Multiple Characters quotes

Big Chris: It's been emotional.

Big Chris: All right, son: roll them guns up, count the money, and put your seat belt on.

Hatchet Harry: I don't want to know who you use, as long as they're not complete muppets.

Winston: Charles, get the rifle out. We're being ****ed.

Winston: Alarm bells are ringing Willy.

Barfly Jack: Rory? Yeah I know Rory. He's not to be underestimated. He's a funny-looking ****er I know, but you've got to look past the hair and the cute, cuddly thing - it's all a deceptive facade. A few nights ago Rory's Roger iron's busted, so he's gone down the battle-cruiser to watch the end of the football game. No one's watching the custard so he switches the channel over. A fat geezer's north opens and he wanders up and turns the Liza over, "Now **** off and watch it somewhere else." He knows claret is imminent, but he doesn't want to miss the end of the game; so, calm as a coma, picks up a fire extinguisher, walks straight past the jam rolls who are ready for action, and plonks it outside the entrance. He then orders an Aristotle of the most ping-pong tiddly in the nuclear sub and switches back to his footer. "That's ****ing it," says the geezer. "That's ****ing what?" says Rory. And he gobs out a mouthful of booze covering fatty; he flicks a flaming match into his bird's nest and the geezer's lit up like a leaking gas pipe. Rory, unfazed, turns back to his game. His team's won too. Four-nil.

J.D.:You're lucky you're still breathing. Let alone able to walk. I suggest you take full advantage of that fact.

Dog: Golf - the best way to spoil a good walk. Winston Churchill said that. I say it's a dog-eat-dog world. And I got bigger teeth than you two.

Eddie: They're armed.
Soap: What do you mean armed? Armed with what?
Eddie: Err, bad breath, colourful language, feather duster... what do you think they're gonna be armed with? Guns, you tit!

Nick the Greek: Weed?
Tom: Nah, it's not normal weed. Some ****ed-up skunk, class A, can't-think-let-a-lone-move shit.
Nick the Greek: Doesn't sound good to me.
Tom: Well, neither me, but it depends what flicks your switch, and the light is on and burning brightly for the masses. ... Anyway, do you know anyone?
Nick the Greek: I know a man, yes.... Rory Breaker.
Tom: Not that mad-man with an Afro. I don't want anything to do with him.
Nick the Greek: You won't have to, just get me a sample.
Tom: Ahh, no can do.
Nick the Greek: What's that? A place near Katmandu? Meet me halfway, mate.
Tom: Look, it's all completely chicken soup.
Nick the Greek: It's what?
Tom: It's kosher. As Christmas.
Nick the Greek: The Jews don't celebrate Christmas, Tom.
Tom: Well, never mind that. We're gonna need some artillery too. Couple of sawn-off shot-guns
Nick the Greek: This is a bit heavy. This is London, not the Lebanon, who do you think I am?
Tom: Think you're Nick the Greek.

Gary: Shotguns? What, like guns that fire shots?
Barry the Baptist: Oh, you must be the brains then. Yes, that's right, guns that fire shots.

Winston: Charles,why have we got that cage?
Charles: Uh,security.
Winston: That's right, that's right - security. So what's the point in having it if we're not goin' ****ing use it?
Charles: Well I would've used it but this is Willie and Willie lives here.
Winston: Yes but you didn't know it was Willie until you opened the door did you?
Willie: Chill Winston, it's me. Charlie knows it's me. What's the problem?
Winston: The problem Willie is that Charles and yourself are not the quickest of cats at the best of times. So just do as I say and keep the ****ing cage locked! What is that?
Willie: That's Gloria.
Winston: Yes I know that's Gloria, what's that?
Willie: Fertilizer.
Winston: You went out six hours to buy a money counter and you come back with a semi-conscious Gloria and a bag of fertilizer. Alarm bells are ringing Willie.
Willie: We need fertilizer Winston.
Winston: Mmmhmm. We also need a money counter. This money's got to be out by Thursday, I'm buggered if I'm gonna count it. Just make sure if you do need to buy sodding fertilizer could be a bit more subtle.
Willie: What do you mean?
Winston: We grow copious amounts of ganja, yah? And you're carrying a wasted girl and a bag of fertilizer. You don't look like your average horti-****ing-culturist! That's what I mean Willie.

Plank: [gets hit with an air rifle] Ah! They ****ing shot me!
Dog: Well, shoot 'em back!
Plank: [shoots wildly]
John: Jesus, Plank, couldn't you have got smokeless cartridges? I can't see a bloody thi - Ah! Shit! I've been shot!
Dog: I don't ****ing believe this! Can everyone stop gettin' shot?

Little Chris: ****in' hell John, do you always walk around with this in your pocket?
Big Chris: Hey! You use language like that again son, you'll wish you hadn't!

J: [Discussing their careers as marijuana growers] I've a strong suspicion we should have been rocket scientists, or Nobel Peace Prize winners or something.
Charles: Peace Prize? Ooh. Be lucky to find your penis for a piss, the amount you keep smoking.

