Sure, this city isn’t perfect, we need a smut-free life for all of our citizens; cleaner streets, better schools, and good hockey team.
Decent people shouldn’t live here. They’d be happier someplace else.
Yes! In between the mugging and the kidnapping! Now, you gonna walk, or we gonna stand here and have a PTA meeting?
I have a dream. It’s not a big dream, it’s just a little dream. My dream - and I hope you don’t find this too crazy - is that I would like the people of this community to feel that if, God forbid, there were a fire, calling the fire department would actually be a wise thing to do. You can’t have people, if their houses are burning down, saying, “Whatever you do, don’t call the fire department!” That would be bad.
I thought we were building something where people could work and live and be SAFE! If you had to cut costs, why didn’t you cut floors instead of corners?
Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown.
Wanna work uptown at nights? South Bronx? Harlem?
You tryin’ to blend in or something? You look like a fucking duck hunter.
It’s the dress. It’s awfully cheap material. I can tell by the smell.
Well, if it isn’t Armani with a badge
N!Y!P!D! Means I will Nock Yo Punkass Down.
Vargas, abort, abort! We’re not gonna make it to the tunnel! Go to Plan B! We’re going to Plan B!
Plan 9? Ah, yes. Plan 9 deals with the resurrection of the dead. Long distance electrodes shot into the pineal and pituitary gland of the recently dead.
Perhaps I’ll cure Frank and every other alcoholic if I can solve the mystery of Donovan’s Brain. I think it’s a matter of chemistry how the brain thinks. The problem is to find out what chemical combinations are responsible for success… failure… happiness… misery.
There’s nothing more toxic or deadly than a human child. A single touch could kill you. Leave a door open, and one can walk right into this factory; right into the monster world.
My wife makes me take off my clothes in the garage. Then she leaves out a bucket of warm water and some soap. And then she douses everything in hand sanitizer after I leave. I mean, she’s overreacting, right?
When you didn’t come back from Los Angeles, I assumed that Jessie Kim, or someone else killed you. Oh, and by the way: letting someone who loves you think you’re dead, when you’re not, is very cruel.
So I mourned you; for six months, I mourned you. Then I tracked you down. Now I wasn’t trying to track you down, I thought I was tracking down the assholes I thought killed you.
And what do I find? I find you, and not only are you not dead, but you’re pregnant, and you’re getting married. To some fucking jerk!
I overreacted.
I think I speak for everyone here when I say your actions were excessive. And yes … more than just a little wasteful. But then it does seem to have had the desired effect. I’ll tell you what, throw baldy off next.
Do you think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?
I’m American, Honey. Our names don’t mean shit.