Reservoir Dogs

Nice Guy Eddie:
Okay, first things f***in' last!

Nice Guy Eddie:
We got places all over the place.

Joe:
So, you guys like to tell jokes, huh? Gigglin' and laughin' like a bunch of young broads sittin' in a schoolyard. Well, let me tell a joke. Four guys, sittin' in a bullpen, in San Quentin. All wondering how the f*** they got there. What should we have done, what didn't we do, who's fault is it, is it my fault, your fault, his fault, all that bullshit. Then one of them says, hey. Wait a minute. When we were planning this caper, all we did was sit around tellin' f***in' jokes! Get the message? Boys, I don't mean to holler at ya. When this caper's over - and I'm sure it'll be a successful one - we'll get down to the Cayman Islands, hell, I'll roll and laugh with all of ya. You'll find me a different character down there. Right now, it's a matter of business.

Mr. White:
Smoke?

Mr. Pink:
I quit.

Mr. Pink:
What, you got one?

Nice Guy Eddie:
Did you see that daddy? Guy got me on the ground and he tried to f*** me.

Mr. Blonde:
You wish.

Nice Guy Eddie:
Listen Vic, I don't mind what you do, but don't try to f*** me in my father's office, I don't think of you that way. I like you a lot man, but I don't think of you that way.

Mr. Blonde:
Eddie, if I was a butt cowboy, I wouldn't even throw you to the posse.

Nice Guy Eddie:
Of course not, you'd keep me for yourself, you sick bastard. Four years of f***in' punks up the ass you'd appreciate a piece of prime rib when you see one.

Mr. Orange:
What happens if the manager won't give you the diamonds?

Mr. White:
When you're dealing with a store like this, they're insured up the ass. They're not supposed to give you any resistance whatsoever. If you get a customer, or an employee, who thinks he's Charles Bronson, take the butt of your gun and smash their nose in. Everybody jumps. He falls down screaming, blood squirts out of his nose, nobody says f***ing sh*t after that. You might get some b*tch talk sh*t to you, but give her a look like you're gonna smash her in the face next, watch her shut the f*** up. Now if it's a manager, that's a different story. Managers know better than to f*** around, so if you get one that's giving you static, he probably thinks he's a real cowboy, so you gotta break that son of a b*tch in two. If you wanna know something and he won't tell you, cut off one of his fingers. The little one. Then tell him his thumb's next. After that he'll tell you if he wears ladies underwear. I'm hungry. Let's get a taco.

Mr. Orange:
F*** you! F*** you! I'm f***ing dying here! I'm f***ing dying!

Mr. Blonde:
Listen kid, I'm not gonna bullshit you, all right? I don't give a good f*** what you know, or don't know, but I'm gonna torture you anyway, regardless. Not to get information. It's amusing, to me, to torture a cop. You can say anything you want cause I've heard it all before. All you can do is pray for a quick death, which you ain't gonna get.

Mr. Blonde:
You ever listen to K-Billy's "Super Sounds of the Seventies" weekend? It's my personal favorite.

Mr. White:
If you shoot this man, you die next. Repeat. If you shoot this man, you die next.

Mr. Brown:
O.K., let me tell you what Like a Virgin's about. It's all about this cooze who's a regular f*** machine, I'm talking morning, day, night, afternoon, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick.

Mr. Blue:
How many d*cks is that?

Mr. White:
A lot.

Mr. Brown:
Then one day she meets this John Holmes motherf***er and it's like, whoa baby, I mean this cat is like Charles Bronson in the Great Escape, he's digging tunnels. Now, she's gettin' the serious dick action and she's feeling something she ain't felt since forever. Pain. Pain. It hurts her. It shouldn't hurt her, you know her p*ssy should be Bubble Yum by now, but when this cat f***s her it hurts. It hurts just like it did the first time. You see the pain is reminding a f*** machine what it once was like to be a virgin. Hence, "Like a virgin."

Mr. Pink:
I'm very sorry the government taxes their tips, that's f***ed up. That ain't my fault. It would seem to me that waitresses are one of the many groups the government f***s in the ass on a regular basis. Look, if you ask me to sign something that says the government shouldn't do that, I'll sign it, put it to a vote, I'll vote for it, but what I won't do is play ball. And as for this non-college bullshit I got two words for that: learn to f***in' type, 'cause if you're expecting me to help out with the rent you're in for a big f***in' surprise.

