The Losers

Pooch:
Oh my God, I'm the black MacGyver.

[pause]

Pooch:
BlaGyver!

Jensen:
Did you know that cats can make one thousand different sounds and dogs can only make ten? Cats, man. Not to be trusted.

Pooch:
You know what? Do me a favor - NEVER say that again.

Jensen:
That's right b*tches, I got a crossbow!

Jensen:
[women are looking at Jensen, who is undressed in an elevator] So... you, uh, ladies liking the angle of the dangle?

Roque:
[Seeing Jenson's Pink Petunia shirt] Am I the only one who sees this shirt?

Jensen:
Oh, yeah. It's my niece's little league soccer team, the Petunias, they're in the finals, so I...

[the whole team walks away in disgust]

Jensen:
They're... they're in the finals!

Jensen:
I'm warning you, I am a lethal killing machine. It was a secret government experiment. They did stuff to me. Spooky stuff... Anal stuff. It turned me into a dangerous telekinetic. As the ancient Tibetan Philosophy states "Don't start none, won't be none!"

Pooch:
The Pooch may lie, the Pooch may steal, the Pooch may...

Jensen:
The Pooch may refer to himself in the third person?

Pooch:
Occasionally, but the Pooch will not cheat.

Jensen:
The Pooch can relax. I was worried about Cougar.

Pooch:
Yeah, right, it's always the quiet ones.

Roque:
Come, on, Clay! Look around you. I mean, do you think we're in a position to actually take on some CIA super-spook?

Clay:
Roque...

Roque:
It's a hell of a plan. You know what? Pooch could set up over there by the taco stand, and Jensen could set up communications right there by the hookers.

Aisha:
[whistles at the sight of Clay's Bolivian hotel room] Wow. It's everything a girl can dream of. Do you have a bathroom?

Clay:
No, I specifically requested the only hotel room in the world that doesn't have a bathroom.

Aisha:
So what brings you to Bolivia?

Clay:
Cruise ship.

Aisha:
We're a landlocked country.

Clay:
Yeah, well... it's an amazing cruise ship.

Clay:
How'd you know we were alive?

Aisha:
Counted the number of teeth in the chopper wreckage. Plus you guys aren't exactly subtle.

Aisha:
Here's the deal: I get you and your men back in the States. In exchange, you get Max for me.

Clay:
What's the catch, lady?

Aisha:
It's pretty much a suicide mission.

Clay:
And why should I trust you?

Aisha:
Because if I were lying, I wouldn't have used the words "suicide mission."

Jensen:
So, she wanted to meet in a cemetery? That's not, like, foreboding at all...

Clay:
What do you have on her?

Jensen:
Besides a pant-bustin' crush? Her Company file is blank. CIA has a standing kill order on her, as does Hamas, Sinn Fein... pretty much everyone with the exception of PETA wants this chick am-scrayed.

Roque:
Think you're thinking clear on this? Huh? 'Cuz every time we mess up, it's because of a woman.

Clay:
Name one time that I...

Roque:
Amber.

Clay:
Amber wasn't the problem, Amber's husband was the problem.

Pooch:
Amber's husband wasn't the one who shot you.

Clay:
It was only in the leg.

Jensen:
What about Emma?

Clay:
Emma doesn't count. I didn't sleep with Emma.

Roque:
No, because she put a bomb in your car!

Clay:
All right, I admit - that did take a little of the romance out of it.

Clay:
I'm clear, Roque.

Roque:
Well, you better be, because I ain't getting killed by no girl.

Aisha:
[coming up behind them] Been a long time since anyone called me a girl. [to Clay] She put a *bomb* in your car?

Clay:
She was volatile.

Pooch:
Okay. You know that if we do this, we are waging a war against the Central Intelligence Agency.

Cougar:
They started it.

Max:
It's like giving a handgun to a six-year-old, Wade - you don't know how it's gonna end, but you're pretty sure it's gonna make the papers.

Max:
I'm saving the country, Wade - doing something for the benefit of the United States of America.

Wade:
I was born in Quebec.

Max:
Okay... then we're saving *North* America.

Jensen:
[trying to hit on Aisha] Hi. [Aisha, cleaning her gun, ignores him] Where are you from? Originally?

Aisha:
The wilds of Northern Africa.

Jensen:
Wow. So that must have been... sandy... [awkward pause] Do you have any hobbies?

Aisha:
When I was little, I collected human ears.

Roque:
Okay, you stay with us. But if anything smells like a trap, I get to put a bullet in your skull. Does that sound fair?

Aisha:
That sounds fun.

Jensen:
Sounds like my parents...

Clay:
Jensen, are we wired?

Jensen:
[disguised as a street vendor] Max is westbound... and these hot dogs are *delicious!*

Aisha:
[as their chopper is sprayed with .50 caliber machine gun fire] WHOA! I though you said small arms weren't a problem.

Pooch:
That look like small arms to you? Huh? That's a cannon.

Aisha:
Doughnut.

Pooch:
That's a CANNON!

Aisha:
Doughnut doughnut DOUGHNUT!

[Both scream as they graze a Dunkin' Donuts sign]

Aisha:
Are you SURE you've done this before?

