Here is an example: A fifteen-year-old lad apprehended in the act of staging a holdup - fifteen years old and a marijuana addict. Here is a most tragic case.
Hey, hey, listen, guys. I don’t wanna mess with no reefer addicts, all right?
Reckless endangerment of human life, willful disregard of private property…
Well, associating with criminals, if you’re the one they talked to, that right there would be a violation of your parole; would end you up back in Stillwater. I saw some rough stuff on your priors, but nothing like a homicide. I know you don’t wanna be an accessory to something like that.
They’re not gonna catch us. We’re on a mission from God!
God’s a Skee-Ball fanatic.
You know what the best thing is? I’m not hooked… I could stop at any time.
One drink’s too many, and a hundred’s not enough.
Well, the two of us have been boozing all day.
A real woman could stop you from drinking.
People are born, they have a limited amount of time going around thinking life is dandy but then, inevitably, tragedy strikes and they realise life equals loss! The whole point of the game is to minimise the pain caused by that equation! Now some people do it by having kids, or making money, or taking up coin collecting, and others do it by getting wasted.
Lady Presenter: Well, that’s the end of the film. Now, here’s the meaning of life.
[She is handed a gold-wrapped booklet.]
Lady Presenter: Thank you, Brigitte.
[She clears her throat, then unwraps and examines the gilt booklet.]
Lady Presenter: Well, it’s nothing very special. Try to be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every now and then, get some walking in, and try and live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations. And, finally, here are some completely gratuitous pictures of penises to annoy the censors and to hopefully spark some sort of controversy, which it seems is the only way these days to get the jaded, video-sated public off their fucking arses and back in the sodding cinema. Family entertainment? Bollocks. What they want is filth: people doing things to each other with chainsaws during tupperware parties, babysitters being stabbed with knitting needles by gay presidential candidates, vigilante groups strangling chickens, armed bands of theatre critics exterminating mutant goats. Where’s the fun in pictures? Oh, well, there we are. Here’s the theme music. Goodnight.
What you do makes a difference. We should never simply write ourselves off and see ourselves as the victim of various forces. It’s always our decision who we are.
I’m Batman.
I am Jack’s smirking revenge.
Davenport. Dawn Davenport! I’m a thief and a shitkicker, and, uh, I’d like to be famous.
I think you might be a songwriter. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anybody.
All right, we’ll go to your place and you can show me your organ. But I’m warning you, it’d best be having music coming out of it.
It’s fine, it’s just a three-minute song.
The song is not a problem, it’s a challenge.