Do be careful! Don’t lose any of that stuff. That’s concentrated evil. One drop of that could turn you all into hermit crabs.
He’s so glib, I’ll bet he even has a sense of humor.
Maniacal laugh. Maniacal laugh. Maniacal laugh.
I don’t think it’s nice, you laughin’. You see, my mule don’t like people laughing. He gets the crazy idea you’re laughin’ at him. Now if you apologize, like I know you’re going to, I might convince him that you really didn’t mean it.
Don’t you want a woman of your own?
Why do Jewish divorces cost so much? They’re worth it. Why do Jewish guys die before their wives? They want to.
I figure marriage is kind of like Miami: it’s hot and stormy, and occasionally a little dangerous… but if it’s really so awful, why is there still so much traffic?
Great. Then he’s driving back from Miami at 20 miles an hour with the parking brake on.
Senile? That’s the operative word nowadays, isn’t it, Shirl? You know, it’s funny. When I was young, I was called a rugged individualist. When I was in my 50s I was considered eccentric. Here I am, doing and saying the same thing that I did then, and I’m labeled senile. I wonder what my billing is going to be ten years from now?
"Hey, hey there boy. You got big! How long has it been…3, 4 months?” “10 years.” “10 years. Man, I gotta lay off the peyote.”
My pop was real big. He did like he pleased. That’s why everybody worked on him. The last time I seen my father, he was blind and diseased from drinking. And every time he put the bottle to his mouth, he didn’t suck out of it, it sucked out of him until he shrunk so wrinkled and yellow even the dogs didn’t know him. I’m not saying they killed him. They just worked on him. The way they’re working on you.
I think I’ll have a drink.
He was quite fond of the drink. It was the drink that killed him.
I never drink. No one in my family ever drinks.
I never drink… wine.
Eddie…Help Me
I want you to go to the window, open it, stick your head out and yell: “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore.”
One of these days a real rain will come and wash all the scum from the street.
The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout “Save us!”… and I’ll whisper “no.”
Viene la tormenta!