Full Metal Jacket

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Full Metal Jacket is a 1987 film that follows a group of recruits through a brutal Marine boot camp through their tour of duty in Vietnam.lp

Written and directed by Stanley Kubrick, based on the novel The Short-Timers by Gustav Hasford.
This is my Rifle, This is my gun. This is for fighting, This is for fun.taglines

Gunnery Sergeant Hartman[edit]

  • The deadliest weapon in the world is a Marine and his rifle. It is your killer instinct which must be harnessed if you expect to survive in combat. Your rifle is only a tool. It is a hard heart that kills. If your killer instincts are not clean and strong, you will hesitate at the moment of truth. You will not kill. You will become dead Marines. And then you will be in a world of shit. Because Marines are not allowed to die without permission! Do you maggots understand?
  • Today … is Christmas! There will be a magic show at 9:30! Chaplain Charlie will tell you about how the free world will conquer Communism with the aid of God and a few Marines! God has a hard-on for Marines, because we kill everything we see! He plays His games, we play ours! To show our appreciation for so much power, we keep heaven packed with fresh souls! God was here before the Marine Corps! So you can give your heart to Jesus, but your ass belongs to the Corps! Do you ladies understand?
  • Today, you people are no longer pukes. Today, you are Marines! You're part of a brotherhood. From now, until the day you die, every Marine is your brother! And remember this: Marines die; that's what we're here for. But the Marine Corps lives forever, and that means you live forever!


Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: I am Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, your senior drill instructor. From now on you will speak only when spoken to, and the first and last words out of your filthy sewers will be "sir," do you maggots understand that?
Recruits: [In unison in a normal speaking tone] Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Bullshit, I can't hear you! Sound off like you got a pair!
Recruits: [In unison, much louder] Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: If you ladies leave my island, if you survive recruit training, you will be a weapon. You will be a minister of death praying for war. But until that day, you are pukes. You are the lowest form of life on Earth. You are not even human beings. You are nothing but unorganized grabastic pieces of amphibian shit! Because I am hard, you will not like me. But the more you hate me, the more you will learn. I am hard, but I am fair. There is no racial bigotry here. I do not look down on niggers, kikes, wops or greasers. Here you are all equally worthless. And my orders are to weed out all non-hackers who do not pack the gear to serve in my beloved Corps. Do you maggots understand that?
Recruits: [In unison in a loud speaking tone] Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Bullshit, I can't hear you!
Recruits: [In unison, much louder] Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [To Private Snowball] What's your name, scumbag?
Private Snowball: Sir, Private Brown, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Bullshit! From now on, you're Private Snowball. Do you like that name?
Private Snowball: Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Well, there's one thing that you won't like, Private Snowball; They don't serve fried chicken and watermelon on a daily basis in my mess hall.
Private Snowball: Sir, yes, sir!
Private Joker: [In an old Western movie accent] "Is that you, John Wayne? Is this me?"
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Who said that? [angrily] WHO THE FUCK SAID THAT?! [Storming in the direction of Cowboy, Joker and Gomer Pyle] Who's the slimy little Communist shit twinkle-toe cocksucker down here who just signed his own death warrant?! Nobody, huh? The Fairy fucking Godmother said it! Out-fucking-standing! I will P.T. you all until you fucking die! [The "die!" is done directly in Joker's face] I'll P.T. you until your assholes are sucking buttermilk. [grabs Cowboy by the front of his shirt] Was it you, you scroungy little fuck, huh?!
Private Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: You little piece of shit, you look like a fucking worm; I'll bet it was you!
Private Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Private Joker: Sir, I said it, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [Lets go of Cowboy] Well, no shit. What have we got here, a fucking comedian? Private Joker, I admire your honesty. Hell, I like you. You can come over to my house and fuck my sister. [he socks Joker in the gut] You little scumbag! I got your name! I got your ass! You will not laugh! You will not cry! You will learn by the numbers! I will teach you! Now get up! Get on your feet! [Private Joker does so] You had best unfuck yourself, or I will unscrew your head and shit down your neck!
Private Joker: Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Private Joker, why did you join my beloved corps?
Private Joker: Sir, to kill, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: So you're a killer?
Private Joker: Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Let me see your war face!
Private Joker: Sir?
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: You got a war face?! [He exclaims very loudly and makes a face] That's a war face! Now let me see your war face!
Private Joker: [Private Joker exclaims very loudly but doesn't make a face]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Bullshit, you didn't convince me! Let me see your real war face!
Private Joker: [Private Joker exclaims very loudly and does make a face]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [unconvinced] You don't scare me; work on it.
Private Joker: Sir, yes, sir!

Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [To Cowboy] What's your excuse?
Private Cowboy: Sir, excuse for what, sir?
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: I'm asking the fucking questions here, private. Do you understand?
Private Cowboy: Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Well, thank you very much! Can I be in charge for a while?
Private Cowboy: Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Are you shook up? Are you nervous?
Private Cowboy: Sir, I am, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Do I make you nervous?
Private Cowboy: Sir?
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Sir what?! Are you about to call me an asshole?!
Private Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: How tall are you, private?
Private Cowboy: Sir, five-foot-nine, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Five-foot-nine, I didn't know they stacked shit that high! You trying to squeeze an inch in on me somewhere, huh?
Private Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Bullshit. It looks to me like the best part of you ran down the crack of your mama's ass and ended up as a brown stain on the mattress. I think you've been cheated. Where the hell are you from anyway, private?
Private Cowboy: Sir, Texas, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Holy dog shit! Texas? Only steers and queers come from Texas, Private Cowboy, and you don't look much like a steer to me so that kinda narrows it down. Do you suck dicks?
Private Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Are you a Peter puffer?
Private Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: I bet you're the kinda guy that would fuck a person in the ass and not even have the goddamn common courtesy to give him a reach-around. I'll be watching you!

[Gunnery Sergeant Hartman is inspecting the platoon before bedtime. The privates are in their white sleeping T-shirts and shorts, and are standing on their foot lockers. Hartman is looking at the sides of the foot lockers as he walks past. However, he stops. He sees something: the lock on Pyle's locker isn't locked.]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Jesus H. Christ. Private Pyle, why is your foot locker unlocked?!
Private Pyle: Sir, I don't know, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Private Pyle, if there is one thing in this world that I hate, it is an unlocked foot locker! You know that, don't you?!
Private Pyle: Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: If it wasn't for dickheads like you, there wouldn't be any thievery in this world, would there?!
Private Pyle: Sir, no, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: GET DOWN! [Private Pyle does so, and Hartman opens Private Pyle's foot locker, and takes out contents.] Well, now, let's just see if there's anything missing! [spills out contents, but sees something in Private Pyle's foot locker.] Holy Jesus. What is that? What the fuck is that? [Picks a jelly donut out of Private Pyle's foot locker, holding the jelly donut like a dead rat] What is that, Private Pyle?!
Private Pyle: Sir, a jelly donut, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: A jelly donut?!
Private Pyle: Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: How did it get here?
Private Pyle: Sir, I took it from the mess hall, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Is chow allowed in the barracks, Private Pyle?
Private Pyle: Sir, no, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Are you allowed to eat jelly donuts, Private Pyle?
Private Pyle: Sir, no, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: And why not, Private Pyle?
Private Pyle: Sir, because I'm too heavy, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Because you are a disgusting fat body, Private Pyle!
Private Pyle: Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Then why did you hide a jelly donut in your foot locker, Private Pyle?
Private Pyle: Sir, because I was hungry, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [in disbelief] Because you were hungry? [walks down the line of recruits, with the jelly donut still in hand] Private Pyle has dishonored himself and dishonored the platoon! I have tried to help him, but I have failed! I have failed because you have not helped me! You people have not given Private Pyle the proper motivation! [he turns around and walks the other way] So! From now on, whenever Private Pyle screws up, I will not punish him, I will punish all of you, and the way I see it, ladies, you owe me for one jelly donut! Now, get on your faces! [recruits get in front-leaning-rest position; he addresses Pyle again] Open your mouth! [Pyle does so and Hartman shoves the jelly donut into Pyle's mouth] They're paying for it, you eat it! [to recruits] Ready, exercise!
All privates besides Pyle: [loudly chanting over and over again, in synch with one another and in synch with press-ups] 1, 2, 3, 4, I, LOVE, MARINE, CORPS! [While this happens, Private Pyle eats the jelly donut Hartman shoved into his mouth, and he looks really guilty]

Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Tonight, you pukes will sleep with your rifles. You will give your rifle a girl's name, because this is the only pussy you people are going to get. Your days of finger-banging ol' Mary-Jane Rottencrotch through her pretty pink panties are over! You're married to this piece. This weapon of iron and wood. And you will be faithful. Port, hut!
[Recruits grab their rifles]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Prepare to mount!
[Recruits step back towards their bunks. The recruits who'll be sleeping on the upper bunk turn towards them and start climbing]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Mount!
[Recruits quickly hop onto their bunks]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Port, hut!
[Recruits grab their rifles and hold them up]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Pray!
Recruits: [reciting the Rifleman's Creed, in unison] This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my rifle is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy, who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will. Before God I swear this creed: my rifle and myself are defenders of my country, we are the masters of our enemy, we are the saviors of my life. So be it, until there is no enemy, but peace. Amen.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Order, hut!
[Recruits lay their rifles at their sides]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: At ease! [He turns the barrack lights off] Good night, ladies.
Recruits: [in unison]: Good night, sir!

:Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [referring to Lee Harvey Oswald and mass murderer Charles Whitman] Do any of you people know where these individuals learned how to shoot?
[Private Joker raises his hand]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Private Joker?
Private Joker: Sir, in the Marines, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: In the Marines! Outstanding! Those individuals showed what one motivated Marine and his rifle can do! And before you ladies leave my island, you will all be able to do the same thing!

[Joker is on night patrol. On his right (our left) is Hartman's bedroom; on his left (our right) is the head. Joker opens it and walks in; he finds Leonard (Private Pyle) in the head (toilet), loading his rifle]
Private Pyle: [eerily] Hi, Joker.
Private Joker: [concerned] Are those live rounds?
Private Pyle: 7.62 millimeter. [He puts more bullets in.] Full Metal Jacket.
Private Joker: [calmly] Leonard, if Hartman comes in here and catches us, we'll both be in a world of shit.
Private Pyle: I am... in a world...of shit!
[Private Pyle begins performing a series of rifle drills with flawless precision, shouting each command loudly.]
Private Pyle: Left shoulder, hut! [Spins rifle 360 degrees, slants it against his left shoulder] Right shoulder, hut! [Does the same, except slanting against his right shoulder] Lock and load! [loads his rifle] Order, hut! [Holds rifle by barrel, places it against his right leg]
[Private Pyle begins the Rifleman's Creed loudly. The other privates and Hartman wake up, and Hartman storms out of his room]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [to other recruits] Get back in your bunks! [storming into the head] What is this Mickey Mouse shit?! What in the name of Jesus H. Christ are you animals doing...in my head?! [to Joker] Why is Private Pyle out of his bunk after lights out?! Why is Private Pyle holding that weapon?! Why aren't you stomping Private Pyle's guts out?!
Private Joker: Sir, it is the private's duty to inform the senior drill instructor that Private Pyle has a full magazine, and has locked and loaded, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [to Pyle, slowly and strictly] Now, you listen to me, Private Pyle. And you listen good. I want that weapon, and I want it now. You will place the rifle on the deck at your feet, and step back away from it.
[Private Pyle grins insanely (and evilly), picks the rifle up and aims it at Hartman]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: What is your major malfunction, numbnuts?! Didn't Mommy and Daddy show you enough attention when you were a child?!
[Private Pyle shoots Hartman in his heart, killing him instantly, and aims at Joker]
Private Joker: Easy, Leonard. Go easy, man.
[Pyle sits on a toilet and puts the rifle's muzzle in his mouth]
Private Joker: NO!
[Pyle pulls the trigger and kills himself with blood splattering behind him.]

Colonel: Marine, what is that button on your body armor?
Joker: A peace symbol, sir!
Colonel: Where'd you get it?
Joker: I don't remember, sir!
Colonel: What is that you've got written on your helmet?
Joker: "Born to kill", sir!
Colonel: You write "born to kill" on your helmet, and you wear a peace button. What's that supposed to be, some kind of sick joke?
Joker: No, sir!
Colonel: What is it supposed to mean?
Joker: I don't know, sir!
Colonel: You don't know very much, do you?
Joker: No, sir!
Colonel: You better get your head and your ass wired together, or I will take a giant shit on you!
Joker: Yes, sir!
Colonel: Now answer my question or you'll be standing tall before the man!
Joker: I think I was trying to suggest something about the duality of man, sir!
Colonel: The what?
Joker: The duality of man. The Jungian thing, sir!
Colonel: Whose side are you on, son?
Joker: Our side, sir!
Colonel: Don't you love your country?
Joker: Yes, sir!
Colonel: Then how 'bout getting with the program? Why don't you jump on the team and come on in for the big win?
Joker: Yes, sir!
Colonel: Son, all I've ever asked of my Marines is for them to obey my orders as they would the word of God. We are here to help the Vietnamese, because inside every gook there is an American trying to get out. It's a hard-ball world, son. We've gotta try to keep our heads until this peace craze blows over!
Joker: [salutes] Aye-aye, sir!


  • This is my rifle. This is my gun. This is for Fighting (the rifle), this is for fun (holding their crotch).
  • In Vietnam The Wind Doesn't Blow It Sucks
  • Vietnam can kill me, but it can't make me care
  • Born to Kill


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