Steve BuscemiQuotes

Walter Sobchak: [talking to The Dude; [w:M16 rifle|M16; [w:M1 Abrams|Abrams fucking tank; [w:Viet Cong|Charlie] We're gonna see some tank battles. Fighting in desert is very different from fighting in canopy jungle. I mean, that was a foot-soldier's war whereas this thing here should, uh, you know, should be a piece of cake. I mean, I had an ] Jacko, not an ]. Me and ], eyeball to eyeball. That's fucking combat. The man in the black pajamas, Dude. Worthy fuckin adversary.

Donny: Who was in pajamas, Walter?

Walter Sobchak: Shut the fuck up, Donny. Whereas what we have here: Bunch of fig-eaters wearin towels on their head tryin to find reverse on a Soviet tank. This is not a worthy fuckin adversary..

Jesus Quintana: Hey! What's this "day of rest" shit?! What's this bullshit? I don't fuckin care! It don't matter to Jesus. But you're not foolin me, man. You might fool the fucks in the league office, but you don't fool Jesus. This bush-league psych out stuff. Laughable, man. Ha ha! I would have fucked you in the ass Saturday. I fuck you in the ass next Wednesday instead. Woo! You got a date Wednesday, baby!

Walter Sobchak: ...He's crackin'.

Walter Sobchak: [[Nazis] Fucking Germans. Nothing changes. Fucking ].

Donny: They were Nazis, Dude?

Walter Sobchak: Oh, come on, Donny. They were threatening castration! Are we gonna split hairs here? Am I wrong?

Donny: They posted the next round for the tournament!

Walter Sobchak: Donny, shut the f— When do we play?

Donny: This Saturday. Quintana and—

Walter Sobchak: Saturday? Well, they'll have to reschedule.

The Dude: Walter, what am I gonna tell Lebowski?

Walter Sobchak: I told that fuck down at the league office–who's in charge of scheduling?

The Dude: Walter.

Donny: Burkhalter.

Walter Sobchak: I told that kraut a fucking thousand times that I don't roll on Shabbos!

The Dude: Walter.

Donny: They already posted it.

Walter Sobchak: Well, they can fucking unpost it!

The Dude: Who gives a shit? They're gonna kill that poor woman, man! What am I gonna tell Lebowski?

Walter Sobchak: Come on, Dude. Eventually she'll get tired of her little game and, you know, wander on back.

Donny: How come you don't roll on Saturday, Walter?

Walter Sobchak: I'm Shomer Shabbos.

Donny: What's that, Walter?

The Dude: Yeah, and in the meantime, what do I tell Lebowski?!

Walter Sobchak: [[w:Jewish|Jewish; [money] Saturday, Donny, is Shabbos, the ] day of rest. That means that I don't work, I don't drive a car, I don't fucking ride in a car, I don't handle ], I don't turn on the oven, and I sure as shit don't fucking roll!

Donny: Sheesh.

Walter Sobchak: Shomer Shabbos!

The Dude: Walter, how am I going to—

Walter Sobchak: Shomer fucking Shabbos.

The Dude: [leaves] Oh, fuck! That's it. I'm outta here.

Walter Sobchak: [looks at Donny and mouths "What a fucking baby". Donny smirks and nods] Come on, Dude!

The Dude: She probably kidnapped herself.

Walter Sobchak: Huh?

Donny: What do you mean, Dude?

The Dude: Rug peers did not do this. Look at it! A young trophy wife marries this guy for his money. she figures he isn't given her enough, you know. She owes money all over town.

Walter Sobchak: That fucking bitch.

The Dude: [[w:Vladimir Lenin|Lenin] It's all a goddamn fake, man! It's like ] said: You look for the person who will benefit, and, uh, uh, you know—

Donny: [[:w:I am the walrus|I am the walrus] ]"?

The Dude: You know what I'm trying to say?

Donny: I am the walrus.

Walter Sobchak: That fucking bitch

The Dude: Oh yeah!

Donny: I am the walrus.

Walter Sobchak: That's ex— Shut the fuck up, Donny! V.I. Lenin! Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov!

Donny: What the fuck is he talking about?

Walter Sobchak: Fuckin exactly what happened to those— That makes me fuckin sick!

The Dude: Well, what do you care, Walter?

Walter Sobchak: Those rich fucks! This whole fuckin thing! I did not watch my buddies die face-down in the muck so this fuckin strumpet, this fuckin whore could waltz around town–

The Dude: Walter, Walter, I don't see any connection to Vietnam, man.

Walter Sobchak: Well there isn't a literal connection, Dude.

The Dude: Walter, face it. There isn't any connection. Your roll.

Walter Sobchak: Have it your way, but my point that—

The Dude: Your roll.

Walter Sobchak: My point is—

Jesus Quintana: Are you ready to be fucked, man? I see you rolled your way into the semis. Dios mio, man. Liam and me, we're gonna fuck you up!

The Dude: Yeah, well, you know, that's just, like, uh, your opinion, man.

Jesus Quintana: Let me tell you something, pendejo. You pull any of your crazy shit with us, you flash a piece out on the lanes, I'll take it away from you and stick it up your ass and pull the fucking trigger til it goes "click".

The Dude: Jesus.

Jesus Quintana: You said it, man. Nobody fucks with The Jesus.

Walter Sobchak: Eight year olds, Dude.

Bunny: [on video] You must be here to fix the cable.

Maude Lebowski: Lord. You can imagine where it goes from here.

The Dude: He fixes the cable?

Maude Lebowski: Don't be fatuous, Jeffrey.

The Dude: Fuckin Quintana. that creep can roll, man.

