I crap bigger 'n you

 

Don't screw around with me ACLR8. You're a hell of an instinctive pilot. Maybe too good. I'd like to bust your butt but I can't. I got another problem here. I gotta send somebody from this squadron to Miramar. I gotta do something here, I still can believe it. I gotta give you your dream shot! I'm gonna send you up against the best. You two characters are going to Top Gun.

 

"We got a guy thats bein' diffficult. How would you two clowns handle it?"

"For starters, I'd take ACLR8 out back and strap him to a light pole. Then I'd get one of those tennisball machines and I'd fire boiled potatoes up his ass til he turned blue..."

 

Listen up, C-Bass. You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You're the same decaying organic matter as everything else.

 

Tokyo James, people will come Tokyo James. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. Of course, we won't mind if you look around, you'll say. It's only $20 per person. They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they'll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Tokyo James. The one constant through all the years, Tokyo James, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Tokyo James. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... people will come Tokyo James. People will most definitely come.

 

"You hear that MrForgetable?... That is the sound of inevitability... It is the sound of your death... Goodbye, MrForgetable..."

"My name... is George."

 

"Me S2K1, you s2000qtee."

 

"The way Bage looked at it, ACLR8 was your birthright. He'd be damned if any of the slopes were gonna get their greasy yellow hands on his boy's birthright. So he hid it in the one place he knew he could hide something: his ass. Five long years, he wore ACLR8 up his ass. Then when he died of dysentery, he gave me ACLR8. I hid this uncomfortable ACLR8 up my ass for two years. Then, after seven years, I was sent home to my family. And now, little man, I give ACLR8 to you."

 

"Man drink like Brantshali and he don't eat he is going to die!"

"When?"

 

Fabienne: Whose motorcycle is this?
Butch: It's a chopper, baby.
Fabienne: Whose chopper is this?
Butch: It's Leddy's.
Fabienne: Who's Led?
Butch: Led's dead, baby. Led's dead.