Tom There's no money, there's no weed. It's all been replaced by a pile of corpses.
More lines from Tom
3 quotes Tom Tom They're lacking in a criminal credibility, ain't they? I might get laughed at.
Tom Listen to this one: You open a company called the Arse Tickler's ****s Fan Club. 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 ran 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?
Scenes with Tom
9 scenes
Weed?
Tom Nah, it's not normal weed. Some ****-up skunk, class A, can't-think-let-a-lone-move shit.
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?
I know a man, yes.... Rory Breaker.
Tom Not that mad-man with an Afro. I don't want anything to do with him.
You won't have to, just get me a sample.
Tom Ahh, no can do.
What's that? A place near Katmandu? Meet me halfway, mate.
Tom Look, it's all completely chicken soup.
It's what?
Tom It's kosher. As Christmas.
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
This is a bit heavy. This is London, not the Lebanon, who do you think I am?
Tom Think you're Nick the Greek.
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.
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.
Tom, the fatter you get, the sadder you get.
Will you two stop flirting for a minute?
Rory Breaker? That psychotic black dwarf with an Afro?
Tom That would be the same man, yes.
Have a look at these. [hands Tom a ski mask]
Tom What are we supposed to do with these?
Put them on your head, stupid.
Tom Christ.
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 Right...er, good thinking, Soap. Well done.
I brought weapons as well.
Tom What do you mean weapons?
Tom Jesus! [grabs the bundle and rerolls it] Let's keep 'em covered up, eh? Couldn't you get anything bigger?
Tom I think you need help.
Tom It comes with a gold-plated Rolls Royce, as long as you pay for it.
...
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 **** Century!" In fact, **** it Nick, I think I'll keep it!
Alright alright, keep your Alans on!
Tom, Eddie
Jesus Christ!
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?
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.
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.
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?
I'm not sure what's more worrying. The job or your past.
Tom [after having just robbed Dog and his crew]
Jesus, that wasn't too bad, was it?
When the bottle in my arse has contracted, I'll let you know.
Bacon, see what we've got.
Let's have a butcher's, eh?
[He inspects the loot]
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?
Tom [Bacon holds up an unconscious man]
Jesus, Ed, we've got a traffic warden!
I think he's still alive -- he's got claret coming out of him somewhere. What did they want with a traffic warden?
I don't know, but I don't think we need him! Knock him out and dump him at the lights!
Knock him out? What'd ya mean, knock him out? Knock him out with what?
I don't know! Use your imagination!
Tom [Bacon punches the Traffic Warden, who moans in pain.]
Don't touch him up! Knock him out!
I'll knock you out in a minute! Look, you want to knock him out? You knock him out.
I **** 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.]
Tom Listen to this one: You open a company called the Arse Tickler's ****s Fan Club.
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?
So how long do you have to wait until you see a return?
Tom Probably no more than four weeks.
A month? So, what **** good is that if we need it in six - no, five days?
Tom Well, it's still a good idea.
Where'd you get these? A **** museum?
Tom Nick the Greek.
How much did you part with?
Tom 700 for the pair.
Drachmas, I hope. I'd feel safer with a chicken drumstick. These are gonna do more harm than good.
