Pressure? Let me just say that Rambo is the best combat vet I’ve ever seen. A pure fighting machine with only a desire to win a war that someone else lost. And if winning means he has to die – he’ll die. No fear, no regrets. And one more thing: what you choose to call hell, he calls home.
Today is a good day to die.
They’re men with itchy fingers and a coil of rope around their saddle horns, lookin’ for somebody to hang. And after riding a few hours they don’t care much WHO they hang. You haven’t told me a thing I don’t know.
She killed a man ln Wolf City, Wyoming
Wolf City, Wyoming, Killed a man, it’s true
And that is why they’re hanging,
Hanging Cat Ballou
Maybe I’ll turn into a wolfman now.
Now I guess I’ll go in and piss on the fish.
You’d better flush out your head, new guy.
What is that watermelon doing there?
His real name is Benjamin Raspail, a former patient of mine, whose romantic attachments ran to - shall we say - the exotic. I did not kill him; merely tucked him away very much as I found him, after he’d missed three appointments. Best thing for him, really - his therapy was going nowhere.
I’m sick of my sister’s attraction to razor blades - and I’m sick of shrinks who can’t do a fucking thing to help her.
Stay with me. Stay with me. Repeat after me. Goosefraba.
I am the queen. You will listen to me.
If I were King of the Forest
Not queen, not duke, not prince!
My regal robes of the forest
Would be satin, not cotton, not chintz!
I’d command each thing, be it fish or fowl
With a woof and a woof and a royal growl [woof!]
As I’d click my heel, all the trees would kneel
And the mountains bow and the bulls kowtow
And the sparrow would take wing - If I - If I - were King!
Each rabbit would show respect to me
The chipmunks genuflect to me
Though my tail would lash, I would show compash
For every underling!
If I - If I - were King!
Just King!
Well, you have to know these things when you’re a king, you know.
Awww, come on guys, it’s so simple. Maybe you need a refresher course.
Who’s going to believe a talking head? Get a job in a sideshow.
As, 'tis Max Headroom here, and I quote from the bard, Shakespeare, a writer: “The quality of TV is not strained, it dropeth as the gentle ratings dropeth to a very tiny percentage share and, lo, 'tis gone.” Of course, Shakespeare would have loved your rating system. Twelfth Night would have been lucky to have lasted one!
Mozart was lucky the emperor yawned only once. Three yawns, and the opera would fail the same night. Two yawns, within a week at most. With one yawn, the composer could still get… nine performances!
I was “an Elizabethan fruit fly.” I was “the Betty Boop of Stratford-on-Avon.” I was “putrid.” Capital P, capital U, capital TRID.
Put on a frock and I can sing ‘Stand by Your Man’ in front of five hundred strangers… Put on a pair of jeans and I can’t even sodding well say hello.