Tom: Well, he can afford to do the deal at the price we're selling. It's not worth him giving us any trouble cause he knows we'll be a pain in the arse.
Soap: I'd take a pain in the arse for half a million quid.
Tom: You'd take a pain in the arse for air miles.
Soap: Tom, the fatter you get, the sadder you get.
Eddie: Will you two stop flirting for a minute?

Soap: Where the **** are they going?... Shift a piano? I thought this was meant to be a robbery.
Eddie: Where did they get those outfits?
Tom, Bacon: Not a bad idea, that.

Dean: He's got the guns. Go ahead. You get them.
Gary: Why me?
Dean: You're supposed to be the hard case.
Gary: [shrieks] You get the guns. I drive the car!

Soap: Rory Breaker? That psychotic black dwarf with an Afro?
Tom: That would be the same man, yes.

Soap: Have a look at these. [hands Tom a ski mask]
Tom: What are we supposed to do with these?
Soap: Put them on your head, stupid.
Tom: Christ.
Soap: If you think I'm turning up clean-shaven and greet them with a grin, you've got another thing coming. These fellas are your neighbors. I thought it might be a good idea to disguise ourselves.
Tom:, good thinking, Soap. Well done.
Soap: I brought weapons as well.
Tom: What do you mean weapons?
Soap: [pulls a bundle from his coat and unrolls it, revealing many large knives] These.
Tom: Jesus! [grabs the bundle and rerolls it] Let's keep 'em covered up, eh? Couldn't you get anything bigger?
Soap: [pulls a machete from his trousers]] What, like that? What d'you think?
Tom: I think you need help.

Nick the Greek: [haggling with Tom] What else does it come with?
Tom: It comes with a gold-plated Rolls Royce, as long as you pay for it.
Nick the Greek: Dunno. Seems expensive.
Tom: Seems? Well, this seems to be a complete waste of my time. That, my friend, is 900 nicker in any store you're lucky enough to find one in. And you're haggling over 200 pound? What school of finance did you come from Nick? "It's a deal, it's a steal, it's the Sale of the ****ing Century!" In fact, **** it Nick, I think I'll keep it!
Nick the Greek: Alright alright, keep your Alans on!
[pulls a massive wad of money out of his pocket]
Nick the Greek: Here's a ton.
Tom, Eddie: Jesus Christ!
Eddie: You could choke a dozen donkeys on that! And you're haggling over one hundred pound? What're you doing when you're not buying stereos Nick? Financing revolutions?
Nick the Greek: 100 pound is still 100 pound.
Tom: Not when the price is 200 pound it ain't! And certainly not when you've got Liberia's deficit in your skyrocket. Tighter than a duck's butt you are. Now come on, lemme feel the fiber of your fabric.

[After shooting each other]
Gary: What the **** are you doing here?
Barry: What the **** are YOU doing here?

Bacon: Right. Let's sort the buyers from the spyers, the needy from the greedy, and those who trust me from the ones who don't, because if you can't see value here today, you're not up here shopping. You're up here shoplifting. You see these goods? Never seen daylight, moonlight, Israelite. Fanny by the gaslight. Take a bag, c'mon take a bag. I took a bag home last night. Cost me a lot more than ten pound, I can tell you. Anyone like jewelry? Look at that one there. Handmade in Italy, hand-stolen in Stepney. It's as long as my arm. I wish it was as long as something else. Don't think because these boxes are sealed up, they're empty. The only man who sells empty boxes is the undertaker, and by the look of some of you lot today, I'd make more money with me measuring tape. Here, one price. Ten pound.
Eddie: Did you say ten pound?
Bacon: Are you deaf?
Eddie: That's a bargain. I'll take one.
Bacon: Squeeze in if you can. Left leg, right leg, your body will follow. They call it walking. You want one as well, darling? You do? That's it. They're waking up. Treat the wife. Treat somebody else's wife. It's a lot more fun if you don't get caught. Hold on. You want one as well? Okay, darling, show me a bit of life then. It's no good standing out there like one o'clock half-struck. Buy them, you better buy them. These are not stolen, they just haven't been paid for, and we can't get them again, they've changed the bloody locks. Here. One for you. It's no good coming back later when I've sold out. "Too late, too late" will be the cry when the man with the bargains has passed you by. If you got no money on you now, you'll be crying tears as big as October cabbages.
Eddie: Bacon, cozzers!
Bacon: Shit.

Rory Breaker: What did you shoot him with, an air rifle?
Winston: Look, we grow weed. We're not mercenaries.
Rory Breaker: You don't say.

Eddie: Oh, and if Tom or anyone else for that matter feels like givin' them a bit of a kickin', I'm sure it won't do any harm.
Soap: Yeah, little bit of pain never hurt anybody. If you know what I mean. Also, I think knives are a good idea. Big, ****-off shiny ones. Ones that look like they could skin a crocodile. Knives are good, because they don't make any noise, and the less noise they make, the more likely we are to use them. Shit 'em right up. Makes it look like we're serious. Guns for show, knives for a pro.
Tom: Soap, is there something we should know about you?
Bacon: I'm not sure what's more worrying. The job or your past.