Walter Sobchak: Yeah, but he's a pervert, Dude.

The Dude: Yeah.

Walter Sobchak: No! He's a sex offender, with a record. He served 6 months in Chino for exposing himself to an eight year old.

The Dude: Oh!

Walter Sobchak: [[w:pederasty|pederast] When he moved to Hollywood, he had to go door to door to tell everyone he was a ].

Donny: What's a pederast, Walter?

Walter Sobchak: Shut the fuck up, Donny.

The Dude: Yeah, man, it really tied the room together.

Walter Sobchak: This was a valued, uh...

The Dude: Yeah.

Donny: What tied the room together, Dude?

The Dude: My rug.

Walter Sobchak: Were you listening to The Dude's story, Donny?

Donny: What?

The Dude: Walter.

Walter Sobchak: Were you listening to The Dude's story?

Donny: I was bowling.

Walter Sobchak: So you have no frame of reference here, Donny. You're like a child who wanders into the middle of a movie and wants to know–

The Dude: Walter, Walter, what's the point, man?

Walter Sobchak: There's no reason–Here's my point, Dude–There's no fucking reason why these two–

Donny: Yeah, Walter, what's your point?

Walter Sobchak: Huh?

The Dude: Walter, what is the point? Look, we all know who is at fault here. What the fuck are you talking about?

Walter Sobchak: Huh? No, what the fuck are you–? I'm not...we're talking about unchecked aggression here, Dude.

Donny: What the fuck is he talking about?

The Dude: My rug.

Walter Sobchak: Forget it, Donny. You're out of your element!

The Dude: Look, Walter–Walter, the Chinaman who peed on my rug, I can't go give him a bill, so what the fuck are you talking about?

Walter Sobchak: What the fuck are you talking about? The Chinaman is not the issue here, Dude! I'm talking about drawing a line in the sand, Dude. Across this line, you do not— Also, Dude, "Chinaman" is not the preferred nomenclature. "Asian-American," please.

The Dude: [[W:Transcontinental Railroad|a guy who built the railroads] Walter, this isn't ] here. This is a guy—

Walter Sobchak: What the fuck are you—

The Dude: Walter, he peed on my rug!

Donny: He peed on The Dude's rug.

Walter Sobchak: Donny, you're out of your element! Dude, the Chinaman is not the issue here!

The Dude: So, who? Who...?

Walter Sobchak: Jeff Lebowski, the other Jeffrey Lebowski. The millionaire!

The Dude: That's fucking interesting, man. That's fucking interesting.

Walter Sobchak: Plus, he has the wealth, obviously, and the resources. So that there's no reason–there's no fucking reason–why his wife should go out and owe money all over town, and then they come, and they pee on your fucking rug! Am I wrong?

The Dude: No.

Walter Sobchak: Am I wrong?

The Dude: Yeah, but–

Walter Sobchak: Okay, then. That rug really tied the room together, did it not?

The Dude: Fuckin A.

Donny: And this guy peed on it.

Walter Sobchak: Donny. Please.

Papa: Your dad was a hero, and heroes are necessary, and they should be allowed to have families.

Dale Martin: Look at that tree. Look at that fucking tree! The same age as my son!

El Mariachi: Bless me, Father, for I have just killed quite a few men.

Buscemi: [opens window in confessional] No shit!

Buscemi: Just try and keep it from turning into a fucking bloodbath, all right? Not like last time.

El Mariachi: That one wasn't my fault.

Buscemi: Well, of course not.

El Mariachi: No, they started it.

Buscemi: What happens when he's dead?

El Mariachi: When Bucho is dead... it's over. He is the last one.

Buscemi: End of payback? An eye for an eye and all that crap? You finally going to be satisfied?

El Mariachi: I think so.

Buscemi: I hope so. Because I don't have the stomach for this anymore.

El Mariachi: You never did.

Buscemi: Well... neither did you.

Buscemi: Then I mentioned the guitar case. Suddenly they got really interested in who you were. So I laid the story down nice and thick.

El Mariachi: How thick?

Buscemi: Well, pretty thick.

Buscemi: [after telling about a rogue gunslinger shooting up a bar] The stranger shot him, walked over to the bartender, paid, and left.

Short Bartender: [laughing] So the bartender lived? The bartender never gets killed!

Buscemi: But as the stranger neared the door...

Buscemi: No man, the bartender got it worse than anybody.

Short Bartender: Fuck you man! That's the cleanest one I got!

Buscemi: Oh, this is damn good! Say, this is the best beer I've ever had. Actually, I'm just glad to be alive right now. I was up a few towns away... you know Saragosa? I was visiting a bar there, not unlike this one. They serve beer ... not quite as good as this, but close. And I saw something you wouldn't believe. I'm sitting there see, small table all by myself at this bar. It's full of real lowlifes. I mean, not like this place here. No, I mean bad. Like they were up to no good. Anyway, I'm by myself ... I like it that way. Meanwhile, things are going on ... under the table kinds of things. Not too obvious but, not too secret either. So, I'm sitting there. And in walks the biggest Mexican I have ever seen. Big as shit. Just walks right in like he owns the place. And nobody knew quite what to make of him ... or quite what to think. There he was and in he walked. He was dark too. I don't mean dark-skinned. No, this was different. It was if he was always walking in a shadow. I mean every step he took toward the light, just when you thought his face was about to be revealed ... it wasn't. It was as if the lights dimmed, just for him.

Buscemi: [to El Mariachi] Ya know, one of these days you're gonna lie down too hard on that bed and blow your brains out.

