We have a complete dossier on you: Richard Blaine, American, age 37. Cannot return to his country. The reason’s a little vague. We also know what you did in Paris, Mr. Blaine, and also we know why you left Paris.
Paris? No. Not this city. It’s too real and too beautiful to ever let you forget anything.
I remember . . . the Alamo.
I’d hate to say anything good about that long-winded jackanapes, but he does know the short way to start a war.
Gentlemen, you can’t fight in here. This is the War Room!
You keep runnin’ that mouth I’m gonna’ take you in the back and screw ya’.
Silence!
The Great and Powerful Oz has every intention of granting your requests!
I want an official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle!
(Please don’t go for the obvious response!)
Your wish is my command!
As you wish.
This time next week, I’ll be sucking down piña coladas in a hot tub with six girls named Amber and Tiffany.
If I could find a real-life place that’d make me feel like Tiffany’s, then - then I’d buy some furniture and give the cat a name!
My name is John Tibeats, William Ford’s chief carpenter. You will refer to me as Master.
Only a Master of Evil, Darth.
I’m necessary evil!
You’re the margarine of evil. You’re the Diet Coke of evil. Just one calorie, not evil enough.
Uh, that’s a… that’s a misrepresentation of my vagina.
Soon my little Box will be on countless TVs around the world.
That’s my little octopussy.