Mr. Blonde:
Was that as good for you as it was for me?

Nice Guy Eddie:
C'mon, throw in a buck!

Mr. Pink:
Uh-uh, I don't tip.

Nice Guy Eddie:
You don't tip?

Mr. Pink:
Nah, I don't believe in it.

Nice Guy Eddie:
You don't believe in tipping?

Mr. Blue:
You know what these chicks make? They make sh*t.

Mr. Pink:
Don't give me that. She don't make enough money that she can quit.

Nice Guy Eddie:
I don't even know a f***ing Jew who'd have the balls to say that. Let me get this straight: you don't ever tip?

Mr. Pink:
I don't tip because society says I have to. All right, if someone deserves a tip, if they really put forth an effort, I'll give them something a little something extra. But this tipping automatically, it's for the birds. As far as I'm concerned, they're just doing their job.

Mr. Blue:
Hey, our girl was nice.

Mr. Pink:
She was okay. She wasn't anything special.

Mr. Blue:
What's special? Take you in the back and suck your dick?

Nice Guy Eddie:
I'd go over twelve percent for that.

Nice Guy Eddie:
Yeah I'm sorry, I should have picked you up myself. This whole week has been f***ed up, I've had my head up my ass the whole time.

Mr. Blonde:
You know, that's funny, 'cause that's what me and you dad were just talkin' about.

Nice Guy Eddie:
Yeah, I know man, I should have picked you up myself, I'm sorry.

Mr. Blonde:
No, that you got your head up your ass. I mean I walked in here and Joe's like, Vic, thank god you're back. My son Eddie's a f***-up. I love him, but he's ruining the business. I mean that's what you said, right Joe? I'm not makin' this up.

Joe:
I'm sorry you had to hear it like this Eddie. Vic asked me how business was, and you can't lie to a man who's done time for you.

Nice Guy Eddie:
"That's very true."

Marvin:
I already told you I don't know anything about any f***ing setup; you can torture me all you want.

Mr. Blonde:
Torture you? That's a good idea. I like that.

Joe:
All right ramblers, let's get rambling!

Mr. Pink:
Is it bad?

Mr. White:
As opposed to good?

Mr. Brown:
Mr. Brown? That sounds too much like Mr. Sh*t.

Mr. Pink:
How about if I'm Mr. Purple? That sounds good to me, I'll be Mr. Purple.

Joe:
You're not Mr. Purple. Some guy on some other job is Mr. Purple. You're Mr. Pink!

Mr. White:
Who cares what your name is?

Mr. Pink:
Yeah that's easy for you to say, you're Mr. White, you have a cool sounding name. All right look if it's no big deal to be Mr. Pink, do you wanna trade?

Mr. White:
Hardy f***in' har.

Mr. Pink:
You kill anybody?

Mr. White:
A few cops.

Mr. Pink:
No real people?

Mr. White:
Just cops.

Mr. Pink:
Somebody's shoved a red-hot poker up our ass, and I want to know whose name is on the handle!

Mr. Blonde:
Eddie, if you don't stop talking like a b*tch, I'm gonna slap you like a b*tch.

Mr. Blonde:
Are you gonna bark all day, little doggy, or are you gonna bite?

Mr. White:
What was that? I'm sorry, I didn't catch it. Would you repeat it?

Mr. Blonde:
Are you gonna bark all day, little doggy, or are you gonna bite?

Mr. Blonde:
Boy that was really exciting. I bet you're a big Lee Marvin fan aren't ya. Yeah me too. I love that guy. My heart's beatin' so fast I'm about to have a heart attack.

Mr. White:
The choice between doing ten years and taking out some stupid motherf***er, ain't no choice at all. But I ain't no madman.

Nice Guy Eddie:
Hey look daddy, he goes in a white man, and comes out talking like a f***ing n*gger.

Mr. Blonde:
Either he's alive or he's dead, or the cops got him... or they don't.

Mr. Pink:
Look, I ordered coffee. Now we've been here a long f***ing time and she's only filled my cup three times. When I order coffee, I want it filled *six* times.

Mr. Blonde:
Six times. Well, what if she's too f***ing busy?

Mr. Pink:
The words "too f***ing busy" shouldn't be in a waitress's vocabulary.

Nice Guy Eddie:
Excuse me, Mr. Pink, but I think the last f***ing thing you need is another cup of coffee.

