Detective. Detective. DETECTIVE! You're looking for me.
Ernest Hemingway once wrote, "The world is a fine place and worth fighting for." I agree with the second part.
You're no messiah. You're a movie of the week. You're a fucking t-shirt, at best.
- My buddy and his dog killed two of them and, no shit, I torched the last one.
- Yeah, I burnt her ass to a crisp.
What’s in the box? What’s in the fucking box?
- You are real, right?
- I'm as real as a donut, motherfucker.
Anybody accidentally kills anybody in a fight, they go to jail. It's called manslaughter. I think all that lethal weapon horseshit is just an excuse so you dancers never have to get in a real fight.
What the hell are you looking at, you little ginger-haired fucker?
This guy's methodical, exacting, and worst of all, patient.
Wanting people to listen, you can't just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer, and then you'll notice you've got their strict attention.