Lou:
My sweet vanilla creamy, chewy jellybeany, absolutely dreamy girl. Your juicy fruity lips, good and plenty. A cherry bomb in every bite, rich and lovely chocolate kisses delight. Mmm and mmm, melts in my mouth and in my hands. I want to nestle in your mounds and revel in your snickers, I want to Godiva into your bit o'honey, almond enjoying you, kissing up your peppermint patty, I am your sugar daddy. All saltwater Taffy, my sweet tart Sassy... hook, line, and sucker.
Scott Calvin:
Did I miss anything?
Business Guy Across from Him:
No, we were, uh, just about to order lunch.
Scott Calvin:
Great! I'm starving.
Susan Perry:
I'll have a salad and iced tea, and dressing on the side.
Mr. Whittle:
Ah, paste and tomatoes, uh, and very light on the oil. Can you do that?
Scott Calvin:
And I'll have a Caesar. No dressing. And one of those homemade cookies, the warm chocolate chip. No nuts. And a little slice of cheesecake. Uh, crème brulee, and, um, hot fudge sundae, extra hot fudge. [licks his lips in addiction to tons of sweets, and looks at some people looking weirdly at him]
Scott Calvin:
[taking where he left off] On the side.
Waiter:
Anything to drink?
Scott Calvin:
[sighs] Ice-cold milk.
Susan Perry:
[wondering if he was really honest with them about his suddenly big belly] Stung by a bee, Scott?
Scott Calvin:
A big bee.
Outside the window, there slides past that unimaginable and deserted vastness where night is coming on, the sun declining in ghastly blood-streaked splendour like a public execution across, it would seem, half a continent, where live only bears and shooting stars and the wolves who lap congealing ice from water that holds within it the entire sky. All white with snow as if under dustsheets, as if laid away eternally as soon as brought back from the shop, never to be used or touched. Horrors! And, as on a cyclorama, this unnatural spectacle rolls past at twenty-odd miles an hour in a tidy frame of lace curtains only a little the worse for soot and drapes of a heavy velvet of dark, dusty blue.
Joey Naylor:
...so what happens when you're wrong?
Nick Naylor:
Whoa, Joey I'm never wrong.
Joey Naylor:
But you can't always be right...
Nick Naylor:
Well, if it's your job to be right, then you're never wrong.
Joey Naylor:
But what if you are wrong?
Nick Naylor:
OK, let's say that you're defending chocolate, and I'm defending vanilla. Now if I were to say to you: 'Vanilla is the best flavour ice-cream', you'd say...
Joey Naylor:
No, chocolate is.
Nick Naylor:
Exactly, but you can't win that argument... so, I'll ask you: so you think chocolate is the end all and the all of ice-cream, do you?
Joey Naylor:
It's the best ice-cream, I wouldn't order any other.
Nick Naylor:
Oh! So it's all chocolate for you is it?
Joey Naylor:
Yes, chocolate is all I need.
Nick Naylor:
Well, I need more than chocolate, and for that matter I need more than vanilla. I believe that we need freedom. And choice when it comes to our ice-cream, and that Joey Naylor, that is the defintion of liberty.
Joey Naylor:
But that's not what we're talking about
Nick Naylor:
Ah! But that's what I'm talking about.
Joey Naylor:
...but you didn't prove that vanilla was the best...
Nick Naylor:
I didn't have to. I proved that you're wrong, and if you're wrong I'm right.
Joey Naylor:
But you still didn't convince me
Nick Naylor:
It's that I'm not after you. I'm after them. [points into the crowd]
Adam Larson:
[Marilyn and Kasey are in the drive-thru of Dougals] May I take your order please?
Marilyn Larson:
Yes, I'd like one Double Dougal, two half Dougals, one with cheese. A double cheeseburger special meal with a diet cola. Two regular fries, an apple pie, two small colas, and chocolate shake.
Adam Larson:
May I take your order please?
