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Little Fish, Strange Pond

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Little Fish, Strange Pond is a 2009 American black comedy indie film that follows Mr. Jack, an Anglophilic self-imagined actor and Sweet Stephen, a thuggish frat boy, who are two serial killers who spend their days wandering Los Angeles contemplating life and philosophy with a police detective investigating their crimes.

Directed by Gregory Dark and written by Robert Dean Klein.
Keep you friends and your enemies closer. taglines

Bucky

[edit]
  • Don't fuck around.

Norma

[edit]
  • Gee, if you're not Stephanie Sinclair, and I'm not Stephanie Sinclair, and this is Stephanie Sinclair's apartment, then what the fuck are we all doing here?

Dialogue

[edit]
Dennis Rivers: Sweet Stephen, are you evil?
Sweet Stephan: Isn't everybody?
Mr. Jack: You see, Sweet Stephen, that's why I love you. To each his own. I still say you'd have to be fucking lunatic to ride the subway. Bonkers! Are you bonkers, sir? The man is fucking animal crackers.
Bucky: $9.95.
Customer: And a jar of vaseline.
Bucky: Big night planned, do ya?
Customer: I guess so.
Bucky: The vaseline's on the house.
...
Sweet Stephen: You ever notice there's three types of porn?
Mr. Jack: Strangely enough, I've never given it a thought.
Sweet Stephen: You've got your old-school smut- Marilyn Chambers, Rhonda Jo Petty, Seka. This was before breast implants and liposuction, so they really had to know how to fuck.
Customer: Thank you, Bucky.
Sweet Stephen: Then you've got your next wave of porn, okay? Ginger Lynn, Jenna Jameson- Femmes fatales. Oh, I have yet to mention... ah! Traci Lords. The plotlines got weaker but the titties go bigger.
Mr. Jack: Fascinating.
Sweet Stephen: Which leads me to our third kind: a montage- no plotline at all.
Mr. Jack: What a wonderful dissertation.
Sweet Stephen: But through it all, I've seen one common denominator.
Mr. Jack: Cheesy music?
Sweet Stephen: No, one consistent factor.
Mr. Jack: Is this your conclusion?
Sweet Stephen: Ron Jeremy.
Mr. Jack: Excuse me?
Sweet Stephen: Ron fucking Jeremy, the Cary Grant of penises.
Mr. Jack: A poet, that's what you are.
Sweet Stephen: Why, thank you. Of course, now with the internet, the girls are-
Mr. Jack: Oy! Aren't you a little young to be in here?!
Customer: I'm a midget.
Mr. Jack: Midgets! We were just talking about you people! Stephen heel. Come her. Ha, nice lad. Have fun. Ah, youth.
[Studio audience din]
Dennis Rivers: [Talking to guest, a prepubescent boy; Kenny] Kenny? You... shot your innocent hardworking parents to death. How do you feel about that?! [Audience chatters]
Kenny: Uh, I- I don't know.
Dennis Rivers: You don't- You don't know?!
Kenny: I don't know.
Dennis Rivers: No, you don't- you don't know. Kenny, you're nothing but a little punk!
[Studio audience chants "Dennis"]
Dennis Rivers: Okay, Kenny, help me out here, okay buddy? 'Cause I'm trying to understand, what would make you take that long walk down the hallway and I'm just- I'm just- I'm not getting it!
[Bucky brings out toolbox from under desk and opens it]
Bucky: I have some good shit here- Something new, something special. I'm not quite sure if you can handle it.
Mr. Jack: What have you got for me, Bucky?
Bucky: I got something you can slam, I got something you can snort, I got something you can swallow, I got something you can chew, I got something you can smoke, you still like weed? H?
Mr. Jack: No.
Bucky: How about meth?
Mr. Jack: I think not. I want your something special.
Bucky: Let me tell you something, Mr. Jack. People come to me for one reason, and that's because I sell the best shit in the city, in addition to the best pornographic cinema from her to Venice. And people that do come in her, they know my one rule. And that's; "Don't fuck around". I made that up. I made that sign. Remember that little squirt that was in here earlier? Well, he lived by my credo. He knew what he wanted and he didn't fuck around. And I respected him for it. That's why I sold him his first film. And he's gonna be more of a man that you and I could ever dream to be. Now, Mr. Jack-from-the-Outback.