Buscemi: Now I wasn't interested in his drink. Nope, I was more interested in what he was carrying when he walked in. Some sort of a suitcase, kind of heavy. He sat that thing on the stool beside him as if it were his girl.

Enid: You know what my number-one fantasy used to be?

Seymour: What?

Enid: I used to think about one day, just not telling anyone and going off to some random place. And I'd just... disappear. And they'd never see me again. Do you ever think about stuff like that?

Seymour: I guess I probably did when I was your age.

Enid: You know what we should do? We should just get in your car right now and just drive off. Just find some totally new place and start a whole new life. Fuck everybody.

Seymour: I'm, uh, I'm not in any good condition to drive.

Enid: I'm serious! I'm just so sick of everybody. Why can't I just do what I want?

Seymour: What do you want?

Enid: [a pause. They look into each other's eyes] What do you want? Don't you like me?

Seymour: So, was that your boyfriend?

Enid: Josh? He's nobody's boyfriend. He's just this guy that Becky and I like to torture.

Paul: It has a large center hole and a hair crack.

Seymour: But the crack is so tight, it's completely inaudible.

Paul: But a tight hair crack is just that—a crack. I don't collect cracked records. I only pay premium on mint records. Seymour, you know that. Please.

Enid: So, what was all that about enlarged holes and tight cracks?

Jerry Lundegaard: Jerry Lundegaard.

Carl Showalter: All right, Jerry, you got this phone to yourself?

Jerry Lundegaard: Well... yah.

Carl Showalter: Know who this is?

Jerry Lundegaard: Well, yah, I got an idea. How's that Ciera workin out for ya?

Carl Showalter: Circumstances have changed, Jerry.

Jerry Lundegaard: Well... what do ya mean?

Carl Showalter: Things have changed. Circumstances, Jerry. Beyond the, uh, acts of God, force majeure-

Jerry Lundegaard: What the... how's Jean?

Carl Showalter: Who's Jean?

Jerry Lundegaard: My wife! What the- how's...

Carl Showalter: Oh, Jean's okay, but there's three people up in Brainerd who aren't so okay, I'll tell ya that.

Jerry Lundegaard: What the heck're you talkin about? Let's just finish up this deal here -

Carl Showalter: Blood has been shed, Jerry.

Jerry Lundegaard: What the heck ya mean?

Carl Showalter: Three people. In Brainerd.

Jerry Lundegaard: Oh, geez.

Carl Showalter: That's right and we need more money.

Jerry Lundegaard: The heck d'ya mean? What a you fellas get yourself mixed up in?

Carl Showalter: We need more -

Jerry Lundegaard: This was s'posed to be a no-rough-stuff-type deal...

Carl Showalter: DON'T EVER INTERRUPT ME, JERRY! JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Jerry Lundegaard: Well, I'm sorry, but I just - I -

Carl Showalter: Look, I'm not gonna debate you, Jerry. The price is now the whole amount. We want the entire $80,000.

Jerry Lundegaard: Oh, for Christ sakes here...

Carl Showalter: Blood has been shed. We've incurred risks, Jerry. I'm coming into town tomorrow. Have the money ready.

Jerry Lundegaard: Now we had a deal. A deal's a deal.

Carl Showalter: Is it, Jerry? Why don't you ask those three poor souls in Brainerd if a deal's a deal. Go ahead, ask them!

Jerry Lundegaard: The heck do ya mean?

Carl Showalter: [mimicking] The heck ya mean?" I'll see you tomorrow.

Jerry Lundegaard: YAH!

Reilly Deifenbach: Jerome Lundegaard?

Jerry Lundegaard: Yah.

Reilly Deifenbach: This is Reilly Deifenbach at GMAC. Sir, I have not yet received those vehicle ID's you promised me.

Jerry Lundegaard: Yah! I... Those are in the mail.

Reilly Deifenbach: That very well may be. I must inform you, however, that absent the receipt of those numbers by tomorrow afternoon, I will have to refer this matter to our legal department.

Jerry Lundegaard: Yah.

Reilly Deifenbach: My patience is at an end.

Jerry Lundegaard: Yah.

Reilly Deifenbach: Good day, sir.

Jerry Lundegaard: Yah.

Gaear Grimsrud: [''to Jean''] Shut the fuck up! Or I'll throw you back into the trunk, you know.

Carl Showalter: Geez. That's more'n I've heard you say all week.

Gaear Grimsrud: [''lifts up his mask and looks at the bite as Carl heads up the stairs behind Jean''; [w:Unguent|Unguent] ].

Carl Showalter: What?!

Gaear Grimsrud: I need Unguent!

Carl Showalter: Stay away from me, man! Hey, go smoke a fuckin peace pipe!

Carl Showalter: Shep! What the hell are you doing! I was bangin that girl!

Carl Showalter: Just in town on business. Just in and out. Ha. Just a little of the old in-and-out.

Carl Showalter: Keep it still back there, lady, or else we're gonna have to, ya know, to shoot ya.

Carl Showalter: Would you crack the fuckin window open, man. You know, it's proven that second-hand smoke is, uh, carcin-... uh, you know, a cancer agent.

Nikita Khrushchev: [to Beria's burning corpse] I will bury you in history! You hear me, you fat fucker? You smell like rendered horse, you burning asshole...

Nikita Khrushchev: I'm the peacemaker and I’ll fuck over anyone who gets in my way.

Nikita Khrushchev: If he recovers, then we got a good doctor. If he doesn't recover, then we didn't. But, he won't know.

Nikita Khrushchev: [sobbing over Stalin's body] He's on the floor! He's on the fucking floor!

