Generation Terrorists

Quotes [new quotes]
Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels
Guy Ritchie

EDDY: Three card brag is a simple form of poker; you are dealt only three cards and these you can't change. If you don't look at your cards you're a `blind man' and you only put in half the stake. Three of any kind is the highest you can get: the odds are four hundred and twenty-five to one. Then it's a running flush - you know, all the same suit running in order; then a straight, then a flush, then a pair, and finally whatever the highest card you are holding. There are some tell-tale signs that are valuable; I am not going to tell you them because it took me long enough to learn them, but these can only help a player, not make one. So you want to play?

BACON: See these goods, they never seen daylight, moonlight, Israelite, Fanny-by-the-gas-light. If you can't see value here today you're not up here shopping, you're up here shoplifting. Take a bag, take a bag. I took a bag, I took a bag home last night and she cost a lot more than ten pounds I can tell ya. Tell me if I am going too cheap. Not ninety, not eighty, not forty, half that and half that again, that's right, ten pounds. Don't think 'cos it's sealed up it's an empty box. The only man who sells empty boxes is the undertaker, and by the look of some of you here today I would make more money with me measuring tape.

EDDY: The reason he is called BACON is he spent so much of his youth in the police station that people thought he was one of them.

SOAP: Cupid stupid! That's the last time I am getting any more fruit off you Tom. Call that fresh? There was more small hairy armoured things in your fruit than there was fruit. You should open a butcher's, not a grocer's.

HATCHET: It seems Lord Appleton Smythe has run out of money, and these little beauties are up for auction, but I am not paying quarter of a million quid for 'em, if you know what I mean Barry. One of my associates has given me an address and the location of these lovelies. Make sure we get everything from inside the gun cabinet. I don't want to know who you use, as long as they are not complete muppets; and don't tell them what they're worth.

TOM: So, a reasonable return should be in the region of one hundred and twenty, for twenty-five grand invested. That's going on previous experiences.

SOAP: That's going on optimism.

BIG CHRIS: This is one of those high-powered numbers, isn't it? Got some bad news for you, John.

JOHN O'DRISCOLL: What the fu-!

BIG CHRIS: Mind your language in front of my boy.

JOHN O'DRISCOLL: Jesus Christ!

BIG CHRIS: That includes blasphemy as well.

BIG CHRIS: Tell me John, how you can concentrate on improving a lovely tan, and it is a lovely tan by the way, when you have more pressing priorities at hand?

LITTLE CHRIS: He's not poor. Five hundred and sixty pounds and that's just in his wallet... Fuckin' 'ell John, you always walk around with that in your pocket?

BIG CHRIS: Oi! Next time you use language like that, boy, you'll wish you hadn't!


WINSTON: Charles, why have we got this cage?

CHARLIE: Er, for security.

WINSTON: That's right, for security. So tell me, Charles, what's the point in having it if we don't fucking use it?

CHARLIE: Well, because it's Willy and Willy lives here.

WINSTON: Yes Charlie, but you didn't know it was Willy, did you?

WILLY: Chill, Winston, it's me and Charlie can see it's me, so what's the problem?

WINSTON: The problem is, Willy, that Charlie and yourself are not the quickest of cats in the alley at the best of times, so just do as I say and keep the fucking cage locked.

WINSTON: What are you carrying, Willy?

WILLY: Er, fertilizer.

WINSTON: You went out six hours ago to buy a money counter and you come back carrying two bags of fertilizer. Alarm bells are ringing, Willy.

WILLY: We need fertilizer, Winston.

WINSTON: We also need a fucking money counter, William! We have to get the money out by Thursday and I'll be buggered if I am counting it... and if you have to get your sodding fertilizer, couldn't you be a little more subtle?

WILLY: What do you mean?

WINSTON: I mean we grow copious amounts of ganja, and you don't look like your average hort-er-fucking-culturalist, that's what I mean, Willy.

GARY: Shotguns? What, like guns that fire shot?

BARRY: Oh, you must be the brains then. That's right, guns that fire shot... Make sure you bring everything from inside the gun cabinet. There will be a load of guns, that's all I want. I'll pay you when you deliver. Everything outside the cabinet you can keep; it's yours.

GARY: Oh, thanks very much. And there had better be something there for us.

BARRY: It's a fucking stately home, of course there'll be something there.

DEAN: Like what?

BARRY: Like antiques.

DEAN: Antiques? What the fuck do we know about antiques? We rob post offices and steal cars, what the fuck do we know about antiques?

