Mary Katherine Gallagher:
Oh my God!
Jesus:
Oh my Me! How are you?
Mary Katherine Gallagher:
It's going OK. Are you the Lord?
Jesus:
Well, to you I am. See, technically, you're, like, in this REM sleep state, and I'm a mixture of your mind's images of God, some past authority figures, uh, Skye, and your dad. Basically, your subconcsious came up with me to help you deal. Dig?
Mary Katherine Gallagher:
Yeah... uh, you want a glass of water or something?
Jesus:
No, I'm good. I'm God!
Mary Katherine Gallagher:
Oh. Right.
Vincent:
Want some bacon?
Jules:
No man, I don't eat pork.
Vincent:
Are you Jewish?
Jules:
Nah, I ain't Jewish, I just don't dig on swine, that's all.
Vincent:
Why not?
Jules:
Pigs are filthy animals. I don't eat filthy animals.
Vincent:
Bacon tastes gooood. Pork chops taste gooood.
Jules:
Hey, sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I'd never know 'cause I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfucker. Pigs sleep and root in shit. That's a filthy animal. I ain't eat nothin' that ain't got sense enough to disregard its own feces.
Vincent:
How about a dog? Dogs eats its own feces.
Jules:
I don't eat dog either.
Vincent:
Yeah, but do you consider a dog to be a filthy animal?
Jules:
I wouldn't go so far as to call a dog filthy but they're definitely dirty. But, a dog's got personality. Personality goes a long way.
Vincent:
Ah, so by that rationale, if a pig had a better personality, he would cease to be a filthy animal. Is that true?
Jules:
Well we'd have to be talkin' about one charming motherfuckin' pig. I mean he'd have to be ten times more charmin' than that Arnold on Green Acres, you know what I'm sayin'?
Tom:
[when Kate leaves] I have done it, she is gone! Now I can raise you children the way I want to! Mwa ha ha, ha ha, ha! [kids stare blankly]
Tom:
C'mon, Dad's in charge now, you can... eat candy for breakfast, sleep in, wear shoes in the house, it'll be great! [kids continue to stare blankly. Tom finally gives up]
Tom:
Yeah, I know, let's go inside.
Maureen Cummings:
If this is what I wanted, I wouldn't be as unhappy as I've been. I'd have friends, I'd sleep well, I wouldn't throw up half the things that I eat.
Nancy Cummings:
You watch your weight, there's nothing wrong with that!
Maureen Cummings:
Mom, I'm telling you I'm unhappy and sick. I can't do this any more!
Nancy Cummings:
But it's your dream. You just don't give up on your dream.
Maureen Cummings:
It's your dream, and it matters more to you than anything ever did to me. So I did it, but I can't any more.
Nancy Cummings:
I know what regret feels like, and I don't want that for you.
Maureen Cummings:
That's what ballet would be... a life of wishing that I found something I loved, instead of something I just happened to do well. I'm not you, Mom. You didn't have the feet. I don't have the heart.
Verne:
[after getting chased away] See what I mean? That's what I was talking about. These humans don't want us *around*.
RJ:
So we scared her and she over-reacted, no biggy.
Verne:
No biggy? No that's what we call a biggy.
RJ:
C'mon, think about the food, it was worth it for that food, that stuff is to die for. [Ozzy faints and Heather rolls her eyes]
RJ:
Let me rephrase that.
Verne:
No, to die for, you nailed that part. Look, maybe our little forest life seems primative to a guy with a bag.
RJ:
What!
Verne:
But I think I speak for all of us when I say that we want *nothing* to do with *anything* that's *over that hedge*. [they begin to walk away]
RJ:
Oh come on. You haven't even tried doughnuts yet. You wanna store some fat, that is the way to store some fat, you'll be sweating through the winter. [they don't listen]
RJ:
Okay, okay you guys sleep on it. Good idea, I'm gonna check back with you. [to himself]
RJ:
Shoot! Almost had them.
Mike:
I hate germs, and... diseases.
Terry:
What about bugs?
Mike:
Pretty much hate them too.
Terry:
You know you sleep with bugs?
Mike:
What?
Terry:
You - sleep - with - bugs.
Mike:
No, I, I-I-I don't, actually.
Terry:
Yeah, you do. Everyone does. Dust mites. They're in your carpets, in your bed. They look like little lobsters. You know, in fact, they're distant relatives.
Mike:
You're enjoying this, aren't you?
Terry:
I, I just don't get out much.
Aaron:
[voiceover on the phone continued from the beginning] I can tell you with certainty what I did that night, when it was my turn, but I think it would do little good. Because what the world remembers, the actuality, the last revision, is what counts, apparently. So, how many times did it take Aaron, as he cycled through the same conversations, lip-synching trivia over and over? How many times would it take, before he got it right? Three? Four? Twenty? I've decided to believe that only one more would have done it. I can almost sleep at night, if there's only one more. Slowly and methodically, he reverse-engineered a perfect moment. He took from his surroundings what was needed, and made of it something more. And once the details had been successfully navigated, there was nothing more. Maybe the last minute moral debate... until the noise of the room escalates into panic and background screams, as the gunman walks in.
