“Vice, Virtue. It’s best not to be too moral. You cheat yourself out of too much life. Aim above morality. If you apply that to life, then you’re bound to live life fully.”
Leave the gun, take the canoli.
“You see in this world there’s two kinds of people, my friend. Those with loaded guns, and those who dig. You dig.”
“Can you dig it?”
Where did you dig up that old fossil?
Down there,between the two old sheds.
Shut the fuck up, Donny.
“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.”
I like to watch.
What is your major malfunction, numbnuts? Didn’t Mommy and Daddy show you enough attention when you were a child?
The details of my life are quite inconsequential… very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we’d make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum… it’s breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.
Is it safe?
We’ll be safe enough once we make the jump into hyperspace.
What was that?
They’ve gone to…plaid.
“These go to eleven.”
Hey, I guess they’re right. Senior citizens, although slow and dangerous behind the wheel, can still serve a purpose. I’ll be right back. Don’t you go dying on me!
Thank you for nothing, you useless reptile.
"Try to imagine yourself in the Cretaceous Period. You get your first look at this “six foot turkey” as you enter a clearing. He moves like a bird, lightly, bobbing his head. And you keep still because you think that maybe his visual acuity is based on movement like T-Rex - he’ll lose you if you don’t move. But no, not Velociraptor. You stare at him, and he just stares right back. And that’s when the attack comes. Not from the front, but from the side, from the other two 'raptors you didn’t even know were there. Because Velociraptor’s a pack hunter, you see, he uses coordinated attack patterns and he is out in force today. And he slashes at you with this… a six-inch retractable claw, like a razor, on the the middle toe. He doesn’t bother to bite your jugular like a lion, say… no no. He slashes at you here… or here… or maybe across the belly, spilling your intestines. The point is… you are alive when they start to eat you. So you know… try to show a little respect. "
“Sonofabitch! Do you know who I am? I’m Moe Greene!”
We’re the new delegation from New Jersey.