Alfred: He's a very committed environmentalist. Steve: Spike Jonze is a tree-hugger? Jesus, I never would've had him down as that. Alfred: Well... I think he prefers the term "leaf people".
Følgende quote kan godt udføres af én: Vores egen Chevy.
Hey. If any of you are looking for any last-minute gift ideas for me, I have one. I'd like Frank Shirley, my boss, right here tonight. I want him brought from his happy holiday slumber over there on Melody Lane with all the other rich people and I want him brought right here, with a big ribbon on his head, and I want to look him straight in the eye and I want to tell him what a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is. Hallelujah. Holy shit. Where's the Tylenol?
Ja undskyld jeg lige spilder lidt plads. Dette er ikke ligefrem en quote, nærmere een af de værste og bedste monologer, jeg har set. For at få fuld bonus, bør man selvfølgelig ha' set manden himself "aflevere den". Utroligt. Og ja...den er fra Deadwood :)
Now, I see what the fuck’s in front of me, and I don’t pretend it’s somethin’ else. I was fuckin’ her and now I’m gonna fuck you, if you don’t piss me off or open your yap at the wrong fuckin’ time. The only time you’re to open - you’re supposed to open your yap is so I can put my fuckin’ prick in it. Otherwise, you shut the fuck up. Now, hold onto that, huh? (Hands bottle over) Point is, the minister’s gotta fuckin’ die. I mean, that’s the—that’s the fuckin’ point. He’s gonna die sooner or later I mean, he’s makin’ a fuckin’ jerk of himself, and, I mean, well, why—why go on with that? Who’s—who’s gonna benefit from that, huh? No, you just gotta kill it and put an end to it. You -- you don’t linger on about it, you don’t fuckin’ go around weepin’ about it, and you don’t, you know, behave like a kid with a sore thumb, you know, a loco suckin’ it, now “mmm, my poor fucking thumb!” I mean, you—you gotta behave like a grown fuckin’ man, huh? You gotta shut the fuck up. Don’t be sorry, don’t look fuckin’ back, because, believe me, no one gives a fuck. You understand?
You shut the fuck up, huh? Gimme that! (Grabs bottle) Hey, you suck my dick and shut the fuck up, huh? Come here. Come on. Now then, here. The place where I found you, huh, is where this warrant’s from. Could you believe that I may have stuck a knife in someone’s guts 12 hours before you got on the wagon we headed out for fuckin’ Laramie in? No! Because I don’t look fuckin’ backwards. I do what I have to do and go on. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, what? You got a stagecoach to catch or somethin’, huh? Slow the fuck up. Did you know the orphanage part of the building you lived in, behind it, she ran a whorehouse, huh? Oh, so you knew? So, so what are you fuckin’ lookin’ at then, huh? God. Now, I’ll tell you somethin’ you don’t know. Before she ran a girls orphanage, fat Mrs. Fucking Anderson ran the boys orphanage on fucking Euclid avenue, as I would see her fat ass waddling out the boys dormitory at 5 o’clock in the fucking mornin’, every fuckin’ morning she blew her stupid fuckin’ cowbell and woke us all the fuck up. And my fuckin’ mother dropped me the fuck off there with 7 dollars and 60 some odd fuckin’ cents on her way to suckin’ cock in…in Georgia. And I didn’t get to count the fuckin’ cents before the fuckin’ door opened, and there, Mrs. Fat Ass Fuckin’ Anderson, who sold you to me. I had to give her 7 dollars and 60 odd fuckin’ cents that my mother shoved in my fuckin’ hand before she hammered 1,2,3,4 times on the fuckin’ door and scurried off down fuckin’ Euclid Avenue , probably 30 fuckin’ years before you were fuckin’ born. Then around Cape Horn and up to San Francisco, where she probably became Mayor or some other type success story, unless by some fucking chance she wound up as a ditch for fuckin’ cum. Now, fucking go faster, hmm? (grunting) Okay, go ahead and spit it out. You don’t need to swallow. You just spit it out. Mmm. Anyways.
