It became very clear to me sitting out there today that every decision I’ve made in my entire life has been wrong. My life is the complete opposite of everything I want it to be. Every instinct I have, in every aspect of life, be it something to wear, something to eat - it’s all been wrong.
“That’s gotta hurt!”
I’m not sure, and correct me if I’m wrong, but I think I see… a nipple.
Shouldn’t he say “badbye”? Isn’t that the opposite of “goodbye”?
You know… I was alone…
Do you ever get down on your knees and thank God you know me and have access to my dementia?
…there are many subtle variations only discernible to an acute observer that reflect the many moods, the many shades, the many sides of George Costanza… this is Morning Mist.
He’s not a Nazi, Elaine. He just happens to be a little eccentric. Most geniuses are.
You suffer for your soup.
Every instinct I have, in every aspect of life, be it something to wear, something to eat - it’s all been wrong.
You know how much time I waste in this apartment? I can ballpark it.
Step off.
Fish.
Whale.
Whatever.
We had a deal!
A “pact,” wasn’t it?
It’s not a lie if you believe it.
You’re through, Soup Nazi. Pack it up. No more soup for you. Next!
GEORGE: Miranda thinks I’m a butcher but it’s not my fault is it? Don’t we have a deal with the pigeons?
JERRY: Of course. We have a deal. They get out of the way of our cars, we look the other way on the statue defecation.
< Central Park>
<George runs at pigeons. They don’t move for him>
GEORGE: We had a deal!
If I had know it was for you, I would have smashed it into little pieces!
You know what your problem is? Your standards are too high.
(As to the pact, this is what I was thinking of: We had a pact! - YouTube)
Let me just finish my coffee, and then we’ll go watch them cut the fat bastard up.