Nikita Khrushchev: When you go home, make sure your wife writes down everything you think you said tonight. Alright? This way, in the morning you know what you're dealing with. It's Krushchev's law.

Nikita Khrushchev: [[w:Battle of Stalingrad|Stalingrad] We were talking about ], how cold it was, and we would do anything, anything, to warm ourselves up. We would throw live grenades to each other. Pull the pin, throw it to the prisoners. They'd be jumping around like drunken whores.

Rockhound: [[Captain America] We're in segment 202, lateral grid nine, site 15H-32; give or take a few yards. ] here blew the landing by 26 miles!

Col. Sharp: How the hell do you know that?

Rockhound: [[genius] Because I'm a ].

Watts: [[w:Magnetic_field|magnetic field] The gauges will not read. They're all peaked like we're plugged into some ].

Rockhound: [sarcastically] Well, who on this spaceship wants to know why?

Gruber: By all means.

Rockhound: [[w:Iron_ferrite|iron ferrite] The reason we were shooting for grid eight, was because thermographics indicated that grid nine was compressed ]...which means you've landed us on a goddamn iron plate!

Truman: So what's the verdict?

Harry Stamper: They'll do it. They've made a few requests though.

Truman: Such as?

Stamper: [riffles through sheets of paper] Well, there's uh, few things here, uh... nothin really big, uh, just- Well, as an example, uh, uh, Oscar here, he's got some outstanding parking tickets. Wants them wiped off his record.

Oscar: [shouting from balcony] Fifty-six tickets in seven states...

Stamper: [to Oscar] I'll-I'll tell em Oscar, you got it.

Oscar: Okay.

Stamper: [[women; [John F. Kennedy|Kennedy; Truman and the General look at him; tries to read writing; looks up at Bear] Uh, Noonan's got two ] friends that he'd like to see made American citizens, no questions asked. Max would like you to...bring back eight-track tapes. Not sure if that's gonna work, but, uh, let's see what else. Um, Chick wants a full week's Emperor's Package at Caesar's Palace. Um - hey, you guys wouldn't be able to tell us who actually killed ], would ya? Didn't think so. Um, Bear would like to stay at the... "White horse"?

Bear: White. House. White House.

Stamper: [[White House] White House. Yeah, he'd like to stay in the Lincoln bedroom of the ] for the summer. Stuff like that.

Truman: Sure, I think we can, uh, take care of... some of that.

Rockhound: [shouting from balcony] Harry!

Stamper: [motions back at Rockhound; [Taxation in the United States|taxes; Kimsey and Truman stare at Harry, who smirks and shrugs] Yeah, one more thing, um...none of them wanna pay ] again. Ever.

Deeds: Crazy Eyes.

Crazy Eyes: Hey, Deeds.

Deeds: How you doin', pal? I got your pizza for you, just the way you like it.

Crazy Eyes: Oh, yes. French Fries and Oreos, you know me all too well, Deeds.

Deeds: What are you in for?

Crazy Eyes: Eh, I'm doin an overnighter for bitin the mailman.

Crazy Eyes: He was tryin to cast some spell on me like a wizard or somethin'.

Deeds: You sure about that?

Crazy Eyes: I don't know, maybe he was just wavin'.

Crazy Eyes: Who're your friends?

Deeds: This is Chuck and Cecil, they're visiting from New York.

Crazy Eyes: I don't like em.

Deeds: Okay, then.

Joe Cabot: This man set us up.

Nice Guy Eddie: Dad, I'm sorry, but I don't know what the Hell's happening.

Joe Cabot: That's all right, Eddie. I do.

Mr. White: What the fuck are you talking about?

Joe Cabot: That lump of shit's working with the LAPD.

Mr. Orange: Joe, I don't have the slightest fucking idea what you're talking about.

Mr. White: Joe, Joe, I don't know what you think you know, but you're wrong.

Joe Cabot: Like Hell I am.

Mr. White: Joe, trust me on this, you're making a mistake. He's a good kid. I understand you're hot, you're super fucking pissed. We're all real emotional. But you're barking up the wrong tree. I know this man; he wouldn't do that.

Joe Cabot: You don't know jack shit. I do: The cocksucker tipped off the cops and got Mr. Brown and Mr. Blue killed.

Mr. Pink: Mr. Blue is dead?

Joe Cabot: [[w:John Dillinger|Dillinger] Dead as ].

Mr. White: How do you know all this?

Joe Cabot: He was the only one I wasn't a hundred percent on. I should have my fucking head examined going ahead when I wasn't a hundred percent.

Mr. White: That's your proof?!

Joe Cabot: [Draws a gun and aims at Orange] You don't need proof when you have instinct. I ignored it before, but no more.

Nice Guy Eddie: Have you lost your fucking mind?

Mr. White: Joe, you're making a terrible mistake. I'm not gonna let you make it.

Mr. Pink: [Slowly backing away] Come on, guys. Nobody wants this. We're supposed to be fucking professionals!

Nice Guy Eddie: Larry, look...It's been quite a long time, a lot of jobs. There's no need for this, man. Let's just put our guns down, and let's settle this with a fucking conversation.

Mr. White: Joe, if you kill that man, you die next. Repeat: If you kill that man, you die next.

Nice Guy Eddie: Larry, we have been friends, and you respect my dad, and I respect you. But I will put fucking bullets right through your heart if you don't put that fucking gun down now.

Mr. White: Goddamn you, Joe. Don't make me do this.

Nice Guy Eddie: LARRY STOP POINTING THAT FUCKING GUN AT MY DAD!

Nice Guy Eddie: [distraught, kneeling next to Blonde's corpse] What the fuck happened?

