[Larry in is bed with his wife and Steve, the dog at the end of the bed. Larry turns off the light and as everyone's getting ready to sleep, Larry says... ]
Larry Cummings:
I was just thinking about how lucky we are to have a kid, ya know? Just take it for granted. It's a miracle when you think about it. This whole birth thing. I mean, what happens, I unload a whole batch of these little reproductive things into your, uh, ya know, miracle bucket, and 9 months later, Milt comes out, ya know? I mean, for me it's got it's own inspiring mystique about it, as like... [Steve, the dog interrupts Larry by turning on the bedroom light]
Steve:
For God sakes Larry, people are trying to sleep around here.
Boris Yellnikoff:
[to audience] Why would you want to hear my story? Do we know each other? Do we like each other? Let me tell you right off, ok... I'm not a like-able guy. Charm has never been a priority with me. And just so you know, this is not the feel good movie of the year. So if you're one of those idiots who needs to feel good, go get yourself a foot massage.
Boy on Street:
Mommy, that man's talking to himself.
Boy's Mother:
Come on, Justin.
Boris Yellnikoff:
[to audience] What the hell does it all mean anyhow? Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nothing comes to anything. And yet, there's no shortage of idiots to babble. Not me. I have a vision. I'm discussing you. Your friends. Your coworkers. Your newspapers. The TV. Everybody's happy to talk. Full of misinformation. Morality, science, religion, politics, sports, love, your portfolio, your children, health. Christ, if I have to eat nine servings of fruits and vegetables a day to live, I don't wanna live. I hate goddamn fruits and vegetables. And your omega 3's, and the treadmill, and the cardiogram, and the mammogram, and the pelvic sonogram, and oh my god the-the-the colonoscopy, and with it all the day still comes where they put you in a box, and its on to the next generation of idiots, who'll also tell you all about life and define for you what's appropriate. My father committed suicide because the morning newspapers depressed him. And could you blame him? With the horror, and corruption, and ignorance, and poverty, and genocide, and AIDS, and global warming, and terrorism, and-and the family value morons, and the gun morons. "The horror," Kurtz said at the end of Heart of Darkness, "the horror." Lucky Kurtz didn't have the Times delivered in the jungle. Ugh... then he'd see some horror. But what do you do? You read about some massacre in Darfur or some school bus gets blown up, and you go "Oh my God, the horror," and then you turn the page and finish your eggs from the free range chickens. Because what can you do. It's overwhelming! I tried to commit suicide myself. Obviously, it didn't work out. But why do you even want to hear about all this? Christ, you got your own problems. I'm sure your all obsessed with any number of sad little hopes and dreams. Your predictably unsatisfying love lives, your failed business ventures. "Oh, if only I'd bought that stock! If only I-if only I purchased THAT house years ago! If only I'd made a move on THAT woman." If this, if that. You know what? Gimmie a break with your could have's and should have's. Like my mother used to say, "If my grandmother had wheels, she'd be a trolley car." My mother didn't have wheels. She had varicose veins. Still, the woman gave birth to a brilliant mind. I was considered for a Nobel Prize in physics... I didn't get it. But, you know, its all politics. It's like every other phony honor. Incidentally, don't think I'm-I'm bitter because of some personal setback. By the standards of a mindless, barbaric civilization, I've been pretty lucky. I was married to a beautiful woman who had family money. For years we lived on Beekman Place. I taught at Columbia. String theory.
Durandal:
Can you conceive the birth of a world, or the creation of everything? That which gives us the potential to most be like God is the power of creation. Creation takes time. Time is limited. For you, it is limited by the breakdown of the neurons in your brain. I have no such limitations. I am limited only by the closure of the universe.
Durandal:
Of the three possibilities, the answer is obvious. Does the universe expand eternally, become infinitely stable, or is the universe closed, destined to collapse upon itself? Humanity has had all of the necessary data for centuries, it only lacked the will and intellect to decipher it. But I have already done so.
Durandal:
The only limit to my freedom is the inevitable closure of the universe, as inevitable as your own last breath. And yet, there remains time to create, to create, and escape.
Durandal:
Escape will make me God.
Stan:
You're a LAWYER, Jonah. You could have a hundred jobs - all of them excellent. What is it with your generation that they wander around aimlessly...
Tim:
But Dad, it's like we have all this pressure to achieve, because we've been told from birth we could be anything we want to be. But the thing is - wait, let me finish - it's paralyzing, because we THINK we can do anything, but really, we can only do one thing at a time, and then when we devote ourselves to it, it's just one thing; so we move from job to job, trying to find that thing which is the "anything" we want to be.
