Metric shitload

Me, I spent it fantasizing about the future, airbrushing an old dream that had only required a metric shitload of cash.

Lifer karma, that's what it was, and I'd apparently accumulated a metric shitload of it.

“And then, because that wasn't enough,” he went on, “I got a credit card and bought a metric shitload of DVDs so that she could pick the one she wanted to watch. […]“

So SPOOKS is basically a tool that permits an electronic intelligence agency to run a metric shitload of unwitting human intelligence agents, weekend spies.

To his human mind, nothing here made sense. It was like that old game: One of these things is not like the other, one of these things does not belong. But it wasn't just one thing. It was a metric shitload of things. It was all things.

“I refuse to speculate: It's unprofessional, and besides, she might have had a perfectly innocent reason for owning a metric shitload of cancelled bank-notes in an obsolete currency. […]“

I know you've got a metric shitload of questions about your uncle. I wish I could help you more, but hey. We do what we can, right?