Oh, man, I will never forgive your ass for this shit. This is some fucked-up repugnant shit.
My God, I haven’t been fucked like that since grade school.
In the fifth, your ass goes down. Say it.
I do not object so much that you are so ill-mannered. I do not object to that so much. I object that you are such a bourgeois.
I challenge you to a battle of wits.
To the death???
I accept.
Well, if there aint’ going to be any rules, let’s get the fight started. Someone count. 1,2,3 go.
Then shalt thou count to three, no more, no less. Three shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out.
Why isn’t he dead yet?
Normally, both your asses would be dead as fucking fried chicken, but you happen to pull this shit while I’m in a transitional period so I don’t wanna kill you, I wanna help you. But I can’t give you this case, it don’t belong to me. Besides, I’ve already been through too much shit this morning over this case to hand it over to your dumb ass.
He’s as dead as Julius Caesar.
When a free man dies, he loses the pleasure of life. A slave loses his pain. Death is the only freedom a slave knows. That’s why he’s not afraid of it. That’s why we’ll win.
Is not this simpler? Is this not your natural state? It’s the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life’s joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity. You were made to be ruled. In the end, you will always kneel.
Excuse me, Mr. Taggart, sir, but I sure do hate to see you like this. What if me and the boys was to shoot that nigger dead? Would that pep you up some?
I’ll buy THAT for a dollar!
It’s a little more complicated than that.
This is a very complicated case, Maude. You know, a lotta ins, a lotta outs, a lotta what-have-yous. And, uh, a lotta strands to keep in my head, man. Lotta strands in old Duder’s head. Fortunately, I’m adhering to a pretty strict, uh, drug regimen to keep my mind, you know, uh, limber.
Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life, son.
That is a lucid, intelligent, well thought-out objection. Overruled.
What did you expect? “Welcome, sonny”? “Make yourself at home”? “Marry my daughter”? You’ve got to remember that these are just simple farmers. These are people of the land. The common clay of the new West. You know… morons.