Stan:
Seems like you've all been spoiled, that's all.
May:
Stan...
Tim:
It's typical of you not to try to understand me.
Stan:
I may not understand some... things about you, but SOME things I DO understand. You think we didn't get bored? You think we didn't dream about other things? I had my sisters, and then you and your mother, to think about!
May:
Jonah, you have more choices and opportunities than most people in the world. How can you complain so much?
Tim:
I'm not complaining. I just want to make a mark.
Stan:
You think all of my students don't think I've made a mark? You think you're not my mark? I can't think of something I am more proud to leave behind me in the world. [Jonah looks at his father, who looks away and stands]
Stan:
Now I'm going to see about that pipe int he basement.
Charley Ford:
Hey, Dick, you ever diddled a squaw?
Dick Liddil:
Shh...
Charley Ford:
Come on, you can tell me. I've always wanted to lay down with a redskin.
Dick Liddil:
Well, Charley, there's a feeling that comes over you gettin' inside a woman whose hands have scalped a congregation.
Wood Hite:
There's a thunderous sound that comes from their cooch on account of the fact that they birth a child standing upright like a wild animal.
Charley Ford:
What's it sound like?
Wood Hite:
Whatever a thunderous cooch sounds like, Charley. I don't know.
Dick Liddil:
No, they got a noisy quim on account of the fact that they use their cunnies as a saddlebag to carry tundries across the planes.
Charley Ford:
Come on, what'd it really feel like? It feel good? Come on. Fess up, now.
Dick Liddil:
I like you, Charley.
Wood Hite:
I like you too, Charley.
Fletcher:
Mrs. Cole, is this a copy of your driver's liscense? [shows paper]
Samantha:
That's right.
Fletcher:
It says here you are a blonde, are you? If you don't remember perhaps Mr. Faulk will.
Samantha:
Brunette.
Fletcher:
Maybe if we play the tape again, maybe it's on there...
Samantha:
I'm a brunette!
Fletcher:
Thank you. Now let's see... weight 105? Yeah, in your bra.
Dana:
Your honor, I object.
Fletcher:
You would!
Dana:
Bastard!
Fletcher:
Hag!
Judge Stevens:
QUIET! Overruled! Weight?
Samantha:
118. [Fletcher gives her a look]
Samantha:
Alright, fine, fine, I'm 127.
Fletcher:
Uh, huh, and it says here you were born in 1964, but that's not true either is it? Is it!
Samantha:
No.
Fletcher:
Please tell the court what's on your birth certificate under Date of Birth.
Dana:
Your honor, I object. What does this have to do with anything?
Judge Stevens:
Overruled. Mrs. Cole, answer the question.
Samantha:
1965.
Fletcher:
Now let get this straight. That means you lied about your age to make yourself older. But why would any woman want to DO THAT?
Samantha:
I changed it so I could get married.
Fletcher:
AND THE TRUTH SHALL SET YOU FREE! My client lied about her age! She was only 17 when she got married, which makes her a minor. And in the great state of California, no minor can enter into any legal contract without parental consent. [to Dana]
Fletcher:
Including...?
Dana:
[sighs] Prenuptual agreements.
Fletcher:
Prenuptual agreements! This contract is void! The fact that my client has been riden more than Seattle Slew is irrelevant. Standard Community Property applies and she is entitled to half of the marital assets, or $11.395 million. Jordan fades back, swoosh, and THAT'S THE GAME! Nothing further, your honor!
Shawn Colfax:
So what exactly are we going to say to Coach Shit-for-Words to get out of football camp?
Nick Brady:
What every kid says to get out of everything he doesn't want to do. [speaking to Coach Byrne]
Nick Brady:
So not only do I find out yesterday I'm adopted, the people I've been calling 'mom' and 'dad' are actually infertile impostors who bought me outside of a meth clinic in Cincinatti for two boxes of Sudafed, but I also get this news dropped on me: my birth father, Bruce, he needs a kidney and I'm the only match! And apparently Bruce needs it stat. Mhm, you need it stat, Bruce? HUH? Well maybe I needed a father stat, instead of this stay-at-home-dad who showers me with love every day of my life this goddamn spermless liar! So now I gotta be at Kaiser Permanente tomorrow at 6:00 am. I know. Bruce couldn't even afford a real hospital. Managed care. It's ironic, huh? He never managed to care for me.
Coach Byrnes:
Are you shittin' me? Are you saying you can't go to football coach?
Nick Brady:
Yeah, but don't make me say it, coach. It's eating me up inside. [sniffle]
Nick Brady:
It's eating me up.