Mr. Orange: He slashed the cop's face, cut off his ear, and was gonna burn him alive.

Nice Guy Eddie: [walking over towards Officer Nash and Mr. Orange] What? I didn't hear you.

Mr. Orange: I said, Blonde went crazy. He slashed the cop's face, cut off his ear, and was gonna burn him alive.

Nice Guy Eddie: [nodding] This cop?

Mr. Orange: ...no...

Nice Guy Eddie: He went crazy, something like that? Worse or better?

Mr. Orange: Eddie, he was pullin a burn, man. He was gonna kill the cop and me, and when you guys walked through the door, he was gonna blow you to hell and make off with the diamonds.

Mr. White: What'd I tell you? That sick piece of shit was a stone cold psycho!

Mr. Orange: You could've asked the cop, if you didn't just kill him! He talked about what he was gonna do when he was slicin him up!

Nice Guy Eddie: I don't buy it. It doesn't make sense.

Mr. White: Makes perfect fuckin sense to me. You weren't there durin the job, Eddie. You didn't see how he acted. We did.

Mr. Pink: [visibly fighting back nausea after examining Officer Nash's body] He's right about the ear, it's hacked off.

Nice Guy Eddie: All right, let me just say this out loud, cause I wanna get it straight in my head. You're saying that Mr. Blonde was gonna kill you, and then when we got back, he was gonna kill us, take the satchel of diamonds, and scram. I'm right about that, right? That's correct? That's your story?

Mr. Orange: I swear on my mother's eternal soul that's what happened.

Nice Guy Eddie: [in a lower, more sinister tone of voice] The man you just killed just got released from prison. He got caught at a company warehouse full of hot items. He could've fuckin walked. All he had to do was say my dad's name, but he didn't; he kept his fucking mouth shut. And did his fuckin time, and he did it like a man. He did four years for us. So, Mr. Orange, you're tellin me this very good friend of mine, who did four years for my father, who in four years never made a deal, no matter what they dangled in front of him, you're telling me that now that this man is free, and we're making good on our commitment to him, he's just gonna decide, out of the fucking BLUE, TO RIP US OFF?! Why don't you tell me what really happened?

Joe: [walks in] What the hell for? It'd just be more bullshit.

Joe: [pointing to each respective member] So, you guys like to tell jokes, huh? Gigglin and laughin like a bunch of young broads sittin in a schoolyard. Well, let me tell a joke. Five guys, sittin in a bullpen, in San Quentin. All wondering how the fuck they got there. What should we have done, what didn't we do, who's fault is it, is it my fault, your fault, his fault, all that bullshit. Then one of them says, hey. Wait a minute. When we were planning this caper, all we did was sit around tellin fuckin jokes! Get the message? Boys, I don't mean to holler at ya. When this caper's over - and I'm sure it'll be a successful one - we'll get down to the Hawaiian Islands, hell, I'll roll and laugh with all of ya. You'll find me a different character down there. Right now, it's a matter of business. With the exception of Eddie and myself, whom you already know, we're going to be using aliases on this job. Under no circumstances do I want any one of you to relate to each other by your Christian names, and I don't want any talk about yourself personally. That includes where you been, your wife's name, where you might've done time, or maybe a bank you robbed in St. Petersburg. All I want you guys to talk about, if you have to, is what you're going to do. That should do it. Here are your names... Mr. Brown, Mr. White, Mr. Blonde, Mr. Blue, Mr. Orange, and Mr. Pink.

Mr. Pink: Why am I Mr. Pink?

Joe: Because, you're a faggot, alright?!

Mr. Pink: Why can't we pick our own colors?

Joe: No way, no way. Tried it once, doesn't work. You got four guys all fighting over who's gonna be Mr. Black, but they don't know each other, so nobody wants to back down. No way. I pick. You're Mr. Pink. Be thankful you're not Mr. Yellow.

Mr. Brown: Yeah, but Mr. Brown? That's a little too close to Mr. Shit.

Mr. Pink: Mr. Pink sounds like Mr. Pussy. How bout if I'm Mr. Purple? That sounds good to me. I'll be Mr. Purple.

Joe: You're not Mr. Purple. Some guy on some other job is Mr. Purple. You're Mr. PINK.

Mr. White: Who cares what your name is?

Mr. Pink: Yeah, that's easy for your to say, you're Mr. White. You have a cool-sounding name. Alright look, if it's no big deal to be Mr. Pink, you wanna trade?

Joe: Hey! NOBODY'S trading with ANYBODY. This ain't a goddamn fucking city council meeting, you know. Now listen up, Mr. Pink. There's two ways you can go on this job: my way or the highway. Now what's it gonna be, Mr. Pink?

Mr. Pink: Jesus Christ, Joe, fucking forget about it. It's beneath me. I'm Mr. Pink. Let's move on.

Joe: I'll move on when I feel like it... All you guys got the goddamn message?... I'm so Goddamn mad, hollering at you guys, I can hardly talk. Pssh. Let's go to work.

Mr. White: You better start talkin', asshole! Cause we got shit we need to talk about. We're already freaked out, we need you actin freaky like we need a fuckin bag on our hip.

Mr. Blonde: [calmly] OK, let's talk.

Mr. White: We think we got a rat in the house.

Mr. Pink: I guarantee we got a rat in the house!

Mr. Blonde: What makes you say that?

Mr. White: Is that supposed to be funny?

Mr. Pink: Look, we think this place ain't safe.

Mr. White: This place just ain't secure anymore. We're leaving, you should go with us.

Mr. Blonde: Nobody's going anywhere.

