Now, how do you think I feel having to ask your permission to make water, like I’m a child? Well, I AIN’T no child, Miss Daisy. I’m a grown man, going on 70 years of age, and I know when my bladder’s full.
Ben, do you realize that in a matter of a few hours you have demonstrated most of your excremental bodily functions.
This is what happens when toilet humor is allowed to run rampant!
Rapunzel, we are done talking about this.
Listen, I didn’t expect you to rush out and buy me a corsage this morning, you know. Your high school ring is safe.
Welcome home, Marty! Lord of the manor! King of the castle!
Good night, you princes of Maine, you kings of New England.
You stupid fucking cunt. You, Williamson, I’m talking to you, shithead. You just cost me $6,000. Six thousand dollars, and one Cadillac. That’s right. What are you going to do about it? What are you going to do about it, asshole? You’re fucking shit. Where did you learn your trade, you stupid fucking cunt, you idiot? Who ever told you that you could work with men? Oh, I’m gonna have your job, shithead.
No, No, No, No, let me ask you a question.
When you came pulling in here, did you notice a sign out in front of my house that said “Dead Nigger Storage”?
I’ll pretend I didn’t notice anything.
Does he look like a bitch?
Devouring pulp fiction is not being well-read.
It’s called reading. Top to bottom, left to right. A group of words together is called a sentence.
Do you think I’m stupid? Do I look… stupid… to you?
Correctamundo.
English, motherfucker! Do you speak it?
Then you know what I’m sayin’!
Silencio, old man.
Why don’t you love me, Jenny?
Stupid, worthless, no good, goddamn, freeloading son of a bitch. Retarded, big mouth, know-it-all, asshole, jerk.