Mr. White:
You can't leave this guy with them.

Nice Guy Eddie:
Why not?

Mr. White:
Because he's a f***ing psycho. And if you think Joe's pissed off, that ain't nothing compared to how pissed off I am at him, for putting me in the same room as that bastard!

Mr. Blonde:
See what I've been putting up with, Eddie? I f***ing walked in here, I told these guys about staying put. Mr. White whips out his gun, he's sticking it in my face, calling me a motherf***er, saying he's gonna blow me away and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Joe:
Only one thing to do in that case: sh*t in yer pants an' dive in and swim!

Mr. Pink:
I don't wanna kill anybody. But if I gotta get out that door, and you're standing in my way, one way or the other, you're gettin' outta my way.

Mr. White:
Well, he knows a little about me.

Mr. Pink:
You didn't tell him your name, did you?

Mr. White:
I told him my first name, and where I'm from.

Mr. Pink:
Why?

Mr. White:
I told him where I was from a few days ago. It was just a casual conversation.

Mr. Pink:
And what was tellin' him your name when you weren't supposed to?

Mr. White:
He asked.

Mr. White:
We had just gotten away from the cops. He just got shot. It was my f***in' fault he got shot. He's a f***in' bloody mess - he's screaming. I swear to god, I thought he was gonna die right then and there. I'm tryin' to comfort him, tellin' him not to worry, he's gonna be okay, I'm gonna take care of him. And he asked me what my name was. I mean, the man was dyin' in my arms. What the f*** was I supposed to tell him? "Sorry, I can't give out that information! It's against the rules! I don't trust you enough!"

Joe:
Cough up a buck you cheap bastard.

Mr. Pink:
I wanna find out who the bad guy is.

Mr. Blonde:
Hey what's goin' on? Can you hear that?

Nice Guy Eddie:
If you f***ing beat this prick long enough, he'll tell you he started the goddamn Chicago fire, now that don't necessarily make it f***ing so!

Mr. White:
What, did you forget your French fries, to go with the soda?

Mr. White:
F*** you Maniac!

Mr. Pink:
Where's the commode in this dungeon? I gotta take a squirt.

Nice Guy Eddie:
Larry, stop pointin' that f***in' gun at my Dad!

Joe:
Give me that book.

Mr. White:
Are you gonna put it away?

Joe:
I'm gonna do whatever the f*** I want with it.

Mr. Blonde:
How about a little fire, Scarecrow.

Mr. Pink:
Look man, I know what I'm talking about, and black women ain't the same as white women.

Mr. White:
There's a slight difference.

Mr. Pink:
Why can't we choose our own names?

Joe:
No, I tried it before & it didn't work! I had four guys fighting over Mr. Black!

Freddy Newandyke:
What is this?

Holdaway:
That's an amusing anecdote about a drug deal.

Freddy Newandyke:
What?

Holdaway:
Something funny that happened to you while you were doing a f***ing job, man.

Mr. Pink:
You're acting like a first year f***ing thief! I'm acting like a professional!

Freddy Newandyke:
Mother f***er, I'm trying to watch The Lost Boys!

Nice Guy Eddie:
The chick got tired of him beatin' her so one night she walks in the guys bedroom and super glues his dick to his belly. Ambulance came and had to cut the prick loose.

Mr. Pink:
That ain't all that bad.

Nice Guy Eddie:
Oh yeah? How would you feel if every time you had to take a piss you had to do a hand stand?

Mr. Pink:
What was the name of the chick who played Christie Love?

Nice Guy Eddie:
Pam Grier.

Mr. Orange:
No it wasn't Pam Grier. Pam Grier was the other one. Pam Grier did the film. Christie Love was like Pam Grier TV Show without Pam Grier.

Mr. Pink:
So who was Christie Love?

Mr. Orange:
How the f*** should I know?

Mr. Pink:
Great. Now I'm totally f***ing tortured.

Mr. Pink:
Mr. Blonde! What happened to you? We figured you were dead. Hey! You okay? Did you see what happened to Blue? We didn't know what happened to you and Blue, that's what we were wondering about.

Mr. Pink:
Come on! Look, Brown's dead and Orange got it in the belly...

Mr. White:
ENOUGH! Enough! You better start talking a**hole! Because we got sh*t we need to talk about! We're already freaked out. We need you acting freaky like we need a f***in' bag on our hip!

