Very Bad Things (1998)
Boyd: If you take away the horror of the scene, take away the tragedy of the death, take away all the moral and ethical implications that have been drilled into your head since grade one, do you know what you're left with? A 105-pound problem that needs to be moved from point A to point B.
Robert Boyd: That's not the point, Adam. I mean, the room is covered in blow; Moore looks like he went at it with a fuckin' mountain lion; I mean, the room looks like the Manson family stayed here a month. This is a major thin-ice situation we got here.
Robert Boyd: Now, let's just take a second here and take ahold of the situation and review our options.
Adam Berkow: We'll call the police!
Robert Boyd: Call the police. Good. That's one option.
Adam Berkow: That's not an option! This is not multiple choice, here!
Robert Boyd: Yes, it is. There are always options, Adam.
Robert Boyd: A simple vote. We've got two choices. One: we clean up this mess, right now, bury it out in the desert, go home, and never look back - or, we can easily call the police, roll the dice, take our chances, and pray to God that it's only Michael who falls.
[Michael looks up, stricken]
Robert Boyd: Our choices are simple: desert - or police.
Security Guard: [seeing the mess in the room] What the hell gets into you people?
Robert Boyd: [cheerfully] Drugs and alcohol.
Security Guard: [grins] Well, I got no problem with that.
Boyd: Allow me to be the first to say that what we have done here is *not* a good thing. It's definitely not a good thing. But it was, given the circumstances, the smart play.
Michael Berkow: [to Adam] Your kid is one crutch short of a telethon, you've got a frigid, swamp-hog wife...
Adam Berkow: [Grabbing Michael] You fucking...
Robert Boyd: Calm down! We're not helping anything by losing our temper. Let's just get our heads together, okay? Whatever we associate in our nervous system determines our behavior. Just relax.
Tina: You know it's 500, right?
Mike: Yeah. Oh, yeah, no problem. Yeah, I mean... 500 of my dollars?
Tina: Right. Right.
Mike: But I thought... Boyd didn't pay?
Tina: No, Boyd didn't pay. It's 500.
Tina: Straight sex, nothing kinky. Just...
Mike: No, no, no. I'm not gonna try to use you as a hand puppet or anything. I just wanna...
Mike: ...make sweet love to you because you have no idea what you've gotten into.
Adam Berkow: You fucking murderer!
Michael Berkow: You're a fucking loser! You're a loser!
Robert Boyd: [Forcibly walking Michael to his jeep] We need to take a time out!
Adam Berkow: Go home! Go home, you fucking murderer!
Michael Berkow: Fuckin' loser!
Adam Berkow: GO HOME, YOU FUCKING MURDERER!
Mike: Dad used to bring home these sparklers for me and Adam, you know? (laughs) Sparklers! We'd go out back, the three of us - and we'd hold it up to the sky and watch the explosions of light and the sparks, you know, and Dad would be all "Wait for it! Here it comes! Watch for it! Here comes the wahoo!"
Mike: Wahoo. The sparkler would burn hot, then hotter, then even hotter, and then there'd be this one moment of pure burn when that little fucker would cook perfect, just perfect. It would only last a second, but that second was *it*. And *that's* what Dad had us looking for, man.
Kyle: The wahoo moment?
Mike: That's exactly right. Man - burning at his absolute. All the forces coming together - burning - just perfect, perfect harmony. That's what I'm driving at. Are you with me?
Kyle: I think so.
Mike: I have been looking for that flash. I've been looking and I've been looking, and I can't find it. What if it already happened, you know? My moment! What if it already happened and I didn't see it?
Boyd: I'm like a lighthouse! I stayed lit for you man! I never go dark.
Boyd: Never go dark!
Charles Moore: How do you know she's dead?
Adam Berkow: She's got no fuckin' pulse. She's got no pulse!
Kyle Fisher: Where do you look? What side of the neck?
Charles Moore: Left, left, left side.
Adam Berkow: Either side, you idiot!
Robert Boyd: Why are you calling an ambulance? She's dead.
Michael Berkow: We were playing. She bumped her head.
Adam Berkow: Bumped? BUMPED? She's got a fuckin' spike in her head!