Mr. Jack: I'm not from Australia
Bucky: Like I give a fuck where you're from. If you'd quit fucking around and tell me what you want, we'd both be happier men, you see? I mean-
Mr. Jack: Did you ever think maybe, just maybe, you're full of shit?
Bucky: I'm full of shit?!
Mr. Jack: Well Bucky, I'm calling a spade a spade and a hypocrite the same. You want me to ask for your something special.
Bucky: Well, I did. So pull in the line you've been fishing with, because if fucking around were a beauty pageant, you'd have a gold sash around your waist right now. Know what I mean? [Laughs] I like your style Mr. Jack. I don't like your clothes, but I like your style. So... ahem. This is what I've been talking about. It's the, um, something special.
Mr. Jack: What's the damage?
Bucky: What, to your body?
Mr. Jack: No, to my wallet.
Bucky: First one's free.
Mr. Jack: Oh, I like that price. Well, here's to something special.
...
Bucky: Oh, fuck.
Philly: Hey, Mr. Red Eyes? Mr. Red Eyes? You ever been in a robbery? Come one. [Snaps finger] Store clerk! And store owner? First name Bucky. And unknown customer #2, get a way from the back room, and join unknown customer #1 and come forward. Hello.
Bucky: Okay, what do you want? And let's speak candidly here, because I have this credo that I live by- Don't fuck around, friend.
Philly: Oh, give this man a cigar!
Bucky: Yeah, that's my motto. You want some dough? The bakery's open. You might need me to help-
Philly: Bucky, stop talking!
Bucky: Okay, alright!
Philly: Sit! Sit! Sit! Sit! God damn it. Okay, introductions. My name is Philly. You won't be learning my last name, but don't- let me get you down. It's an unremarkable name. I'm the robber and you're my victims.
Mr. Jack: Um...
Philly: Yes?
Mr. Jack: Victims?
Philly: Just poor choice of words. Ah, I am the holder-upper and you are my holder-uppees, better?
Mr. Jack: Better, thank you.
Philly: Good. Oh. Real quick about me- I live here in L.A, anybody else here from L.A.? You gotta love this city, right? Little crime problem though, you know? This guy I know- real fucking criminal- He follows this other guy on foot for half a mile west. Finally, the other guy hangs a right. Hi, Buddy. Follows him. Son of bitch turns around, mugs him. It's getting dangerous out there. [Laughs] Getting dangerous. Getting dang- Oh. This is my first robbery. Uh, I've driven getaway a few times. And this is my first lead job. Here at the beautiful Skin To Win Escapade. And I am damn glad to be here. Oh, two- intentions and request, my intention is to rob you. And I would recommend that you do it with no lip. Or as Bucky, as you so eloquently said; "Don't fuck around", right? So, without further ado, I would like you all to empty your pockets. Oh. [Shoots store employee] Oh god, that must have come off as really crass. Uh, sir? Come here. Come on, come on, come one. Okay, I- I should explain. All right? I got this list. It's my first robbery. I brought along a running order of how things should be done correctly, chronologically. And this list was made by the best- Mr. Lavel Johnson.
Bucky: Who the fuck is Lavel Johnson?
Philly: Have some, uh, respect for the dead, Bucky. See, first I did #1, the introduction. I said my name and a few things about me. And then I did #3- the intention and the request. You know, I said what I was doing and what I wanted you to do. But you see what I did there, right? Is I skipped over #2. Right? The seriousness factor, which involved wasting a clerk. I mean, you do that, nobody in their right mind is going to give you any shit. "And if you've got someone not in their right mind, that's called dumb luck. You just got to say a prayer. And ride that storm out- Lavel Johnson, 2004. Yeah?