Mr. White: [about Mr. Blonde; To Mr. Pink] Piss on this fucking turd! We're outta here.

Mr. Blonde: Don't take another step, Mr. White.

Mr. White: [screams] Fuck you, maniac! It's your fuckin fault we're in this trouble!

Mr. Blonde: [calmly to Mr. Pink] What's this guy's problem?

Mr. White: What's my problem? Yeah, I gotta fuckin problem! I gotta big fuckin problem with any trigger-happy madman who almost gets me shot!

Mr. Blonde: What the fuck are you talking about?

Mr. White: That fucking shooting spree in the store, remember?!

Mr. Blonde: [shrugs] Fuck em. They set off the alarm. They deserve what they got.

Mr. White: You almost killed me! ASSHOLE! If I had known what kind of guy you were, I never would've agreed to work with you.

Mr. Blonde: Are you gonna bark all day, little doggie, or are you gonna bite?

Mr. White: What was that? I'm sorry, I didn't catch it. Would you repeat it?

Mr. Blonde: [throws away his drink] Are you gonna bark all day, little doggie, or are you gonna bite?

Mr. Pink: [pause] Oh, Christ, hey, look, you two assholes, calm the fuck down! Hey, come on, are we on a playground here, huh?! Am I the only professional?! You fuckin guys are acting like a bunch of fuckin niggers! You work with niggers, huh? Just like you two, always sayin they're gonna kill each other.

Mr. White: [to Mr. Pink] You said yourself you thought about taking him out!

Mr. Blonde: [menacing] You fuckin said that?

Mr. Pink: Yeah, I did, OK? I did. But that was then. Right now, this guy is the only one I completely trust. He's too fuckin homicidal to be workin with the cops.

Mr. White: You takin his side?

Mr. Pink: [referring to Mr. White; referring to Mr. Blonde] NO! Fuck sides, man! What we need here is a little solidarity! Somebody's stickin a red hot poker up our asses, and I wanna know whose name's on the handle! Now I know I'm no piece of shit... And I'm pretty sure you're OK... And I'm fuckin positive you're on the level. So let's try and figure out who the bad guy is, alright?

Mr. Blonde: [calming down, chuckling; [w:Lee Marvin|Lee Marvin] Wow, that was really exciting. I bet you're a big ] fan, aren't ya? Me too, I love that guy. My heart's beatin so fast, I'm about to have a heart attack here.

Mr. Pink: I don't wanna kill anybody. But if I gotta get out that door, and you're standing in my way, one way or the other, you're gettin outta my way.

Mr. Pink: We were set up. The cops were there waitin for us.

Nice Guy Eddie: What? Nobody fuckin set anybody up.

Mr. Pink: The cops were there waitin for us, man!

Nice Guy Eddie: Bullshit.

Mr. Pink: Hey, fuck you, man! You weren't there, we were! And I'm tellin you, the cops had the place staked out!

Nice Guy Eddie: Okay, Mr. Fuckin Detective, you're so fuckin smart? Huh? Who did it?

Mr. Pink: What the hell do ya think we've been askin each other?

Nice Guy Eddie: Yeah? And what'd you come up with, huh? You think I did it? You think I fuckin set you up?

Mr. Pink: I don't know! But somebody did!

Nice Guy Eddie: Nobody did. You fuckin assholes turned the jewelry store into a Wild West show--

Mr. White: [interrupting] Don't you call me an asshole!

Nice Guy Eddie: You fuckin idiots turned the fuckin jewelry store into a Wild West show--

Mr. White: [interrupting again] Don't you call me a fuckin idiot!

Nice Guy Eddie: [louder] --and you wonder why the fuckin cops show up?!

Mr. White: [gesturing towards Mr. Orange, who is bleeding out on the floor] What are you gonna do about him?

Nice Guy Eddie: Jesus Christ, gimme a fuckin chance to breathe, here. I got a few questions of my own.

Mr. White: [gesturing towards Mr. Orange again] You ain't dyin'. He is.

Nice Guy Eddie: [exasperatedly] All right, Mr. Fuckin COMPASSION! I will call somebody!

Mr. White: Who?

Nice Guy Eddie: [incredulously] ...a fuckin snake charmer! Who do you think? I'll call a doctor, they'll fix him right up!

Nice Guy Eddie: [[W:great Chicago fire|Chicago fire] If you fucking beat this prick long enough, he'll tell you he started the goddamn ], now that don't necessarily make it fucking so!

Nice Guy Eddie: Now, what happened to Brown and Blue?

Mr. Pink: Brown's dead. We don't know what happened to Blue.

Nice Guy Eddie: Brown's dead? Are you sure?

Mr. White: I'm sure. I was there. He took one in the head.

Nice Guy Eddie: Nobody's got a clue what happened to Mr. Blue?

Mr. Blonde: Either he's alive or he's dead, or the cops got him... or they don't.

Nice Guy Eddie: All right, first things fuckin last. Who's got the stones? Please, somebody at least tell me, just one little fuckin favor, just for my sake--

Mr. Pink: [interrupting] I got a bag. I got a bag, okay? I stashed it until we could be sure this place wasn't a police station!

Nice Guy Eddie: [pointing at Mr. Orange] Good for you. Now let's go get it. But first we gotta get rid of those cars outside, it looks like Sam's Hot Car Lot out there. Okay. Blondie, you sit here and babysit them two. White and Pink, you take a car each. I'll follow you. You ditch em, pick up the stones. And while I'm followin you, I'll arrange some sort of a doctor for our friend.

Mr. White: [pointing at Mr. Blonde] You can't leave these guys here with him.

