Peter Evans: Do you know anything about aphids?
R.C.: No.
Peter Evans: We do.
[first lines]
[phone rings]
Agnes White: Hello? Hello?
[hangs up]
Agnes White: Bastard!
Dr. Sweet: Bugs are a fairly common delusion among paranoids... Bugs, spiders, snakes... spiders. You haven't had any snakes, have you?
Agnes White: You're the first.
Dr. Sweet: Have you at least entertained the idea the bugs are a delusion?
Agnes White: How do I know *you're* not a delusion?
Dr. Sweet: Touché.
Peter Evans: Listen! Listen! If you want to know what is going on, you have to listen to me! You have to! Because you don't know the fucking ENORMITY of what we're dealing with! Listen: May 29th, 1954, the consortium of bankers, industrialists, corporate CEO's and politicians held a series of meetings over three days at the Bilderberg Hotel in Oosterbeek, Holland... they drew up a plan for maintaining the "status quo."
Agnes White: What's that?
Peter Evans: It's "the way things are" - it's "the rich get richer, the poor get poorer." They devised a plan to manipulate technology, economics, the media, population control, world religion, to keep things the way they are. And they have continued to meet once a year, every year, since the original meeting. Look it up! Under their orders, the CIA had smuggled Nazi scientists into the States to work with the American military and Calspan, developing an inter-epidermal tracking microchip.
Agnes White: A what?
Peter Evans: It's a surveillance tool. It's a microchip that's been implanted in the skin of every human being born on the planet since 1982. The test group for the prototype was the People's Temple! And when the Reverend Jim Jones threatened to expose them, he and every member of his church were assassinated!
Peter Evans: [on why he hasn't been with a woman for a long time] I just decided it wasn't worth it anymore.
Agnes White: What wasn't?
Peter Evans: You have a centre right? A place inside of you that's just you, that hasn't been spoiled... And I think it's really important to try and keep that space sacred. In some sense, on some level, but... sex or relationships cloud that space... or, they cloud me I guess, they make it difficult to be just me and not have to worry about... being somebody else. I sound like a big asshole, don't I.
Agnes White: [Dr. Sweet, unknowingly sitting on some gas canisters, proceeds to light up Agnes' crack pipe] I'd be careful.
Dr. Sweet: I'm okay.
Agnes White: Oh, yeah. You're also sitting on twenty gallons of high test.
Peter Evans: I am the drone.
Agnes White: I am the mother queen.
Jerry Goss: You look good, baby. Mm. Mustache tickles a little bit.
R.C.: That's okay.
Jerry Goss: Not mine, yours.
Dr. Sweet: [Looking around Agnes' room, covered in tinfoil, full of bug zappers and other insect repellant products] Bug problem?
Agnes White: You should know.
Dr. Sweet: [Slightly bemused] Should I? What are they?
Agnes White: Aphids.
Dr. Sweet: Aphids.
Agnes White: Look around, asshole!... They're in right now. They like to go in sometimes.
Dr. Sweet: And the tinfoil?
Agnes White: Scrambles the signal.
Dr. Sweet: You're receiving a signal?
Agnes White: Transmitting.
Dr. Sweet: You're transmitting a signal...
Agnes White: Not me. The bugs.
Dr. Sweet: The bugs have a transmitter?
Agnes White: The bugs *are* the transmitter.
Dr. Sweet: And the tinfoil scrambles the signal.
Agnes White: It helps.
Dr. Sweet: [Still bemused] I'm sure it does.
Peter Evans: I... pick up on things.
Peter Evans: They turned us into zombies! Remote control assassins!