Stephen: What's #4?
Philly: Ah. Oh. [Laughs] We really should just press on.
Stephen: Some of the titles are funny.
Bucky: Just take what you want and get out already. How long is this gonna fucking take?!
Philly: Don't mistake the fact that I did not kill the store owner for a sign that anybody is in charge besides me. Do you have any of Traci Lords' early work?
Bucky: You like Traci Lords?
Philly: You too?
Bucky: No, I don't. It is illegal to carry them. She was 14 when she made them, for Christ's sake.
Mr. Jack: Excuse me? Question. You're robbing a porno store? What of it? Why would anyone do such a thing?
Philly: [Laughs] My own business, my own reasons, that's why.
Mr. Jack: Well, you mind if I think on it awhile? I'm amazingly resourceful when it comes to things like this
Philly: Sure, give it some thought. What's your name?
Mr. Jack: Mr. Jack.
Sweet Stephen: Sweet Stephen.
Philly: I was talking to Mr. Jack so you can shut your cake.
Sweet Stephen: "Shut your cake". [Laughs]
Philly: I like the accent, Mr. Jack. Liverpool.
Mr. Jack: Sort of.
Sweet Stephen: He's not from England.
Philly: Cake!
Mr. Jack: Nice name you've got, Philly.
Philly: Nope.
Mr. Jack: Philadelphia?
Philly: Minnesota by way of Mississippi.
Mr. Jack: Big cream-cheese fan then?
Philly: Hate the stuff.
Mr. Jack: What are you doing here? You don't seem the type to frequent sleazy video stores.
Philly: I'm getting in touch with my manly side.
Mr. Jack: Oh.
Philly: What about you?
Mr. Jack: I'm making ends meet. Or making the ends justify the means.
Philly: What?!
Mr. Jack: You know what I mean. You rob a porno store; you carry a list- a list written by a dead man. You didn't have to kill that guy, you know? A few well-placed threats, we'd have been in your hands. But you need to follow a list. Do you even have a getaway plan? Dillinger you're not, my friend. And I'm sure you're aware of the multiple surveillance cameras?
Philly: Well, maybe you're right. Maybe I should start making my own decisions. Decisions on my own. I mean, I can just see those headlines: "Porn store robbery becomes bloodbath. No suspects."
Mr. Jack: No, it's not in your nature.
Sweet Stephen: No, it's not in your nature.
Bucky: What the fuck is this?! "My robbery with Andre"?! Jesus Christ!
Philly: What the fuck are you talking about?! I killed this guy.
Mr. Jack: I hate to keep harping on this, but the only reason you killed that guy was because of that list. Face it, man. You're no killer. In order to kill someone- to really kill someone, you've got to want it.
Sweet Stephen: Yeah.
Philly: Hmm? If I kill- If I killed Bucky- If I- If I put this gun up his ass, pulled the trigger till his colon said; "No más"... Could the two of you admit that I could be a killer?
Mr. Jack: I think you could do anything you want. But I don't think you have to do anything you don't want. You're not gonna do it. You're not gonna do it. You're not gonna do it. You're not gonna do it.
Philly: The fuck I won't.
Mr. Jack: [Sing song] You're not gonna do it. You're not gonna do it. You're not gonna do it. You're not gonna do it. You're not gonna do it. You're not gonna do it.
Philly: Ah! God damn it! You're right. I can't kill this man. No, I cannot kill this man because I do not want to. You two on the other hand, I think maybe I could work with. [Philly is shot by Tommy square in the forehead and falls down]
[Studio applause]
Dennis Rivers: Please, please, please, excuse me. [Voice breaks] I'm- I don't- I don't like losing it like this in front of you people, you know? Sometimes it's hard to be the rock, the one that takes it on the chin, the strong on, the one that presses through, some tough guy to be the father, mother, brother and friend of every guest on this stage. Do if I- if I lost it every now and then, then that's the price of a live TV show, okay? You know? And it's about you, ma'am.
