Mona Lisa Vito: Imagine you're a deer. You're prancing along, you get thirsty, you spot a little brook. You put your little deer lips down to the cool clear water... BAM! A fu?king bullet rips off part of your head! Your brains are laying on the ground in little bloody pieces! Now I ask ya, would you give a f??k what kind of pants the son of a bitch who shot you was wearing?
:laughabove:

From "My Cousin Vinny"

I LOVE Marrissa Tomea!:wub:

Hi Oddball!! I love that movie - it is so funny!! :sm0:

~ Pulp Fiction ~


[Jules shoots the guy on the couch during Brett's interrogation]

Jules: Oh, I'm sorry, did I break your concentration?

~ Pulp Fiction ~


Butch: So we cool?

Marsellus: Yeah, we cool. Two things. Don't tell nobody about this. This sh*t is between me, you, and Mr. Soon-To-Be-Living-The-Rest-of-His-Short-Ass-Life-In-Agonizing-Pain Rapist here. It ain't nobody else's business. Two: you leave town tonight, right now. And when you're gone, you stay gone, or you be gone. You lost all your L.A. privileges. Deal?

Butch: Deal.

Marsellus: Get your ass out of here.

~ Plup Fiction ~

Jules: The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy My brothers. And you will know My name is the Lord when I lay My vengeance upon thee.

~ Pulp Fiction ~


Fabienne: Whose motorcycle is this?

Butch: It's a chopper, baby.

Fabienne: Whose chopper is this?

Butch: It's Zed's.

Fabienne: Who's Zed?

Butch: Zed's dead, baby. Zed's dead.

"I'm siiiiinging in the rain... (boot) just siiiiiiinging in the rain... (boot) what a gloooooorious feeling (boot)..."
A Clockwork Orange - 1971

Man on fire: A man can be an artist... in anything, food, whatever. It depends on how good he is at it. Creasey's art is death. He's about to paint his masterpiece.

~ Johnny Got His Gun ~

Joe: Inside me I'm screaming, nobody pays any attention. If I had arms, I could kill myself. If I had legs, I could run away. If I had a voice, I could talk and be some kind of company for myself. I could yell for help, but nobody would help me.

~ Johnny Got His Gun ~

Joe: I don't know whether I'm alive and dreaming or dead and remembering.

~ Johnny Got His Gun ~

Father: Put your arms around me. I need to feel their warmth, to keep the chill of death away.

~ Johnny Got His Gun ~

Hospital Offical: He won't wait for an answer. [Banging his head in Morse Code] All he says is, "Kill me, kill me, kill me."
Third Doctor: Don't you have some message for him, Padre?
[Priest shakes his head and looks to the floor]
Third Doctor: You could at least tell him to put his faith in God, couldn't you?
Priest: I'll pray for him for the rest of my days. But I will not risk testing his faith against your stupidity.
Third Doctor: Well you're a hell of a priest, aren't you?
Priest: He's the product of your profession, not mine.

Meet the Parents