Mr. Blonde:
Okay, let's talk.

Mr. Blonde:
Guess what, I think I'm parked in the red-zone!

Mr. Pink:
For all I know, you're the rat.

Mr. White:
For all I know you're the f***ing rat!

Mr. Pink:
All right, now you're using your f***ing head!

Joe:
With the exception of Eddie and myself, whom you already know, we're going to be using aliases on this job. Under no circumstances do I want any one of you to relate to each other by your Christian names, and I don't want any talk about yourself personally. That includes where you been, your wife's name, where you might've done time, or maybe a bank you robbed in St. Petersburg. All I want you guys to talk about, if you have to, is what you're going to do. That should do it. Here are your names...

Joe:
Mr. Brown, Mr. White, Mr. Blonde, Mr. Blue, Mr. Orange, and Mr. Pink.

Mr. Pink:
Why am I Mr. Pink?

Mr. Pink:
Do you know what this is? Its the world's smallest violin playing just for the waitresses.

Mr. Blonde:
I might break you in, Nice Guy, but I'd make you my dog's b*tch.

Mr. Blonde:
You kids shouldn't play so rough. Somebody's gonna start cryin'.

LAPD Officer Marvin Nash:
Please, Please, Don't burn me, man.

Mr. Blonde:
You all through? You all through?

LAPD Officer Marvin Nash:
Look, I... I got a little kid at home, now PLEASE.

Mr. Blonde:
No, no, no, no, no, no. You all done? You all done? Have some fire, scarecrow.

Joe:
How does freedom feel?

Mr. Blonde:
It's a change.

Joe:
So who's your parole officer?

Mr. Blonde:
Seymour Scagnetti.

Joe:
What's he like?

Mr. Blonde:
He's a f***in' a**hole.

Mr. White:
I got Madonna's big dick comin' outta my left ear, and Toby the Jap... I don't know what comin' outta my right.

Freddy Newandyke:
I gotta memorize all this? There's over four f***ing pages of this sh*t!

Joe:
Hey, who didn't throw in?

Mr. Orange:
Mr. Pink.

Joe:
Mr. Pink? Why not?

Mr. Orange:
He don't tip.

Joe:
He don't tip? Whaddaya mean you don't tip?

Mr. Orange:
He don't believe in it.

Joe:
Shut up!

Joe:
Hey, I've changed my mind. Shoot this piece of sh*t, will ya?

Mr. Pink:
I mean everbody panics, everybody, things get tense, it's human nature to panic, I don't care what you name it you just can't help it.

Mr White:
That girl's ass...

Mr. Orange:
It's sitting here right on my dick.

Mr. Blonde:
Hold still! Hold still, you f***!

Holdaway:
So if this fruit's a Brewer's fan, his ass gotta be from Wisconsin.

Freddy Newandyke:
Bing!

Holdaway:
And I'll bet you everything from a diddle-eyed Joe to a damned if I know that in Milwaukee they got a sheet on this Mr. White motherf***er's ass...

Mr. Brown:
I'm blind, man. I'm f***ing blind.

Mr. Orange:
You're not blind, you've just got blood in your eyes.

Mr. Brown:
What the f*** was I talking about?

Mr. Pink:
You said "True Blue" was about a guy... a sensitive girl who meets a nice guy, but 'Like a Virgin' was a metaphor for big d*cks.

Mr. Brown:
Let me tell you what Like a Virgin is about. It's all about a girl who digs a guy with a big dick. The entire song. It's a metaphor for big d*cks.

Mr. Blonde:
No, no. It's about a girl who is very vulnerable. She's been f***ed over a few times. Then she meets some guy who's really sensitive...

Mr. Brown:
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa... Time out, Greenbay. Tell that f***in' bullshit to the tourists.

Joe Cabot:
[looking at his address book] Toby... Who the f*** is Toby?

Mr. Brown:
Like a Virgin is not about some sensitive girl who meets a nice fella. That's what True Blue is about. Granted, no argument about that.

Mr. Orange:
Which one is True Blue?

Nice Guy Eddie:
You ain't heard True Blue? It was a big ass hit for Madonna. I don't even follow this Tops of the Pops sh*t, and even I've heard of True Blue.

Mr. Orange:
Look, a**hole, I didn't say I ain't heard of it. All I asked was how does it go? Excuse me for not being the world's biggest Madonna fan.