Wishlist hos Axelmusic: http://www.axelmusic.com/wishlist.php?uid=11140
Your whole way of life is bullshit! Macho is bullshit!
og
You fuck off ya patronizin bitch! I'm sick'a yer shit! I'll lube my own crankshaft from now on. You treat me like a baby again I'll wrap this goddamn walker right around yer head!
It's time for A-C-T-I-O-N!
T.C.B., baby.
Sometimes when you want to win the war, you have to burn the village
An old man dies. A young girl lives. A fair trade. I love you, Nancy.
And after I pull off that miracle, maybe I'll go punch out God.
Hell of a way to end a partnership. Hell of a way to start my retirement
og
Have you ever heard of Harry Houdini? Well he wasn't like today's magicians who are only interested in television ratings. He was an artist. He could make an elephant disappear in the middle of a theater filled with people, and do you know how he did that? Misdirection.
Misdirection. What the eyes see and the ears hear, the mind believes.
You know what the problem with Hollywood is? They make shit. Unbelievable, unremarkable shit. Now I'm not some grungy wannabe filmmaker that's searching for existentialism through a haze of bong smoke or something. No, it's easy to pick apart bad acting, short-sighted directing, and a purely moronic stringing together of words that many of the studios term as "prose". No, I'm talking about the lack of realism. Realism; not a pervasive element in today's modern American cinematic vision. Take Dog Day Afternoon, for example. Arguably Pacino's best work, short of Scarface and Godfather Part 1, of course. Masterpiece of directing, easily Lumet's best. The cinematography, the acting, the screenplay, all top-notch. But... they didn't push the envelope. Now what if in Dog Day, Sonny REALLY wanted to get away with it? What if - now here's the tricky part - what if he started killing hostages right away? No mercy, no quarter. "Meet our demands or the pretty blonde in the bellbottoms gets it the back of the head." Bam, splat! What, still no bus? Come on! How many innocent victims splattered across a window would it take to have the city reverse its policy on hostage situations? And this is 1976; there's no CNN, there's no CNBC, there's no internet! Now fast forward to today, present time, same situation. How quickly would the modern media make a frenzy over this? In a matter of hours, it'd be biggest story from Boston to Budapest! Ten hostages die, twenty, thirty; bam bam, right after another, all caught in high-def, computer-enhanced, color corrected. You can practically taste the brain matter. All for what? A bus, a plane? A couple of million dollars that's federally insured? I don't think so. Just a thought. I mean, it's not within the realm of conventional cinema... but what if?
Sometimes when you want to win the war, you have to burn the village
#31 JannikAnd 20 år siden
Steve: Spike Jonze is a tree-hugger? Jesus, I never would've had him down as that.
Alfred: Well... I think he prefers the term "leaf people".
Alfred Molina, "Coffee and Cigarettes"
#32 filmz-Bruce 20 år siden
#33 davenport 20 år siden
#34 JannikAnd 20 år siden
Hey. If any of you are looking for any last-minute gift ideas for me, I have one. I'd like Frank Shirley, my boss, right here tonight. I want him brought from his happy holiday slumber over there on Melody Lane with all the other rich people and I want him brought right here, with a big ribbon on his head, and I want to look him straight in the eye and I want to tell him what a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is. Hallelujah. Holy shit. Where's the Tylenol?
Amen to that!
#35 davenport 20 år siden
#36 chronaden 20 år siden
#37 e-male 20 år siden
Etienne Navarre: This sword has been in my family for five generations. It has never known defeat. Until now.
