My idea, Plissken. Something we’ve been fooling around with. Two microscopic capsules lodged in your arteries. They’re already starting to dissolve. In 22 hours, the cores will completely dissolve. Inside the cores are a heat-sensing charge. Not a small explosion, about the size of a pinhead, just big enough to open up both of your arteries. I’d say you’d be dead in 10-15 seconds…
Would you give a guy a foot massage?
You still picking your feet in Poughkeepsie?
Toe pick!
Spasm! Spasm! Oh, God, here it comes… lactose intolerance!
I partake not in the meat nor breast milk or ovum of any creature that has a face.
If you die first, I am definitely going to eat you, but the question is, if I die, what are you going to do? Bon appétit… Eat or die.
I do wish we could chat longer, but… I’m having an old friend for dinner. Bye.
At the store, can you buy a new frying pan? I’m a little squeamish about using the one we use to kill people.
Beat it, I’m reading the sports page.
Skip the facts, just gimme the details.
The facts of the case are this: At midnight on August 6th, the defendants went into the barracks room of their platoon-mate, PFC William Santiago. They woke him up, tied his arms and legs with rope, and forced a rag into his throat. A few minutes later, a chemical reaction in Santiago’s body called lactic acidosis caused his lungs to begin bleeding. He drowned in his own blood and was pronounced dead at 32 minutes past midnight. These are the facts of the case. And they are undisputed.
It just so happens that your friend here is only MOSTLY dead.
Go through his clothes and look for loose change.
Explain? What I’m doing in the bushes with a little boy? With my hands in his pockets? They’d give me 10-20 years.
What has it got in its pocketses?
My God! It’s full of stars!
No. You know what? I’m the biggest star here, man.
I don’t remember askin’ you a Goddamn thing! You were saying?
“Say hello to my little friend”