BARRY: If it looks old, it's worth money, simple. So stop fucking moaning and rob the place.

DOORMAN: Invitations.

EDDY: Invitations?

DOORMAN: Yeah invitations, you know a pretty white piece of paper with your name on it.

EDDY: Well we have got about a hundred thousand pretty pieces of paper with the Queen on it. Will that do?

PHIL/DON: All right Ed. Apparently it's for security.

EDDY: I would have brought my gloves if I had known.

HATCHET: You must be Eddy. JD's son.

EDDY: Yup, you must be Harry? Sorry, I didn't know your father.

SOAP: What sort of a pub is this then?

SAMOAN JO: A Samoan one. Anything else?

BACON: What's that?

SAMOAN JO: A cocktail, you asked for a cocktail.

BACON: No, I asked you to give me a refreshing drink. I wasn't expecting a fucking rainforest; you could fall in love with an orang-utan in that.

SAMOAN JO: You want a pint, go to the pub.

BACON: I thought this was a pub.

SAMOAN JO: It's a Samoan pub.

BACON: Well whatever it is, could you get your man to turn the TV down?

SAMOAN JO: You ask him if you like, but I would leave him to it if I was you.

BACON: Excuse me, could you turn the TV down?


CROUPIER: This is three card brag, gentlemen. That means that three threes is the highest, then three aces and then running down accordingly; then it's a running flush, a run, a flush, then a pair: An open man can't see a blind man, and it will cost you twice the anti to see your opponent. Don't fuck around, fellas; you all know the rules and you know I won't stand for it.

EDDY: I knew he was bluffing, but somehow the worst card player round the table had fucked me like a frozen virgin with a pair of sevens. A series of blows to my head with a baseball bat would have been greeted with a grin compared to this. Ten minutes earlier, I was two hundred thousand pounds richer; now I owed half a million.

BACON: Let me tell you about Hatchet Harry. Once there was this geezer called Smithy Robinson who worked for Harry. It was rumoured that he was on the take. Harry invited Smithy round for an explanation. Smithy didn't do a very good job. Within a minute Harry lost his temper and reached for the nearest thing at hand, which happened to be a fifteen-inch black rubber cock. He then proceeded to batter poor Smithy to death with this; that was seen as a pleasant way to go... Hence, Hatchet Harry is a man you pay if you owe.

BACON: The odds are one hundred to one so all we need is five grand.

SOAP: I would 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 then; you open a company called the Arse Tickler's Faggot Fan Club. You take an advert in the back page of some gay mag, advertising the latest in arse-intruding dildos, sell it a bit with, er... I dunno, `does what no other dildo can do until now', latest and greatest in sexual technology. Guaranteed results or money back, all that bollocks. These dills cost twenty-five each; a snip for all the pleasure they are going to give the recipients. They send a cheque to the company name, nothing offensive, er, Bobbie's Bits or something, for twenty-five. You put these in the bank for two weeks and let them clear. Now this is the clever bit. Then you send back the cheques for twenty-five pounds from the real company name, Arse Tickler's Faggot Fan Club, saying sorry, we couldn't get the supply from America, they have sold out. Now you see how many of the people cash those cheques; not a single soul, because who wants his bank manager to know he tickles arses when he is not paying in cheques!

HATCHET: What do you know about Chris, eh? You put Big Chris on a job and he will make sure it gets done, no matter what's in his way. His dad used to collect debts and his dad before that, and that monster of a boy will after he has gone. It seems that the Almighty himself requested them to collect debts for eternity and not to fear knocking on old Nick's door himself, if he was behind on his payment. But he has never nicked a picker in his life. Straight as an arrow and as strong as the bow that fired it. If you dropped your tenner he would search till he found ya... the only problem is he isn't stable, has a temper like a runaway train, and he hits twice as hard. Heaven protect anyone who touches that boy, not that the boy needs protecting.

BARRY: Hello son, would you like a lolly?

LITTLE CHRIS: Piss off you nonce!

BIG CHRIS: Oi, watch it!

EDDY: All right, but for Christ's sake we're in the soup and this is the silver spoon. If you can think of another way to get out, let me know. It's not like we've got all the time in the world either... Dig?

BACON: I am game.

TOM: Me too.

SOAP: Oh, god!

EDDY: Well, we hit them as soon as they come back. We'll be waiting and prepared for them. And they are armed.

SOAP: What was that, armed? What do you mean, armed? Armed with what?