Mr. Blonde:
Personally, I can do without her.

Mr. Blue:
I used to like her early stuff. Borderline - but once she got off with that Papa Don't Preach phase, I tuned out.

Mr. Brown:
You guys are, like, making me lose my... train of thought here. I was saying something, what was it?

Joe Cabot:
Oh, Toby's that little Chinese girl. What was her last name?

Mr. White:
What's that?

Joe Cabot:
It's an old address book I found in a coat I haven't worn in a coon's age. What was that name?

Mr. Brown:
What the f*** was I talking about?

Mr. Pink:
You said 'True Blue' was about a guy... er.... a sensitive girl who meets a nice guy, but 'Like a Virgin' was a metaphor for big d*cks.

Mr. Brown:
O.K., let me tell you what Like a Virgin's about. It's all about this cooze who's a regular f*** machine, I'm talking morning, day, night, afternoon: dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick.

Mr. Blue:
How many d*cks is that?

Mr. White:
A lot.

Mr. Brown:
Then one day she meets this John Holmes motherf***er and it's like, whoa baby, I mean this cat is like Charles Bronson in The Great Escape; he's digging tunnels. Now, she's gettin' the serious dick action and she's feeling something she ain't felt since forever. Pain. Pain.

Joe Cabot:
Chu? Toby Chu?

Mr. Brown:
It hurts. It hurts her. It shouldn't hurt her, you know her p*ssy should be Bubble Yum by now, but when this cat fucks her it hurts. It hurts, just like it did the first time. You see the pain is reminding the f*** machine what it once was like to be a virgin. Hence, "Like a Virgin."

Mr. Blonde:
Joe, you want me to shoot him for you?

Mr. White:
Sh*t, you shoot me in a dream, you better wake up and apologize.

Nice Guy Eddie:
C'mon, throw in a buck!

Mr. Pink:
Uh-uh, I don't tip.

Nice Guy Eddie:
You don't tip?

Mr. Pink:
I don't believe in it.

Nice Guy Eddie:
You don't believe in tipping?

Mr. Blue:
You know what these chicks make? They make sh*t.

Mr. Pink:
Don't give me that. She don't make enough money, she can quit.

Nice Guy Eddie:
I don't even know a f***ing Jew who'd have the balls to say that. Let me just get this straight: you don't ever tip, huh?

Mr. Pink:
I don't tip because society says I have to. Alright, I mean I'll tip if somebody really deserves a tip. If they really put forth the effort, I'll give them something extra. But I mean, this tipping automatically, it's for the birds. I mean, as far as I'm concerned, they're just doing their job.

Mr. Blue:
Hey, this girl was nice.

Mr. Pink:
She was OK. But she wasn't anything special.

Mr. Blue:
What's special? Take you in the back and suck your dick?

[They all laugh]

Nice Guy Eddie:
I'd go over twelve percent for that.

Mr. Pink:
Look, I ordered coffee, alright? And we been here a long f***ing time, and she's only filled my cup three times. I mean, when I order coffee, I want it filled six times.

Mr. Blonde:
Six times? Well, what if she's too f***ing busy?

Mr. Pink:
The words "too f***ing busy" shouldn't be in a waitress' vocabulary.

Nice Guy Eddie:
Excuse me Mr. Pink, but the last f***ing thing you need's another cup of coffee.

Mr. Pink:
Jesus Christ. I mean, these ladies aren't starving to death. They make minimum wage. You know, I used to work minimum wage, and when I did, I wasn't lucky enough to have a job that society deemed tipworthy.

Mr. Blue:
You don't care if they're counting on your tips to live?

Mr. Pink:
[rubbing his middle finger and thumb together] You know what this is? It's the world's smallest violin playing just for the waitresses.

Mr. White:
You don't have any idea what you're talking about. These people bust their ass. This is a hard job.

Mr. Pink:
So is working at McDonald's, but you don't feel the need to tip them, do ya? Well why not? They're serving you food. But no, society says don't tip these guys over here, but tip these guys over here. That's bullshit!

Mr. White:
Waitressing is the number one occupation for female non-college graduates in this country. It's the one job basically any woman can get and make a living on. The reason is because of their tips.

Mr. Pink:
F*** all that.

Mr. Brown:
[laughing] Jesus Christ.

