Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels
Eddie: They're armed.
Soap: What was that? Armed? What do you mean armed? Armed with what?
Eddie: Err, bad breath, colorful language, feather duster... what do you think they're gonna be armed with? Guns, you tit!
Nick the Greek: Just get me a sample.
Tom: No can do.
Nick the Greek: What's that? Some place near
Winston: Charles,why have we got that cage?
Charles: Uh,security.
Winston: That's right, that's right security. So what's the point in having it if we're not goin' fucking use it?
Charles: Well I would've used it but this is Willie and Willie lives here.
Winston: Yes but you didn't know it was Willie until you opened the door did you?
Willie: Chill Winston, it's me. Charlie knows it's me. What's the problem?
Winston: The problem is Willie is that Charles and yourself are not the quickest of cats at the best of times. So just do as I say and keep *the fucking cage locked!* What is that?
Willie: That's Gloria.
Winston: Yes I know that's Gloria, what's that?
Willie: Fertilizer.
Winston: You went out six hours to buy a money counter and you come back with a semi-conscious Gloria and a back of fertilizer. Alarm bells are ringing Willie.
Willie: We need fertilizer Winston.
Winston: Mmmhmm. We also need a money counter. This money's got to be out by Thursday, I'm buggered if I'm gonna count it. Just make sure if you do need to buy sodding fertilizer could be a bit more subtle.
Willie: What do you mean?
Winston: We grow copious amounts of ganja, yah. And you're carrying a wasted girl and a bag of fertilizer. You don't look like your average horti-fucking- culturalist! That's what I mean Willie.
Eddie: Oh, and if Tom or anyone else for that matter feels like givin' them a bit of a kickin', I'm sure it won't do any harm.
Soap: Yeah, little bit of pain never hurt anybody. If you know what I mean. Also, I think knives are a good idea. Big, fuck-off shiny ones. Ones that look like they could skin a crocodile. Knives are good, because they don't make any noise, and the less noise they make, the more likely we are to use them. Shit 'em right up. Makes it look like we're serious. Guns for show, knives for a pro.
Tom: Soap, is there something we should know about you?
Bacon: I'm not sure what's more worrying. The job or your past.
Bacon: What's that?
Samoan Joe's Barman: It's a cocktail. You asked for a cocktail.
Bacon: No. I asked for a refreshing drink! I didn't expect a fucking rainforest? I could fall in love with an orangutan in that! Bring me a pint.
Samoan Joe's Barman: You want a pint, you go to the pub.
Bacon: This is a pub!
Samoan Joes Barman: It's a Samoan pub.
Snatch
Vinny: These are your last words, so make them a prayer.
Bullet Tooth Tony: Now, dicks have drive and clarity of vision, but they are not clever. They smell pussy and they want a piece of the action. And you thought you smelled some good old pussy, and have brought your two small mincey faggot balls along for a good old time. But you've got your parties mangled up. There's no pussy here, just a dose that'll make you wish you were born a woman. Like a prick, you are having second thoughts. You are shrinking, and your two little balls are shrinking with you. And the fact that you've got "Replica" written down the side of your gun...
[Zoom in on the side of Sol's gun, which indeed has "REPLICA" etched on the side; zoom out, as they sneak peeks at the sides of their guns]
Bullet Tooth Tony: And the fact that I've got "Desert Eagle point five O"...
[Withdraws his gun and puts it on the table]
Bullet Tooth Tony: Written down the side of mine...
[They look, zoom in on the side of his gun, which indeed has "DESERT EAGLE .50" etched on the side]
Bullet Tooth Tony: Should precipitate your balls into shrinking, along with your presence. Now... Fuck off!
Doug the Head: It's a boxing match, Avi, a boxing match.
Cousin Avi: Did he have a case with him?
Doug the Head: Yes, he had a case.
Cousin Avi: And this schmuck is gambling? You're talking about Franky "I've got a problem with gambling" fucking Four Fingers Doug.
Doug the Head: Avi, I'm not telepathic.
Cousin Avi: Well you're plenty fucking stupid, I'll give you that. Do you know why they call him Franky "Four Fingers" Doug? Because he makes stupid bets with dangerous people, and when he doesn't pay up, they give him te chop, Doug. And I'm not talking about his fucking fore-skin either.
Franky Four Fingers: So the biblical scholars mis-translated the Hebrew word for "young woman" into the Greek word for "virgin," which was a pretty easy mistake to make, since there is only a subtle difference in the spelling. But back then it was the "virgin" that caught people's attention. It's not every day a virgin conceives and bears a son. So you keep that for a couple of hundred years, and the next thing you know, you have the Roman Catholic church.
Cousin Avi: Well you're plenty fucking stupid, I'll give you that. Do you know why they call him Franky "Four Fingers" Doug? Because he makes stupid bets with dangerous people, and when he doesn't pay up, they give him te chop, Doug. And I'm not talking about his fucking fore-skin either.
Scent of a Woman
[inhales deeply through nose]
Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Women! What can you say? Who made 'em? God must have been a fuckin' genius. The hair... They say the hair is everything, you know. Have you ever buried your nose in a mountain of curls... just wanted to go to sleep forever? Or lips... and when they touched, yours were like... that first swallow of wine... after you just crossed the desert. Tits. Hoo-ah! Big ones, little ones, nipples staring right out at ya, like secret searchlights. Mmm. Legs. I don't care if they're Greek columns... or secondhand Steinways. What's between 'em... passport to heaven. I need a drink. Yes, Mr Sims, there's only two syllables in this whole wide world worth hearing: pussy. Hah! Are you listenin' to me, son? I'm givin' ya pearls here.
Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Out of order, I show you out of order. You don't know what out of order is, Mr. Trask. I'd show you, but I'm too old, I'm too tired, I'm too fuckin' blind. If I were the man I was five years ago, I'd take a FLAMETHROWER to this place! Out of order? Who the hell do you think you're talkin' to? I've been around, you know? There was a time I could see. And I have seen. Boys like these, younger than these, their arms torn out, their legs ripped off. But there isn't nothin' like the sight of an amputated spirit. There is no prosthetic for that. You think you're merely sending this splendid foot soldier back home to
Charlie Simms: Don't you mean Jack Daniels?
Lt. Col. Frank Slade: He may be Jack to you son, but when you've known him as long as I have... that's a joke.
Confessions of a Dangerous Mind
Jim Byrd: You're 32 years old, and you've achieved nothing. Jesus Christ was dead and alive again by 33. You better get crackin'.
No comments:
Post a Comment