Kasey Larson:
Allow me, I'd like one Double Dougal, two half Dougals, one with cheese. A double cheeseburger special meal with a diet cola. Two regular fries, an apple pie, two small colas, and chocolate shake.
Adam Larson:
Would you like something to drink with that?
Marilyn Larson:
What kind of person hires a moron like that? [camera then shows Adam working the drive-thru window]
Dallas:
Just get the fucking coffee and let's go.
Billy Hill:
This ain't exactly Brazil. I coulda pissed you a fuckin' cup by now.
Nick:
[to Cashier] HEY? You're out of Chocolate Mac!
Cashier:
Sorry. No Chocolate Macadamia. You will please have something else?
Nick:
[filling cup] Fuckin' Hazelnut...
Cashier:
[ringing up cash register] That will be one dollar and eight cents.
Nick:
The sign says "All coffee: 69 cents."
Cashier:
I am very sorry, but that is a 44-ounce cup and the largest coffee cup is 20 ounces. Therefore, I must charge you 99 cents, plus tax, the price of a large fountain drink.
Nick:
That's bullshit! That sign says "Coffee: all sizes", not "all sizes up to 20 ounces."
Cashier:
I'm humbly sorry, but you must pay 99 cents, plus tax, for that cup.
Dallas:
Just pay the bitch the dollar-eight and let's get the FUCK outta here!
Nick:
Fine, but it's bullshit. Just get me my fuckin' snackie cake.
Cashier:
I'm sorry. I cannot do that. That is *only* available with the 20-ounce coffee. That is not a 20-ounce coffee.
Billy Hill:
This bitch is gettin' on my nerves, man. Forget it!
Dallas:
Just give him the fuckin' danish.
Nick:
That sign says, "Free snackie cake." I paid a dollar and eight cents for my coffee. I want my free snackie cake!
Cashier:
I *cannot* do that.
Dallas:
[puts snackie cake on the counter] Here. Hmmm? Take it!
Nick:
That's apple cinnamon! I wanted cream cheese.
Billy Hill:
For fuck's sake, pay her the money and let's go.
Nick:
[scoffs] Fine! Either of you got something smaller than a Ben?
Cashier:
[Billy opens his case and hands Nick a $50] I'm sorry. I cannot accept any moneys over a $20 bill.
Billy Hill:
[frustrated] That's it...
Cashier:
I should not sell it to you anyway, as that cup is very hot and might burn you. You are very strange. I'm going to call the police.
Dallas:
Fuck this. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!... BLAM!
[last lines]
The President of the United States:
Everyone, I'd like to welcome my new Joint Chiefs of Staff, General W.R. Monger.
General W.R. Monger:
Thanks, Mr. President. What a great way to celebrate my ninetieth birthday.
The President of the United States:
Very good, Warren. So, let's get it started in here. Nerd!
Advisor Wedgie:
Gentlemen, I have here the preliminary budget for rebuilding San Francisco.
The President of the United States:
Zoinkers! This is gonna be a boring one. Good time for a cup of joe. Warren, how do you take it?
General W.R. Monger:
Hit me with an organic venti chocolate brownie caramel mochacchino, extra hot with one inch of foam, non-fat.
The President of the United States:
You got it, black it is. [Pushes the nuke button by mistake, despite all the advisors shouting at him not to]
General W.R. Monger:
My God, man! What have you done?
The President of the United States:
Time to wave the white flag and head to the bunker, boys. Let's look at the situation again in 500 years. Who wants to freeze my head?
O Don Quixote, wise as thou art brave,
La Mancha's splendor and of Spain the star!
To thee I say that if the peerless maid,
Dulcinea del Toboso, is to be restored
to the state that was once hers, it needs must be
that thy squire Sancho take on his bared behind,
those sturdy buttocks, must consent to take
three thousand lashes and three hundred more,
and well laid on, that they may sting and smart;
for those are the authors of her woe
have thus resolved, and that is why I've come,
This, gentles, is the word I bring to you.