#38 filmz-Bruce 20 år siden
You shut the fuck up, huh? Gimme that! (Grabs bottle) Hey, you suck my dick and shut the fuck up, huh? Come here. Come on. Now then, here. The place where I found you, huh, is where this warrant’s from. Could you believe that I may have stuck a knife in someone’s guts 12 hours before you got on the wagon we headed out for fuckin’ Laramie in? No! Because I don’t look fuckin’ backwards. I do what I have to do and go on. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, what? You got a stagecoach to catch or somethin’, huh? Slow the fuck up. Did you know the orphanage part of the building you lived in, behind it, she ran a whorehouse, huh? Oh, so you knew? So, so what are you fuckin’ lookin’ at then, huh? God. Now, I’ll tell you somethin’ you don’t know. Before she ran a girls orphanage, fat Mrs. Fucking Anderson ran the boys orphanage on fucking Euclid avenue, as I would see her fat ass waddling out the boys dormitory at 5 o’clock in the fucking mornin’, every fuckin’ morning she blew her stupid fuckin’ cowbell and woke us all the fuck up. And my fuckin’ mother dropped me the fuck off there with 7 dollars and 60 some odd fuckin’ cents on her way to suckin’ cock in…in Georgia. And I didn’t get to count the fuckin’ cents before the fuckin’ door opened, and there, Mrs. Fat Ass Fuckin’ Anderson, who sold you to me. I had to give her 7 dollars and 60 odd fuckin’ cents that my mother shoved in my fuckin’ hand before she hammered 1,2,3,4 times on the fuckin’ door and scurried off down fuckin’ Euclid Avenue , probably 30 fuckin’ years before you were fuckin’ born. Then around Cape Horn and up to San Francisco, where she probably became Mayor or some other type success story, unless by some fucking chance she wound up as a ditch for fuckin’ cum. Now, fucking go faster, hmm? (grunting) Okay, go ahead and spit it out. You don’t need to swallow. You just spit it out. Mmm. Anyways.
#39 filmz-sparrowed 20 år siden
og
You fuck off ya patronizin bitch! I'm sick'a yer shit! I'll lube my own crankshaft from now on. You treat me like a baby again I'll wrap this goddamn walker right around yer head!
It's time for A-C-T-I-O-N!
T.C.B., baby.
#40 filmz-sparrowed 20 år siden
An old man dies. A young girl lives. A fair trade. I love you, Nancy.
And after I pull off that miracle, maybe I'll go punch out God.
Hell of a way to end a partnership. Hell of a way to start my retirement
og
Have you ever heard of Harry Houdini? Well he wasn't like today's magicians who are only interested in television ratings. He was an artist. He could make an elephant disappear in the middle of a theater filled with people, and do you know how he did that? Misdirection.
Misdirection. What the eyes see and the ears hear, the mind believes.
You know what the problem with Hollywood is? They make shit. Unbelievable, unremarkable shit. Now I'm not some grungy wannabe filmmaker that's searching for existentialism through a haze of bong smoke or something. No, it's easy to pick apart bad acting, short-sighted directing, and a purely moronic stringing together of words that many of the studios term as "prose". No, I'm talking about the lack of realism. Realism; not a pervasive element in today's modern American cinematic vision. Take Dog Day Afternoon, for example. Arguably Pacino's best work, short of Scarface and Godfather Part 1, of course. Masterpiece of directing, easily Lumet's best. The cinematography, the acting, the screenplay, all top-notch. But... they didn't push the envelope. Now what if in Dog Day, Sonny REALLY wanted to get away with it? What if - now here's the tricky part - what if he started killing hostages right away? No mercy, no quarter. "Meet our demands or the pretty blonde in the bellbottoms gets it the back of the head." Bam, splat! What, still no bus? Come on! How many innocent victims splattered across a window would it take to have the city reverse its policy on hostage situations? And this is 1976; there's no CNN, there's no CNBC, there's no internet! Now fast forward to today, present time, same situation. How quickly would the modern media make a frenzy over this? In a matter of hours, it'd be biggest story from Boston to Budapest! Ten hostages die, twenty, thirty; bam bam, right after another, all caught in high-def, computer-enhanced, color corrected. You can practically taste the brain matter. All for what? A bus, a plane? A couple of million dollars that's federally insured? I don't think so. Just a thought. I mean, it's not within the realm of conventional cinema... but what if?