Tombstone:
(Doc Holliday) “I have not yet begun to defile myself.”
Airplane:
(Capt. Rex Kramer) “Do you know what it’s like to fall in the mud and get kicked, in the head, by an iron boot? Of course you don’t–no one does–that never happens.”
Ed Wood:
(Criswell) “We’re in showbiz. It’s all about razzle dazzle–appearances. If you look good and you talk well, people will swallow anything.”
This whole country’s just like my flock of sheep! Hillbillies, hausfraus - everybody that’s got to jump when someone else blows a whistle! They’re mine!
As with so many things in life, I find applicable wisdom and oceanic comfort in the words of Pulp Fiction.
“One look at you and I can tell you’re an Elvis man.” (Mina Wallace, channelling Laura Bush to her husband.)
“I’m sorry – did I break your concentration? You were saying something about “best intentions.” Oh-h-h – you were finished? Well, allow me to retort!” (Jules Winifred, channelling Jon Stewart after his Crossfire appearance).
“Since then he’s kind of developed a speech impediment.” (Jules in a commentary on George W. Buch).
“In the fifth, your ass ges down.” (Marsellius Wallace channelling the fervent hopes of most the Free World re: a Bush second presidency).
“You’re gonna hear a little voice inside your head. That’s pride, fuckin witchoo.” (Marsellius, counseling Ralph Nader)
“You’re gonna go out there, say good night, go home, jerk off, go to sleep.” (Vincent Vega – again, counseling Ralph Nader)
“The truth is… you’re the weak – and I am the tyranny of evil men.” (Jules, channeling Dick Cheney to John Kerry.)
“Zed’s dead, baby.” – (Butch, channeling the media’s watchfulness.)
Edward G. Robinson:
“You hick! I’ll be back pulling strings to get guys elected mayor and governor before you ever get a 10-buck raise. Yeah, how many of those guys in office owe everything to me. I made them. Yeah, I made 'em, just like a – like a tailor makes a suit of clothes. I take a nobody, see? Teach him what to say. Get his name in the papers and pay for his campaign expenses. Dish out a lotta groceries and coal. Get my boys to bring the voters out. And then count the votes over and over again till they added up right and he was elected. Yeah – then what happens? Did he remember when the going got tough, when the heat was on? No, he didn’t wanna. All he wanted was to save his own dirty neck . . . Yeah, ‘Public Enemy,’ he calls me. Me, who gave him his ‘Public’ all wrapped up with a fancy bow on it.”