[about the dead prostitute]
Robert Boyd: Nobody knows she's here. I called her personally. Nobody knows.
Adam Berkow: Her blood is all over the bathroom! Don't you think we got a little bit of a DNA problem here?
Robert Boyd: It's a marble floor. We can clean it up.
Robert Boyd: [after stabbing the hotel security guard] Don't let him bleed on the carpet!
[They push the guard into the bathroom]
Robert Boyd: Get back - shut the door! Son of a bitch! He'll bleed out! He'll bleed out! He'll bleed out.
Robert Boyd: Time for some serious self-exploration - how do I function. For real! No more bullshit. Can I keep my cool when they bounce my bananas, when they won't play my song, etc, etc, etc. Do you get me? DO YOU GET ME?
Michael Berkow: Not really, no.
[Michael has accidentally killed Tina the prostitute]
Charles Moore: Michael... Michael... WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE?
[Michael has accidentally killed Tina the prostitute]
Kyle: You fucking guys. You fucking guys. You fucking guys! YOU FUCKING GUYS!
[Boyd has just murdered the hotel security guard who saw Tina's corpse]
Kyle Fisher: I'm calling the police.
Robert Boyd: So help me God, you touch that fuckin' phone, I'll bury you with them!
[while trying to pray after burying Tina and the guard]
Adam Berkow: This is pathetic.
Michael Berkow: YOU'RE pathetic.
Adam Berkow: What did you say?
Michael Berkow: [Pointing at him] You're not a team player.
Adam Berkow: Don't point at me.
Michael Berkow: You've never been a team player, that's why you don't have any friends.
Adam Berkow: What're you talking about? I have friends.
Michael Berkow: The hell you do.
Adam Berkow: The hell I don't.
Michael Berkow: You have acquaintances. Superficial golf-buddies.
[Pointing at him again]
Michael Berkow: You've never been a team player.
Adam Berkow: Don't point at me!
Michael Berkow: You have some serious male-on-male intimacy problems!
Adam Berkow: What're you fucking talking about?
Michael Berkow: You can't deal with men!
Kyle Fisher: Guys, maybe now's not the time for this...
Laura: I am not to be common. I am a creature like no other.
Mike: Look at 'em. I'm amazed the windows don't blow out of their fucking sockets with all the ass-puckering rage in these soulless lizards.
Kyle: I just want her to be happy.
Mike: The same alarm clock every morning, same two pops on the same snooze button, same shower, towel, toothbrush, razor, blazer, hair pump, gel spray. It's a fucking epidemic, Fisher. You're getting married, baby. I'm not going to candy-coat it - it just gets worse. It's an eighteen-wheel cement truck that's going to crush every bone in your big body.
Adam Berkow: [referring to the hotel security guard that was murdered] Do you think he had kids?
Kyle Fisher: What?
Adam Berkow: Children. Do you think that man was a father?
Kyle Fisher: I don't know.
Adam Berkow: I got a real bad feeling that he had children.
Kyle Fisher: I think he was too young to have children.
Adam Berkow: We're gonna burn for this.
Laura: [bride repeatedly slamming Boyd in the head] This is *my* day!
Michael Berkow: You never gave a damn about anyone but yourself.
Adam Berkow: Yeah, well you're a little fuckin' reject.
Michael Berkow: Yeah, well you eat my ass.
[Kicks Adam's minivan]
Adam Berkow: Hey!
Michael Berkow: Eat my fuckin' ass!
[Kicks his minivan again]
Adam Berkow: If you ever touch my minivan again, you're gonna be very sorry, brother! Very fucking sorry!
Michael Berkow: You are a LOSER!
Adam Berkow: I might just turn your little pathetic ass in! How about that, pal?
Michael Berkow: You think you're so fuckin' righteous? You were right there with us, side by fuckin' side!
[Adam is in a hurry to get away from the petrol station because he thinks ordinary bystanders are eyeing him suspiciously about the murders in Las Vegas, but his wife has asked him to go inside the shop to buy some whizzers for their children. In his panic, he has difficulty finding them]
Adam Berkow: Fucking whizzers!
Boyd: The room is covered in blow; Moore looks like he went at it with a fuckin' mountain lion.