Mr. Pink:
I mean, I'm very sorry the government taxes their tips, that's f***ed up. That ain't my fault. It would appear to me that waitresses are one of the many groups the government fucks in the ass on a regular basis. I mean, if you show me a piece of paper that says the government shouldn't do that, I'll sign it. Put it to a vote, I'll vote for it. But what I won't do is play ball. And this non-college bullshit you're givin' me, I got two words for that: learn to f***in' type, 'cause if you're expecting me to help out with the rent, you're in for a big f***in' surprise.

Mr. Orange:
He's convinced me. Gimme my dollar back!

Mr. White:
You better start talkin', a**hole! Cause we got sh*t we need to talk about. We're already freaked out, we need you actin' freaky like we need a f***in' bag on our hip.

Mr. Blonde:
[calmly] OK, let's talk.

Mr. White:
We think we got a rat in the house.

Mr. Pink:
I guarantee we got a rat in the house!

Mr. Blonde:
What makes you say that?

Mr. White:
Is that supposed to be funny?

Mr. Pink:
Look, we think this place ain't safe.

Mr. White:
This place just ain't secure anymore. We're leaving, you should go with us.

Mr. Blonde:
Nobody's going anywhere.

Mr. White:
[about Mr. Blonde] Piss on this f***ing turd! [To Mr. Pink] We're outta here.

Mr. Blonde:
Don't take another step, Mr. White.

Mr. White:
[screams] F*** you, maniac! It's your f***in' fault we're in this trouble!

Mr. Blonde:
[calmly to Mr. Pink] What's this guy's problem?

Mr. White:
What's my problem? Yeah, I gotta f***in' problem! I gotta big f***in' problem with any trigger-happy madman who almost gets me shot!

Mr. Blonde:
What the f*** are you talking about?

Mr. White:
That f***ing shooting spree in the store, remember?!

Mr. Blonde:
[shrugs] F*** 'em. They set off the alarm. They deserve what they got.

Mr. White:
You almost killed me! A**HOLE! If I had known what kind of guy you were, I never would've agreed to work with you.

Mr. Blonde:
Are you gonna bark all day, little doggie, or are you gonna bite?

Mr. White:
What was that? I'm sorry, I didn't catch it. Would you repeat it?

Mr. Blonde:
Are you gonna bark all day, little doggie, or are you gonna bite? [throws away his drink]

Mr. Pink:
Oh, Christ, hey, look, you two a**holes, calm the f*** down! Hey, come on, are we on a playground here, huh?! [pause] Am I the only professional?! You f***in' guys are acting like a bunch of f***in' n*ggers! You work with n*ggers, huh? Just like you two, always sayin' they're gonna kill each other.

Mr. White:
[to Mr. Pink] You said yourself you thought about taking him out!

Mr. Blonde:
[menacing] You f***in' said that?

Mr. Pink:
Yeah, I did, OK? I did. But that was then. Right now, this guy is the only one I completely trust. He's too f***in' homicidal to be workin' with the cops.

Mr. White:
You takin' his side?

Mr. Pink:
NO! F*** sides, man! What we need here is a little solidarity! Somebody's stickin' a red hot poker up our asses, and I wanna know whose name's on the handle! Now I know I'm no piece of sh*t... [referring to Mr. White] And I'm pretty sure you're OK... [referring to Mr. Blonde] And I'm f***in' positive you're on the level. So let's try and figure out who the bad guy is, alright?

Mr. Blonde:
[calming down, chuckling] Wow, that was really exciting. I bet you're a big Lee Marvin fan, aren't ya? Me too, I love that guy. My heart's beatin' so fast, I'm about to have a heart attack here.

Mr. Orange:
This is a very weird situation. 'Cause I don't know if you remember back in '86 there was a major f***ing drought. Nobody had anything. People were living on resin... smoking the wood in their pipes for months. This chick had a bunch. And she's begging me to sell it. So I told her I wasn't going to be Joe the potman anymore, but I would take a little bit and sell it to my close, close, close friends. She agreed to that, said we'd keep the same arrangement as before; 10%, free pot for me, as long as I helped her out that weekend. She had a brick of weed she was selling, she didn't want to go to the buy alone. Her brother usually goes with her, but he's in county unexpectedly.

Mr. White:
What for?

