Rita: I'm sorry? What was that again?
Phil: I'm a god.
Rita: You're God.
Phil: I'm a god — I'm not the God, I don't think.
Rita: Because you survived a car wreck?
Phil: I didn't just survive a wreck; I wasn't just blown up yesterday. I have been stabbed, shot, poisoned, frozen, hung, electrocuted and burned.
Rita: Oh really?
Phil: [nods] Every morning I wake up without a scratch on me, not a dent in the fender: I am an immortal.
Rita: Why are you telling me this?
Phil: Because I want you to believe in me.
Rita: You're not a god. You can take my word for it; this is 12 years of Catholic school talkin'.
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