Pooch:
Okay. Right now? Not the time. Not the time right now.

Clay:
Pooch, what's your status?

Pooch:
Well, I'm completely irritated and possibly crashing.

Max:
What do you know about deep-space tachyons?

Wade:
Nothing.

Max:
Base-particle string theory?

Wade:
Nothing.

Max:
Singularity events?

Wade:
Not a ton.

Max:
I think we should move on, then.

Max:
What the hell am I looking at here, Wade?

Wade:
Clay and his unit.

Max:
"Clay and his unit?" That sounds like a porno, Wade.

Wade:
You had them killed four months ago.

Max:
I've done a lot in four months, Wade. I'm a very busy man.

Max:
Okay, so five dead men hijacked you, Wade. Did you happen to find out who's behind them?

Wade:
Not the CIA, NSA, Special Ops...

Max:
Yeah, I'm aware it's not us.

Pooch:
All right, look. We're not going anywhere until you two squash this bullshit.

Clay:
Pooch, we're on a schedule here. Let's go.

Pooch:
[imitating Clay] Oh, "we're on a schedule?" [Yanks the keys out the ignition, looks pointedly at Clay and Roque]

Clay:
[sighs] Roque... I'm sorry I hit you in the face.

Pooch:
[laughing] Oh. That was good. That was good. Roque? ROQUE?

Roque:
Clay... I'm sorry I threatened to cut your head off.

Pooch:
VERY good! Wow. Don't you two feel so much better?

Clay, Roque:
[in unison] NO.

Pooch:
I don't give a sh*t. I say we go watch Jensen get himself killed, yeah?

Max:
Home again, home again... jiggedy jig.

Vikram:
Do you have the money?

Max:
Jesus! Always with the money. "Hi, how are ya? How've you been? Namaste?

Vikram:
I recently attended the funeral of my best friend, who you had thrown off a roof. How have *you* been?

Max:
I can't complain. Actually, I'm thinking about getting a satellite radio for my car.

[looks at Vikram's fellow scientist]

Max:
God, you ARE short. Seriously, how much do you weigh? Are you standing in a hole?

Vikram:
We have your ordinances.

Max:
All righty. Let's make a cash withdrawal, and

[in bad Hindu accent]

Max:
Who wants to be a billionaire?

Jensen:
Can you stand?

Pooch:
I've been shot in *both* of my legs. What kind of dumb-ass question is that, really?

Jensen:
So now we're Mister Grumpy-pants? You know, you're not the only one who got shot today.

Clay:
Pooch, can you stand?

Pooch:
Oh. Oh, this is Stupid Question Day. This is Stupid Question Day, and nobody decided to tell me! Naw, that's cool. It's all good.

Jensen:
Come on, Legless Pooch, I got ya.

Jensen:
Clay, we've got a situation here. I'm looking at a giant vibrating Easter egg from Hell, and no Max.

Max:
[as Clay drives off his helicopter with a blast of machine gun fire] That was my ride.

Clay:
Bummer.

Cougar:
Never touch the hat!

Vikram:
[after his former boss had been thrown off a roof] Thank you for agreeing to meet us on a short structure.

Jensen:
[Aisha has the Losers in a Mexican standoff] Ohhhh... sh*t. She's got a gun and... it's pointed at my dick. Clay, it's pointed at my dick!

Pooch:
Would you rather it was pointed at your face?

Jensen:
I know it makes no sense, but yes! [Aisha points her gun at Jensen's face]

Pooch:
Better?

Jensen:
Not really...

Clay:
Where's your gun, Jensen?

Jensen:
It's in the van.

Clay:
What's it doing there?

Jensen:
Not... much. [Aisha rolls her eyes]

Roque:
Will you two shut up?

Jensen:
Well, what if it was pointed at YOUR dick? [Aisha shoots Jensen in the arm]

Jensen:
Legless Pooch and I are on it!

Pooch:
Call me 'Legless Pooch' again, and you're gonna be 'Headless Jensen'

Jensen:
I think it's a cool name, makes ya sound like a pirate.

Pooch:
Ya mama's a pirate.

Pooch:
[Finding a broken down yellow school bus in their search for an escape vehicle] Ah!

Jensen:
No!

Pooch:
Yeah!

Jensen:
Really?

Pooch:
Why not!

Jensen:
Can you?

Pooch:
Of course!

Clay:
I knew you wouldn't shoot her.

Roque:
Not today...

Aisha:
I was born in a desert place. War was my only mother. As a child, I moved through the battlefield and slit the throats of screaming Russian boys. I firebombed my first tank when I was twelve years old and machine-gunned the crew as they fled, burning.

Jensen:
[describing a CIA heroin smuggling operation] So they're selling sh*t to the American people to raise money to protect the American people from the guys they produce the sh*t they're selling them in the first place. This is f***ed up on so many levels, man...

Roque:
Gee, I hope they don't see us sitting in this bright yellow Pinto.

Clay:
Are you ashamed to be seen in an American classic?

[Cougar takes down Wade and Roque with the same bullet]

Clay:
Outstanding!

Roque:
This is not a sweet car, dawg.

Clay:
This is a classic.

Roque:
Yeah, this is a classic piece of sh*t.