EDDY: Er, bad breath, colourful language and a feather duster!... What do you think they will be armed with? Guns, you tit!

SOAP: Guns! You never said anything about guns. A minute ago this was the safest job in the world, now it's turning in to a bad day in Bosnia...

EDDY: Jesus, Soap, stop being such a mincer. I thought about that and...

SOAP: And what exactly?

EDDY: And we will just have to find out who's going to be carrying them.

SOAP: Carrying them. They could all be carrying them for what we know.

EDDY: No, just one of them is in charge of them going to the job. So I assume he will still be carrying when he comes back from the job.

SOAP: Oh, you assume, do ya? What do they say about assumption being the brother of all fuck-ups?

TOM: It's the mother of fuck-ups, stupid!

SOAP: Well, excuse me, brother, mother or any other sucker, doesn't make any difference, they are still fucking guns, and they still fire fucking bullets!

RORY: Nick, I don't have anything to do with weed, normally, but if it is what he says it is, I'll give him three and a half thousand a key, that's if it is what he says it is. I don't want to see it after a sample, I don't want to touch it after a sample. I'll leave you in the capable hands of Nathan here. He will work out the details, but let me get this straight. If the milk turns out to be sour, I ain't the kind of pussy who will drink it. Know what I mean?

DEAN: Next time we do a job like this we gonna want more money, or we are going back to post offices and cars.

BARRY: Where're the others?

DEAN: There are no others.

BARRY: Now, stop fucking around. The others, the old ones?

DEAN: I don't know what you mean.

BARRY: There were two old guns there; where are they?

DEAN: Not in the cabinet there wasn't. There was a couple of old hammer-lock muskets the butler was carrying; they were ours, and we sold 'em!

TOM: Jesus, if I pick them up, will they stay in one piece? Where did you get them from?

NICK: I got contacts. Listen Tom, if you pointed them at me I'd shit myself or do whatever you said to do. Either way you still get the desired effect.

TOM: They look nice, I agree... but lacking in criminal credibility, aren't they? I might get laughed at. How much do you want for these muskets?

NICK: Seven hundred each.

TOM: What's that, a pound for every year they have been around? I know they're antiques, but I ain't paying antique prices. Pause. And they're a bit long, aren't they?

NICK: Sawn-offs are out, Tom; people like to have a bit more range nowadays.

TOM: Range? I don't want to blow the arse out of this country, granted, but I don't want anybody blowing a raspberry at me either. I want to look fucking mean.

NICK: Of course you will look mean, Tom, you will look really scary.

BIG CHRIS: He likes your bar.

JD: Yes?

BIG CHRIS: He wants your bar.

JD: And?

BIG CHRIS: Do you want me to draw a picture?

JD: Look, that boy doesn't know his arsehole from his ear-hole. This bar is mine, and he has nothing to do with it.

BIG CHRIS: What, and I care? Remember, you do have the luxurious advantage of being able to sustain your son's life.

JD: And you do have a reputation, so I'll choose my words carefully. Tell Harry to go fuck himself.

SOAP: Where did you get those from, a museum?

TOM: Nick the Greek.

BACON: How much did you part with?

TOM: Seven hundred for the pair.

SOAP: Drachmas, I hope. I would feel safer with a chicken drumstick. They could do more harm than good.

SOAP: Ladies, if you don't mind, back to a more important issue. We've only got two real guns... apparently that's what they are. We find a good place to hide next door. When it sounds like the right time, we jack in the box, look nasty and stuff, cocoon them in gaffer tape, then we nick their van and swap the gear into a new van and then bring it back here. As long as we are all out of our hiding places quickly, it's the last thing they'll expect. If Tom and anyone else feels like kicking them around a bit I am sure it won't do any harm. A bit of pain never hurt any one (thinking about it) if you know what I mean... Also, I think knives are a good idea, you know, big fuck-off shiny knives, the ones that look like they could skin a crocodile. Knives are good because they don't make any noise, and the less noise the more we're likely to use them. That'll shit 'em up and make us look like pros.

TOM: Is there something we should know about you, Soap?

BACON: I am not sure what's more worrying, the job or your past.

SOAP: What are you doing, Ed?

EDDY: Do you want one?

SOAP: No I fucking don't! You can't make a cup of tea, Edward.

EDDY: Why not? The whole of the British Empire was built on cups of tea.

SOAP: And look what happened to that.

EDDY: If you think I am going to war without one, you're mistaken, mate.