Barry the Baptist: ****ing northern monkeys!
Gary: I hate these ****ing southern fairies!

Hatchet Harry: You must be Eddie, J.D.'s son.
Eddie: Yeah. You must be Harry. Sorry, didn't know your father.
Hatchet Harry: Never mind son, you just might meet him if you carry on like that.

Rory Breaker: Your stupidity may be your one saving grace.
Nick the Greek: Uuugh?
Rory Breaker: Don't "uuugh" me, Greek boy! How is it, that your soon to be dead friends thought they might be able to steal my canabis, and then sell it back to me? Is this some white ****'s joke, that black ****s don't get? Coz I ain't ****in' laughing Nich-ohl-arse.

Gary: So who's the gov'? Who we doing this for?
Barry the Baptist: You're doing it for me, that's all you need to know. You know because you need to know.
Gary: I see. One of them "on a need to know basis" things is it? Like one of them James Bond films.
Barry the Baptist: Careful. Remember who's giving you this job.

Big Chris: I've got some bad news for you, John.
John: What the ****?
[Chris slamms top of tanning bed on John]
Big Chris: Mind your language in front of the boy!
John: Jesus Christ!
[Chris does it again]
Big Chris: That includes blasphemy as well!

Don: I'll fold.
Phil: Fold? Is that the only word you learnt at school?
Don: No, I also learned the word ****!

Bacon: What's that?
Samoan Joe's Barman: It's a ****tail. You asked for a ****tail.
Bacon: No. I asked you to give me a refreshing drink! I didn't expect a ****ing rainforest! You could fall in love with an orangutan in there! Bring me a pint.
Samoan Joe's Barman: You want a pint, you go to the pub.
Bacon: I thought this was a pub!
Samoan Joes Barman: It's a Samoan pub.

Dog: [indicates massive gun] What the **** is that?
Mickey: It's me Bren gun.
Dog: Couldn't you have thought of something more practical?

Barry the Baptist: Hello son, would you like a lolly?
Little Chris: Piss off, you nonce!

Paul: Come take a look at this.
Traffic Warden: Take a look at what, exactly?
Paul: Well, the van's half-full. So all I have to do is fill it up, put you in it, [knocks him out] and I'm off.

Tom: [after having just robbed Dog and his crew] Jesus, that wasn't too bad, was it?
Soap: When the bottle in my arse has contracted, I'll let you know.
Eddie: Bacon, see what we've got.
Bacon: Let's have a butcher's, eh?
[He inspects the loot]
Bacon: We've hit the jackpot, lads! We've got God-knows-how-much of this stinking weed, a shitload of cash... and a traffic warden.
Tom: What?
[Bacon holds up an unconscious man]
Tom: Jesus, Ed, we've got a traffic warden!
Bacon: I think he's still alive -- he's got claret coming out of him somewhere. What did they want with a traffic warden?
Eddie: I don't know, but I don't think we need him! Knock him out and dump him at the lights!
Bacon: Knock him out? What'd ya mean, knock him out? Knock him out with what?
Eddie: I don't know! Use your imagination!
[Bacon punches the Traffic Warden, who moans in pain.]
Tom: Don't touch him up! Knock him out!
Bacon: I'll knock you out in a minute! Look, you want to knock him out? You knock him out.
Eddie: I ****ing hate traffic wardens.
[After a pause, Tom and Eddie jump into the back of the van with Bacon; all three proceed to batter the Traffic Warden senseless.]

Bacon: The odds are a hundred to one. All we need is five grand.
Soap: I'd rather put my money on a three-legged rocking horse. The odds are a hundred to one for a good reason, Bacon. It won't win!

Tom: Listen to this one: You open a company called the Arse Tickler's ****s Fan Club.
Soap: You what?
Tom: You take out an advert in the back page of some gay mag, advertising the latest in arse-intruding dildos, you sell it with, I dunno, "does what no other dildo can do until now", "the latest and greatest in sexual technology", "guaranteed results or your money back", all that bollocks. Now these dils cost twenty-five quid a pop - as a snip for the amount of pleasure they're gonna give the recipients. But they send their cheques to the other company name, nothing offensive, er, Bobbie's Bits or something, for twenty-five quid. You take that twenty-five quid, you stick it in the bank until it clears. Now this is the smart bit - you send back the cheque for twenty-five pound from the other company name, "Arse Tickler's ****s Fan Club", saying, "We're sorry, we couldn't get the supplies from America because they run out of stock". Now you see how many people cash that cheque - not a single soul, because who wants their bank manager to know they tickle arse when they're not paying cheques?
Bacon: So how long do you have to wait until you see a return?
Tom: Probably no more than four weeks.
Bacon: A month? So, what ****ing good is that if we need it in six - no, five days?
Tom: Well, it's still a good idea.

Soap: Where'd you get these? A ****ing museum?
Tom: Nick the Greek.
Bacon: How much did you part with?
Tom: 700 for the pair.
Soap: Drachmas, I hope. I'd feel safer with a chicken drumstick. These are gonna do more harm than good.

Eddie: Where the hell are we gonna hide?
Bacon: Don't complicate things, just hide!

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