Mr. Orange:
His traffic tickets. Got a warrant. They stopped him for something, found warrants on him, took him to county. Now she doesn't walk around alone with all that weed. I don't want to do this. I have a very bad feeling about it. But she keeps asking me, keeps asking me, keeps asking me, finally I said OK 'cause I'm sick of hearing it. Now, we're picking the guy up at the train station...

Nice Guy Eddie:
Wait a minute. You go to the train station to pick up the buyer with the weed on you?

Mr. Orange:
The guy needed it right away. Don't ask me why. Anyway, we're get to the station and we're waiting for the guy. I'm carrying the weed in one of those little carry-on bags. I got to take a piss. So I tell the connection I'll be right back, I'm going to the boys' room. So I walk in the mens' room, and who's standing there? Four Los Angeles county sheriffs and a German shepherd.

Nice Guy Eddie:
They're waiting for you?

Mr. Orange:
No, they're just a bunch of cops hanging out in the men's room, talking. When I walked through the door, they all stopped what they were talking about and they looked at me.

Mr. White:
[laughs] That's hard, man. That's a f***ing hard situation.

Mr. Orange:
German shepherd starts barking. He's barking at me. I mean, it's obvious. He's barking at me. Every nerve-ending, all my senses, blood in my veins, everything I have is screaming, "Take off, man! Just bail, just get the f*** out of there!" Panic hits me like a bucket of water. First there's the shock of it--BAM, right in the face. I'm standing there drenched in panic. All these sheriffs looking at me, and they know, man. They can smell it. Sure as that f***ing dog can, they can smell it on me.

Joe:
So, you guys like to tell jokes, huh? Gigglin' and laughin' like a bunch of young broads sittin' in a schoolyard. Well, let me tell a joke. Five guys, sittin' in a bullpen, in San Quentin. All wondering how the f*** they got there. What should we have done, what didn't we do, who's fault is it, is it my fault, your fault, his fault, all that bullshit. Then one of them says, hey. Wait a minute. When we were planning this caper, all we did was sit around tellin' f***in' jokes! Get the message? Boys, I don't mean to holler at ya. When this caper's over - and I'm sure it'll be a successful one - we'll get down to the Hawaiian Islands, hell, I'll roll and laugh with all of ya. You'll find me a different character down there. Right now, it's a matter of business. With the exception of Eddie and myself, whom you already know, we're going to be using aliases on this job. Under no circumstances do I want any one of you to relate to each other by your Christian names, and I don't want any talk about yourself personally. That includes where you been, your wife's name, where you might've done time, or maybe a bank you robbed in St. Petersburg. All I want you guys to talk about, if you have to, is what you're going to do. That should do it. Here are your names... [pointing to each respective member] Mr. Brown, Mr. White, Mr. Blonde, Mr. Blue, Mr. Orange, and Mr. Pink.

Mr. Pink:
Why am I Mr. Pink?

Joe:
Because, you're a f*ggot, alright?!

[Mr. Brown laughs]

Mr. Pink:
Why can't we pick our own colors?

Joe:
No way, no way. Tried it once, doesn't work. You got four guys all fighting over who's gonna be Mr. Black, but they don't know each other, so nobody wants to back down. No way. I pick. You're Mr. Pink. Be thankful you're not Mr. Yellow.

Mr. Brown:
Yeah, but Mr. Brown? That's a little too close to Mr. Sh*t.

Mr. Pink:
Mr. Pink sounds like Mr. P*ssy. How 'bout if I'm Mr. Purple? That sounds good to me. I'll be Mr. Purple.

Joe:
You're not Mr. Purple. Some guy on some other job is Mr. Purple. You're Mr. PINK.

Mr. White:
Who cares what your name is?

Mr. Pink:
Yeah, that's easy for your to say, you're Mr. White. You have a cool-sounding name. Alright look, if it's no big deal to be Mr. Pink, you wanna trade?

Joe:
Hey! NOBODY'S trading with ANYBODY. This ain't a goddamn, f***ing city council meeting, you know. Now listen up, Mr. Pink. There's two ways you can go on this job: my way or the highway. Now what's it gonna be, Mr. Pink?

Mr. Pink:
Jesus Christ, Joe, f***ing forget about it. It's beneath me. I'm Mr. Pink. Let's move on.

Joe:
I'll move on when I feel like it... All you guys got the goddamn message?... I'm so Goddamn mad, hollering at you guys, I can hardly talk. Pssh. Let's go to work.

