No woman takes me on and gets away with it! I’m gonna get loose. I’m gonna get loose even if I have to kill one of you to do it! I will not hesitate to kill a woman!
Are you crazy? You could’ve killed me!
If I tried that, your head would be splattered all over this field. Now, where’s the girl?
In heaven. Send thither to see.
Good morning, angels.
I haven’t lived a good life. I’ve been bad, worse than you could know.
Where is it written that I am a bad guy? Find out who talked and have him killed!
Oh dear, oh dear. I have a queer feelin’ there’s going to be a strange face in heaven in the mornin’.
Being from Earth, as you are, and using as little of your brain as you do, your life has pretty much been devoted to dealing with fear.
Here comes Mr. Jordan!
You ain’t got no problem, Jules. I’m on the motherfucker. Go back in there, chill them niggers out, and wait for The Wolf who should be coming directly.
I’m Victor. I’m the cleaner.
Oh, you feel better now, motherfucker?
Slight bruising, certainly.
You had me at hello.
Who the fuck is this asshole?
[OOC: Welcome to the game, onething. :)]
Loc Dog was America’s worst nightmare, raised in a house with three generations of hopelessness, poverty… and profanity.
You can start by wiping that fucking dumb-ass smile off your rosey, fucking, cheeks! And you can give me a fucking automobile: a fucking Datsun, a fucking Toyota, a fucking Mustang, a fucking Buick! Four fucking wheels and a seat! And I really don’t care for the way your company left me in the middle of fucking nowhere with fucking keys to a fucking car that isn’t fucking there. And I really didn’t care to fucking walk, down a fucking highway, and across a fucking runway to get back here to have you smile in my fucking face. I want a fucking car RIGHT FUCKING NOW!
The year Chris graduated high school, he bought the Datsun used and drove it cross-country. He stayed away most of the summer. As soon as I heard he was home, I ran into his room to talk to him. In California, he’d looked up some old family friends. He discovered that our parents’ stories of how they fell in love and got married were calculated lies masking an ugly truth. When they met, Dad was already married. And even after Chris was born, Dad had had another son with his first wife, Marcia, to whom he was still legally married. This fact suddenly redefined Chris and me as bastard children. Dad’s arrogance made him conveniently oblivious to the pain he caused. And Mom, in the shame and embarassment of a young mistress, became his accomplice in deceit. The fragility of crystal is not a weakness but a fineness. My parents understood that a fine crystal glass had to be cared for or it may be shattered. But when it came to my brother, they did not seem to know or care that their course of secret action brought the kind of devastation that could cut them. Their fraudulent marriage and our father’s denial of his other son was, for Chris, a murder of every day’s truth. He felt his whole life turn, like a river suddenly reversing the direction of its flow, suddenly running uphill. These revelations struck at the core of Chris’ sense of identity. They made his entire childhood seem like fiction. Chris never told them he knew and made me promise silence, as well.
Well, it ain’t Ozzie and Harriet.