Monty Brogan: [standing in the men's bathroom, talking to himself in a mirror with a "F* YOU" written on it] Yeah, f* you, too. F* me? F* you, f* this whole city and everyone in it. F* the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back. F* the squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car. Get a fing job! F the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores, stinking up my day. Terrorists in fing training. SLOW THE F DOWN! F* the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped up biceps. Going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jingling their dicks on my Channel 35. F* the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speaky English? F* the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafÃ©s, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth. Wheelin' and dealin' and schemin'. Go back where you fing came from! F the black-hatted Chassidim, strolling up and down 47th street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff. Selling South African apartheid diamonds! F* the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas, Gordon Gekko wannabe motherfers, figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for FING LIFE! You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fing break! Tyco! Worldcom! F the Puerto Ricans. 20 to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls, worst fin' parade in the city. And don't even get me started on the Dominicans, 'cause they make the Puerto Ricans look good. F the Bensonhurst Italians with their pomaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, their St. Anthony medallions, swinging their Jason Giambi, Louisville slugger, baseball bats, trying to audition for the Sopranos. F* the Upper East Side wives with their Hermes scarves and their fifty-dollar Balducci artichokes. Overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched, all taut and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart! F* the uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want to play defense, they take five steps on every lay-up to the hoop. And then they want to turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended 137 years ago. Move the f* on! F* the corrupt cops with their anus violating plungers and their 41 shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray our trust! F* the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. F* the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. And while you're at it, f* JC! He got off easy! A day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity! Try seven years in fin' Otisville, J! F Osama Bin Laden, Al Qaeda, and backward-ass, cave-dwelling, fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your 72 whores roasting in a jet-fuel fire in hell. You towel headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal Irish ass! F* Jacob Elinsky, whining malcontent. F* Francis Xavier Slaughtery my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ass. F* Naturelle Riviera, I gave her my trust and she stabbed me in the back, sold me up the river, fing bitch. F my father with his endless grief, standing behind that bar sipping on club sodas, selling whisky to firemen, cheering the Bronx bombers. F* this whole city and everyone in it. From the row-houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue, from the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Soho. From the tenements in Alphabet City to the brownstones in Park slope to the split-levels in Staten Island. Let an earthquake crumble it, let the fires rage, let it burn to fing ash and then let the waters rise and submerge this whole rat-infested place. [pause] No. No, f you, Montgomery Brogan. You had it all, and you threw it away, you dumb f***!

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