Nice Guy Eddie: Why not?

Mr. White: Because he's a fuckin psycho. And if you think Joe's pissed off, that ain't nothin compared to how pissed off I am at him, for puttin me in the same room as that bastard!

Mr. Blonde: You see what I've been puttin up with, Eddie? I fuckin walked in here, I told these guys about stayin put, Mr. White whips out his gun, he's stickin it in my face, callin me a motherfucker, sayin he's gonna blow me away, and blah blah blah blah blah.

Mr. White: [pointing at Mr. Blonde; to Mr. Pink] He's the reason the joint turned into a shootin spree. What are you, a fuckin silent partner?! Tell him!

Mr. Pink: He went crazy in the store, but he seems all right now.

Mr. White: [mimics Mr. Blonde shooting people in the head] This is what he was doin': Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam.

Mr. Blonde: Yeah, bam bam bam bam bam. I told em not to touch the fuckin alarm, they did. If they hadn't've done what I told em not to do, they'd still be alive.

Mr. White: [sarcastically applauding] My fuckin hero!

Mr. Blonde: [taking a bow] Thanks!

Mr. White: That's your excuse for goin on a kill-crazy rampage?

Mr. Blonde: I don't like alarms, Mr. White.

Nice Guy Eddie: What does it matter who stays with the cop? We ain't lettin him go, not after he's seen everybody.

Officer Marvin Nash: I haven't been lookin at you guys--

Mr. Pink: [interrupting; punches Nash] Shut the fuck up, man!

Nice Guy Eddie: You guys should have never taken him out of the trunk in the first place.

Mr. Pink: We tried to find out what he knew about the setup--

Nice Guy Eddie: [enraged] THERE IS NO FUCKIN SETUP! Now here's the news! Blondie, you stay here and take care of these two! White and Pink, you come with me! Cause if Joe gets here and he sees all these cars, I swear to you he's gonna be just as mad at me as he is at you!

Mr. Blonde: [about to light the cop on fire; [The Wizard of Oz (1939 film)|Have some fire, scarecrow] ].

Mr. Pink: We ain't taking him to a hospital.

Mr. White: If we don't, he'll die.

Mr. Pink: And I'm very sad about that. But some fellas are lucky, and some ain't.

Mr. Pink: Man, could you believe Mr. Blonde?

Mr. White: That was the most insane fuckin thing I have ever seen. Why the fuck would Joe hire a guy like that?

Mr. Pink: I mean, I don't wanna kill anybody. But if I gotta get out that door, and you're standin in my way, one way or the other you're gettin out of my way.

Mr. White: [while splashing water on his face in the sink; dries his face off with a paper towel] That's the way I look at it. The choice between doin ten years, or takin out some stupid motherfucker, ain't no choice at all. But I ain't no madman, either! What the fuck was Joe thinkin when he came up with a guy like that? We were awful goddamn lucky he didn't tag us when he shot the place up. I came this close to takin his ass out myself!

Mr. Pink: [taking his gun out to reload it] I mean, everybody panics. Everybody. Things get tense...it's human nature, you panic. I don't care what your name is, you can't help it.

Mr. Pink: Fuck, man, you panic on the inside. In your head, ya know? Then you give yourself a couple of seconds, you get a hold of the situation, you deal with it! What you don't do, is start shootin up the place, and start killin people!

Mr. White: [combing his hair, while looking in the mirror] What you're supposed to do, is act like a fuckin professional. A psychopath ain't a professional. You can't work with a psychopath. You don't know what those sick assholes are gonna do next.

Mr. White: I mean...Jesus Christ, how old do you think that black girl was? Twenty? Maybe twenty-one?

Mr. Pink: If that.

Mr. White: Okay. Let's go through what happened.

Mr. Pink: Okay.

Mr. White: [snaps fingers] We're in the place, everything's going fine. Then the alarm gets tripped. I turn around, and all these cops are outside. You're right, it was like, bam! I blink my eyes, and they're there. Everybody starts goin apeshit, and Mr. Blonde starts to shoot all the--

Mr. Pink: [interrupting] That's not correct.

Mr. White: What's wrong with it?

Mr. Pink: Okay. The cops did not show up when the alarm went off. The cops didn't show up until after Mr. Blonde started shootin everybody.

Mr. White: As soon as I heard the alarm, I saw the cops--

Mr. Pink: No, man, I'm telling you it wasn't that soon. They let--they didn't let their presence be known until after Mr. Blonde became a madman. I'm not sayin they weren't there, I'm sayin they were, but they didn't make, their-their move until after Mr. Blonde started shootin everybody. I mean, that's how I know we were set up. C'mon, Mr. White, you can, I mean, you can see that--

Mr. White: [interrupting] Look! Look, enough of this "Mr. White" shit--

Mr. Pink: Hey, wait wait wait, man! Don't tell me your fuckin name, man, I don't wanna know it! Jesus Christ, I ain't gonna tell you mine!

Mr. White: You're right. This is bad.

Mr. White: Relax. Have a cigarette.

Mr. Pink: I quit.

Mr. White: Alright.

Mr. Pink: Why, you got one?

Mr. Pink: I tagged a couple of cops. Did you kill anybody?

Mr. White: A few cops.

Mr. Pink: No real people?

Mr. White: Just cops.

Nice Guy Eddie: C'mon, throw in a buck!

Mr. Pink: Uh-uh, I don't tip.

Nice Guy Eddie: You don't tip?

Mr. Pink: I don't believe in it.

Nice Guy Eddie: You don't believe in tipping?

Mr. Blue: You know what these chicks make? They make shit.