Nice Guy Eddie:
Let me say this out loud, 'cause I wanna get it straight in my head. You're saying that Mr. Blonde was gonna kill you, then when we got back, he was gonna kill us, take the satchel of diamonds, and scram. I'm right about that, right? That's correct? That's your story?

Mr. Orange:
I swear on my mother's eternal soul that's what happened.

Nice Guy Eddie:
The man you just killed was just released from prison. He got caught at a company warehouse full of hot items. He could've f***in' walked. All he had to do was say my dad's name, but he didn't; he kept his f***ing mouth shut. And did his f***in' time, and he did it like a man. He did four years for us. So, Mr. Orange, you're tellin' me this very good friend of mine, who did four years for my father, who in four years never made a deal, no matter what they dangled in front of him, you're telling me that now that this man is free, and we're making good on our commitment to him, he's just gonna decide, out of the f***ing blue, TO RIP US OFF?! Why don't you tell me what really happened?

Joe:
[walks in] What the hell for? It'd just be more bullshit.

Joe Cabot:
This man set us up.

Nice Guy Eddie:
Dad, I'm sorry, but I don't know what the Hell's happening.

Joe Cabot:
That's all right, Eddie. I do.

Mr. White:
What the f*** are you talking about?

Joe Cabot:
That lump of sh*t's working with the LAPD.

Mr. Orange:
Joe, I don't have the slightest f***ing idea what you're talking about.

Mr. White:
Joe, Joe, I don't know what you think you know, but you're wrong.

Joe Cabot:
Like Hell I am.

Mr. White:
Joe, trust me on this, you're making a mistake. He's a good kid. I understand you're hot, you're super f***ing pissed. We're all real emotional. But you're barking up the wrong tree. I know this man; he wouldn't do that.

Joe Cabot:
You don't know jack sh*t. I do: The cocksucker tipped off the cops and got Mr. Brown and Mr. Blue killed.

Mr. Pink:
Mr. Blue is dead?

Joe Cabot:
Dead as Dillinger.

Mr. White:
How do you know all this?

Joe Cabot:
He was the only one I wasn't a hundred percent on. I should have my f***ing head examined going ahead when I wasn't a hundred percent.

Mr. White:
That's your proof?!

Joe Cabot:
You don't need proof when you have instinct. I ignored it before, but no more. [Draws a gun and aims at Orange]

[Mr. White draws a gun and aims at Joe. And Eddie draws a gun and aims at White.]

Nice Guy Eddie:
Have you lost your f***ing mind?

Mr. White:
Joe, you're making a terrible mistake. I'm not gonna let you make it.

Mr. Pink:
[Slowly backing away] Come on, guys. Nobody wants this. We're supposed to be f***ing professionals!

Nice Guy Eddie:
Larry, look...It's been quite a long time, a lot of jobs. There's no need for this, man. Let's just put our guns down, and let's settle this with a f***ing conversation.

Mr. White:
Joe, if you kill that man, you die next. Repeat: If you kill that man, you die next.

Nice Guy Eddie:
Larry, we have been friends, and you respect my dad, and I respect you. But I will put f***ing bullets right through your heart if you don't put that f***ing gun down now.

Mr. White:
Goddamn you, Joe. Don't make me do this.

Nice Guy Eddie:
LARRY STOP POINTING THAT F***ING GUN AT MY DAD!

[White, Eddie, and Joe all shoot simultaneously.]

That’s your excuse for going on a kill crazy rampage?!

can’t believe she killed me,

She had a baby man

She had a baby.

Was that a f***ing set up or what?!?!

I need you cool, are you cool?!

You act like a professional, psychopath aint a professional, ya cant work with a psychopath

Nice Guy Eddie:
Hey Dolph, we got a major situation here. I know you know that, I gotta talk to Dad and find out what he wants done. All I know is what Vic told me, man. He said the place turned into a f***ing bullet festival. He took a cop hostage just to get the f*** out of there. Do I sound like I'm f***ing joking? He's f***ing driving around with a cop in his trunk! I don't know who did what! I don't know who's got the loot. I don't know if anybody's got the loot. I don't know who's dead, I don't know who's alive, I don't know who's caught, I don't know who's not! I will know. I'm practically there now. But what do I tell these guys about Daddy? All right. You're sure that's what he said? OK, that's what I'll tell them.