EDDY: Bacon, see what we got.

BACON: Let's have a butcher's. Jesus, there's lots of everything. We've got god knows how much of this stinking weed; we've got a shit load of cash; and we've got a... traffic warden.

TOM: A what?

BACON: A traffic warden. Look, what's this?

TOM: Shit 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?

RORY: Your one saving grace might be your stupidity.


RORY: Don't fucking er me, Greek boy! How is it that your so-fucking-stupid, soon-to-be-dead friends thought they might be able to steal my gear? And then sell it back to me? Is this a declaration of war? Is this some sort of white cunts' joke that black cunts don't get? 'Cos I am not fucking laughing, Nik-ol-as.


RORY: There are four interests I have, Nick. Football, music, money, and the annihilation of anybody who interferes with that shortlist... I know you couldn't have known my position because you're not so fucking stupid that if you did know, you would turn up here scratching your arse, with that `what's going on here' look slapped on your Chevy Chase. But what you do know is where these people live.

If you hold anything back, I'll kill you. If you bend the truth, or if I think you're bending the truth, I'll kill you. If you forget anything, I'll kill you. In fact, you're going to have to work very hard to stay alive, Nick. I hope you understand everything I have said. Because if you don't, I'll kill you. Now, Mr Bubble and Squeak. You may now enlighten me.

TOM: This guy Rory Breaker can afford to do the deal at the price we are selling. It's not worth him giving us trouble; he knows we would be a pain in the arse, and who wants a pain in the arse?

SOAP: I would take a pain in the arse for half a million.

TOM: You would take a pain ín the arse full stop.

TOM: There's six black cocks sitting on the side of the road. How many beaks have they got between them?

SOAP: Six.

TOM: How many wings have they got between them?

SOAP: Twelve.

TOM: How many feet?

SOAP: Er, well, twelve.

TOM: That's right. So how many whiskers has the little white kitten got?

SOAP: How the fuck should I know?

TOM: How come you know so much about black cocks and so little about white pussy?

HATCHET: How did you get your hands on these?

BIG CHRIS: The boys had 'em. I know you like these things; wondered if you wanted them?

HATCHET: Er, yeah, sure, I'll have 'em.

BARRY: Was it any trouble getting the money?

BIG CHRIS: Well, not especially, but they seem to of upset a few characters.

HATCHET: Have you counted the money?

BIG CHRIS: Yeah, it's all there, to the pound.

HATCHET: They were going to pay, then?

BIG CHRIS: It looks like ít, but who knows? The opportunity was there. In my experience it is best to take the opportunity if it is there.

SOAP: Well, what's going on?

EDDY: I don't know, but what I do know is that there's no more Harry, which means there's no more debt, and if there's no more debt there's no more problem, and there's no more problem with our neighbours because they are all dead. I think, if I get this right, we haven't done anything wrong anyway, which means we are in the clear.

EDDY: The traffic warden went to the morgue and recognized Dog and his lot so that put us sort of in the clear. They got no case against us because there is no evidence against us.

BACON: Apart from those shotguns.

EDDY: And Tom took care of them.

SOAP: You did take care of the guns, didn't you, Tom?

TOM: I wanted to talk to you about that.

BACON: Well, talk.

TOM: Well not exactly, no; I got 'em sitting in the car, actually; I thought we might sell them back to the Greek, but I am having a bit of a problem getting hold of him.

BACON: You dippy bastard.

EDDY: The only item that connects us with the crime is sitting in your car which is sitting outside?

TOM: We paid seven hundred quid for those guns. They could hardly trace them to you, could they?

SOAP: I don't think we will take the risk for seven hundred quid.

EDDY: Tom, go and throw those guns off a bridge.

BACON: And, throw yourself off while you're at it.

SOAP: Now, Tom!


BIG CHRIS: It seems that Hatchet under-estimated your lot and that seems to have cost him... I am not going to make the same mistake, am I? I have decided to bring your bag back.

EDDY: Thank you.

BIG CHRIS: Now you have presented me with a problem. I don't have an employer any more. So I have taken care of myself and my son, and if you think that is unfair you just come and pay me a little visit; but you better be waving the white flag high and clear, otherwise it will be the last little visit you lot ever make... That's all I had to say. It's been emotional.

BIG CHRIS: That should take care of that lot. We are now officially in the money-loaning business, all right, son?

LITTLE CHRIS: All right, Dad.

BIG CHRIS: Well, put your seatbelt on then.

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