Mr. Pink: Don't give me that. She don't make enough money, she can quit.

Nice Guy Eddie: I don't even know a fucking Jew who'd have the balls to say that. Let me just get this straight: you don't ever tip, huh?

Mr. Pink: I don't tip because society says I have to. Alright, I mean I'll tip if somebody really deserves a tip. If they really put forth the effort, I'll give them something extra. But I mean, this tipping automatically, it's for the birds. I mean, as far as I'm concerned, they're just doing their job.

Mr. Blue: Hey, this girl was nice.

Mr. Pink: She was OK. But she wasn't anything special.

Mr. Blue: What's special? Take you in the back and suck your dick?

Nice Guy Eddie: I'd go over twelve percent for that.

Mr. Pink: Look, I ordered coffee, alright? And we been here a long fucking time, and she's only filled my cup three times. I mean, when I order coffee, I want it filled six times.

Mr. Blonde: Six times? Well, what if she's too fucking busy?

Mr. Pink: The words "too fucking busy" shouldn't be in a waitress vocabulary.

Nice Guy Eddie: Excuse me Mr. Pink, but the last fucking thing you need's another cup of coffee.

Mr. Pink: Jesus Christ. I mean, these ladies aren't starving to death. They make minimum wage. You know, I used to work minimum wage, and when I did, I wasn't lucky enough to have a job that society deemed tipworthy.

Mr. Blue: You don't care if they're counting on your tips to live?

Mr. Pink: [rubbing his middle finger and thumb together] You know what this is? It's the world's smallest violin playing just for the waitresses.

Mr. White: You don't have any idea what you're talking about. These people bust their ass. This is a hard job.

Mr. Pink: So is working at McDonald's, but you don't feel the need to tip them, do ya? Well why not? They're serving you food. But no, society says don't tip these guys over here, but tip these guys over here. That's bullshit!

Mr. White: Waitressing is the number one occupation for female non-college graduates in this country. It's the one job basically any woman can get and make a living on. The reason is because of their tips.

Mr. Pink: Fuck all that.

Mr. Brown: [laughing] Jesus Christ.

Mr. Pink: I mean, I'm very sorry the government taxes their tips, that's fucked up. That ain't my fault. It would appear to me that waitresses are one of the many groups the government fucks in the ass on a regular basis. I mean, if you show me a piece of paper that says the government shouldn't do that, I'll sign it. Put it to a vote, I'll vote for it. But what I won't do is play ball. And this non-college bullshit you're givin me, I got two words for that: learn to fuckin type, cause if you're expecting me to help out with the rent, you're in for a big fuckin surprise.

Mr. Orange: He's convinced me. Gimme my dollar back!

Nice Guy Eddie: Hey! Leave the dollars there.

Mr. Brown: [[w:Like a Virgin (song)|Like a Virgin] Let me tell you what ] is about. It's all about a girl who digs a guy with a big dick. The entire song. It's a metaphor for big dicks.

Mr. Blonde: No, no. It's about a girl who is very vulnerable. She's been fucked over a few times. Then she meets some guy who's really sensitive...

Mr. Brown: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa... Time out, Greenbay. Tell that fuckin bullshit to the tourists.

Joe Cabot: [looking at his address book] Toby... Who the fuck is Toby?

Mr. Brown: [[w:True Blue (Madonna song)|True Blue] Like a Virgin is not about some sensitive girl who meets a nice fella. That's what ] is about. Granted, no argument about that.

Mr. Orange: Which one is True Blue?

Nice Guy Eddie: [[Madonna (entertainer)|Madonna] You ain't heard True Blue? It was a big ass hit for ]. I don't even follow this Tops of the Pops shit, and even I've heard of True Blue.

Mr. Orange: Look, asshole, I didn't say I ain't heard of it. All I asked was how does it go? Excuse me for not being the world's biggest Madonna fan.

Mr. Blonde: Personally, I can do without her.

Mr. Blue: [[w:Borderline (song)|Borderline; [w:Papa Don't Preach|Papa Don't Preach] I used to like her early stuff. ] - but once she got off with that ] phase, I tuned out.

Mr. Brown: You guys are, like, making me lose my... train of thought here. I was saying something, what was it?

Joe Cabot: Oh, Toby's that little Chinese girl. What was her last name?

Mr. White: What's that?

Joe Cabot: It's an old address book I found in a coat I haven't worn in a coon's age. What was that name?

Mr. Brown: What the fuck was I talking about?

Mr. Pink: You said True Blue was about a guy... er.... a sensitive girl who meets a nice guy, but Like a Virgin was a metaphor for big dicks.

Mr. Brown: [[w:Like A Virgin|Like a Virgin's] O.K., let me tell you what ] about. It's all about this cooze who's a regular fuck machine, I'm talking morning, day, night, afternoon: dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick.

Mr. Blue: How many dicks is that?

Mr. White: A lot.

Mr. Brown: [[w:John Holmes|John Holmes; [w:Charles Bronson|Charles Bronson; [The Great Escape (film)|The Great Escape] Then one day she meets this ] motherfucker and it's like, whoa baby, I mean this cat is like ] in ]; he's digging tunnels. Now, she's gettin the serious dick action and she's feeling something she ain't felt since forever. Pain. Pain.

Joe Cabot: Chu? Toby Chu?

Mr. Brown: [[w:Bubble Yum|Bubble Yum] It hurts. It hurts her. It shouldn't hurt her, you know her pussy should be ] by now, but when this cat fucks her it hurts. It hurts, just like it did the first time. You see the pain is reminding the fuck machine what it once was like to be a virgin. Hence, "Like a Virgin.