Diskuter Rub, Stub & To Rygende Geværer

Eddie: They're armed. Soap: What was that? Armed? What do you mean armed? Armed with what? Eddie: Bad breath, colorful language, feather duster... what do you think they're gonna be armed with? Guns, you tit!

One of my favorite movies of all times. Anyone else?

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Barman: It's a cocktail. You asked for a cocktail. Bacon: No. I asked you to give me a refreshing drink. I wasn't expecting a fucking rainforest! You could fall in love with an orangutan in that!

and this: Soap: . . . Also, I think knives are a good idea, you know, big fuck-off shiny knives, the ones that look like they could skin a crocodile. Knives are good because they don't make any noise, and the less noise the more we're likely to use them. That'll shit 'em up and make us look like pros. Tom: Is there something we should know about you, Soap? Bacon: I am not sure what's more worrying, the job or your past.

and many more. Great movie!

Tom: Look, it's all completely chicken soup.

Nick the Greek: It's what?

Tom: It's kosher. As Christmas.

Nick the Greek: The Jews don't celebrate Christmas, Tom.

Holy shit I need to watch this movie again.

Barfly Jack: Rory? Yeah I know Rory. He's not to be underestimated. He's a funny looking fucker, I know. But you've got to look past the hair and the cute, cuddly thing - it's all a deceptive facade. A few nights ago Rory's Roger iron's rusted. He's gone down the battle-cruiser to watch the end of a football game. Nobody is watching the custard so he turns the channel over. A fat geezer's north opens. He wanders up and turns the liza over. 'Now fuck off and watch it somewhere else.' Rory knows claret is imminent, but he doesn't want to miss the end of the game. So, calm as a coma, picks up a fire extinguisher, walks straight past the jam rolls who are ready for action and he plonks it outside the entrance. He then orders an Aristotle of the most ping pong tiddly in the nuclear sub and switches back to his footer. 'That's fucking it,' says the geezer. 'That's fucking what?' says Rory. And he gobs out a mouthful of booze covering fatty. He flicks a flaming match into his bird's nest and the geezer's lit up like a leaking gas pipe. Rory, unfazed, turned back to his game. His team's won too. Four-nil.

I wish Ritchie was still making movies like this.

Soap: Do you want a sandwich, Bacon?

”I don’t care who they are, as long as they’re not complete muppets.”

I always get this mental image of Fozzie or Elmo doing a heist, and it cracks me up.

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