"Strippers and Heroin. Two of my favorite things. Nah, I'm just kidding folks, I've never done heroin. Come to think of it I've never done a stripper either, but a guy can dream." - Lazzy Jones ~
"I think I love her."
"Which one?"
"I can't love both of them?"
"No, I think you'll have to choose."
"What the hell sense does that make? Loving either one of them is totally base and irrational, so how much more irrational could it be if I loved them both?"
"Hey, don't get mad at me. I didn't make up the rules."
~
"I don't know about you, but if I'm not completely shitty in the next fifteen minutes this night has been a complete and utter failure." - T.O. Hob, The Open Bar Theory
~
INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT
A man sits alone at a table facing a mirrored wall, his back is to the door. The tables all around him are filled with people eating, drinking, celebrating. The door to the restaurant opens, the man sitting at the table, Hob, slowly pulls on his leather gloves, stands up and turns to face the door.
The man standing in the doorway, Groome, is younger than Hob but dressed much the same in a sharp black suit. Groome notices Hob as he turns to face him. Neither man moves.
Hob:
Who sent you?
Groome:
You know who sent me.
Hob:
What's your name?
x
Groome:
My name?
x
Hob:
If they sent you after me it means you're the best they have. In which case there's very little chance either one of us are walking out of here tonight. You already know the name of the man who will kill you. I would expect the same courtesy.
Groome:
They call me Groome.
Hob:
Your full name Groome, none of this agency shorthand.
Groome:
Jacob. Jacob Groome.
Hob:
Thomas Hob.
Groome:
A pleasure to meet you sir.
Hob:
Certainly.
Groome:
Shall we do this?
Hob:
No.
Groome:
No? What happened to you being so sure you could kill me?
Hob:
I already have Groome.
Hob points his gloved hand at Groome again and Groome notices a tear in one of the fingertips. Hob taps his finger against his own chest, Groome glances down at his breast pocket. There is a small hole in his shirt.
Hob: (continued)
A poison tipped projectile, so fine and sharp it will cut through any body armor and pierce the flesh so finely that its target likely wouldn't even know he's been hit. The poison acts fairly quickly, numbness in the jaw within fifteen seconds.
Groome wiggles his jaw. His eyes go wide.
Hob: (continued)
Total loss of motor functions just inside of thirty. Paralysis sets within a minute. Death follows shortly after.
Groome falls to his knees.
Hob: (continued)
So you see Mr.Groome, I have killed you.
Groome's lips move, no words come out.
Hob: (continued)
They didn't send you here to kill me Mr.Groome, they sent you as a message. It's their way of letting me know that they won't be letting me go. That they'll keep sending boys like you to do a man's job. No Mr.Groome they didn't send you here to kill me, they sent you here to die.
Groome's face contorts in pain.
Hob: (continued)
Open your mouth boy.
Hob removes a vial of liquid from his inner pocket and twists the top off. With one hand he yanks Groome's mouth open, with the other he tips the liquid into Groome's mouth. He pushes the boy to the ground. Groome suddenly gasps for air.
Groome:
What...
Hob crouches down next to Groome and pulls his head up by the hair.
Hob:
They killed you. I give you life. The antidote takes about fifteen minutes to do its work which will give me a comfortable head start in case you haven't seen the light. I can see the confusion in your eyes. I've killed but I'm not a killer. That's your lot. If you want to see the real bad guy here, look in the mirror. They sent you as a message Groome, and now I do the same. You head back to the Arch and you tell Garrison and any other of those right bastards who will listen that I'm not running anymore. All I wanted was for them to leave me and mine alone, but they couldn't even do that. You tell them that they can stop looking for me now, because I'm coming for them.
Hob lets go of Groome's hair and his head smacks the floor with a dull thud, drool runs from his lips. Hob opens the door to the outside, pauses, and turns back.
Hob:
And Groome, if I were you I wouldn't be standing too close to any of those pricks when I come for them. Few enough men have lived after crossing me once...no one's ever survived crossing me twice.
Hob heads out into the darkness, the door closes behind him. The other occupants of the restaurant stand stunned, no one stirring to check on Groome.
~
"Your day can not possibly have been worse than mine."
"Really? My washing machine doesn't work, my house is a mess, someone broke my dragon statue, my company is going nuts, I have $500,000 on my desk but somehow I'm still piss broke. My computer is all frigged up, my backup computer has a virus, I got sued on my lunch break...again. I have a pile of complaints three feet high, seven hours of work to do before I can go home and my basement is filled with shit, like literally shit, yeah, you know the brown stuff that comes out your asshole? All over the fucking place."
"You win."
~
Marwood: There's a man over there who doesn't like the perfume. The big one. Don't look, don't
look! We're in danger, we've got to get out. Withnail: What are you talking about?
Marwood: I've been called a ponce.
Withnail: What FUCKER said that?
Irishman: I called him a ponce. And now I'm calling you one, PONCE!
Withnail: Would you like a drink?
Irishman: What's your name, MacFuck?
Withnail: ...I have a heart condition. I have a heart condition, if you hit me it's murder.
Irishman: I'll murder the pair of yous!
- from Withnail & I
~
"Are you takin' the fuckin' piss? It means yeh spend too much time playin' wi' yerself. Yeh've got yer head stuck up yer own aresehole. WANKER: NOUN. ONE WHO WANKS. Am I gettin' through to yeh, do yeh think? All right, look, I'm sorry. I know this is yer place an' everything. It's just a bit of a...well, a disappointment really."
"How so?"
"Because I've been wanderin' round the world for three quarters of a fuckin' century, watchin' all me mates dyin' or gettin' old, an' now I finally find someone else who's gonna live forever an'--well. It turns out he's a bit've a prick."
- from Cassidy: Blood & Whiskey from Preacher
~
"She's got a voice like pure sugar and everytime I hear it I just think she's so sweet I want to eat her right up."
"You're a twisted fuck."
"What?"
"That's focking cannabalism what you're talking about it is."
"No, I don't actually mean I want to eat her up. It's a euphemism."
"Euphe-what? Ah wait, I get it, a sex thing. A wee bit of the old cunning linguist eh? Eh? You old dog."
"No, I mean, just forget it."
"Yeah, I'll forget it. Just like you'll forget it. All night long, right? Right?"
"You really are retarded aren't you?"
"Only half, on me muther's side."
~
"You know I really don't think today could have possibly been any worse."
"You could have found out you have herpes."
"Ha, yeah. You're right Otto, that would have made it worse."
"Aye Lazzy, I've got something tell you."
"What's that Otto?"
"Doctor called. Says you've got herpes."
~
"Shit is an acquired taste, eat it long enough and eventually you just get used to it." - Lazzy Jones
Aaaaaaannnndd...I'm out!
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