Woman: Oh my god!
Dennis Rivers: And it's about you. And you, sir. And you. And about you, Kenny Edwards. [Applause fades out]
Tommy: Well, looks I've got just about everything I need.
Sweet Stephen: Sir, how- how'd you spell my name?
Tommy: Hmm?
Sweet Stephen: It- I spell it with a p-h, you know? S-t-e-p-h-e-n. Not s-t-e-v-e-n.
Tommy: Got it. And Sweet is with two e's, I suppose?
Sweet Stephen: Perfect, thank you.
Tommy: So the guy was really robbing a porno store, hmm? Mr. Jack? Why do you think this guy was robbing the Skin To Win?
Mr. Jack: I have no idea, 'cause it's a strange choice.
Tommy: Oh, I almost forgot, I got Bucky's statement right before I took yours. He said- and I'm paraphrasing so not to offend you two- uh, that you are both unwelcome in his store from now until forever.
Sweet Stephen: Banned?
Mr. Jack: Banished?
Sweet Stephen: Exiled?
Mr. Jack: Fuckin' horrible.
Tommy: You two got a thing together, like a talking thing.
Mr. Jack: Like we-
Sweet Stephen: -talk over each other?
Mr. Jack: Never.
Sweet Stephen: Ever.
Mr. Jack: You made a real mess of old Philly back there. Let me guess; he didn't make it, did he?
Tommy: No. No, he didn't.
Sweet Stephen: I almost shit my pants when you shot him in the head,
Mr. Jack: Mind you, he wouldn't have it any other way.
Tommy: You two are fucking strange.
Mr. Jack: Well, we're free to go then?
Tommy: No. Yeah, you can go.
Mr. Jack: Ah, you!
Tommy: There's someplace I gotta be right now- disturbance complaint.
Mr. Jack: I want to thank you, Tommy the cop. Of course, all you really did was walk into a situation you had no control over, pull out your gun, fire it like Sam Peckinpah just cried "action".
Tommy: I guess that's right.
[Mr. Jack and Sweet Stephen out walking in the Skid Row]
Sweet Stephan: So, he-hey, do you know why Philly robbed the porno store or not?
Mr. Jack: The answer is yes. And if you gave it some thought, you'd know too.
Sweet Stephan: I don't like thinking, you just tell me.
Mr. Jack: The answer is elementary my dear Stephen. Evil, begets evil.
Sweet Stephan: And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?
Mr. Jack: It means, that there is a logical, and natural force in the world. It preserves things spherically. Everything that goes around comes around. What goes up, must come down. You with me?
Sweet Stephan: I'm with you so far.
Mr. Jack: Good work and hard effort will undoubtedly reap reward. Do something good, something good will come from it. Right?
Sweet Stephan: Right.
Mr. Jack: Well, the opposite is true. Do something wicked, something wicked, this way comes.
Sweet Stephan: Equate this to the fucking porno store.
Mr. Jack: Well, contrary to popular belief, the selling of sex in any form is wrong. I'm not saying I agree with it, but check your bible, they're not going for it.
Sweet Stephan: Is-masturbation evil?
Mr. Jack: According to my mother yes. Thank god she's dead.
Sweet Stephan: So the very existence of the porno store-was conceived in evil.
Mr. Jack: Wickedness, yes.
Sweet Stephan: And Bucky had something coming to him because he satisfied my desire to see other people fucking.
Mr. Jack: Voyeurism, correct. [To passerbys] Gentlemen!
Sweet Stephan: So, Philly was sent in to even things out an eye for an eye-why would he get his head blown off by Tommy the cop?
Mr. Jack: There are various levels, of evil. Selling porno in a crappy Los Angeles hellhole is not as evil as robbing that same place and shooting an innocent clerk. There's an unbalance there and the-forces of nature don't allow for that kind of thing.
Sweet Stephan: So... Because the evil committed by Philly far outweighed the evil committed by Bucky, an arbitrator had to be brought in.
Mr. Jack: An interloper.
Sweet Stephan: Tommy the cop.
Mr. Jack: Precisely.
Sweet Stephan: And evil begets evil.
Mr. Jack: By George, I think you've got it.
Sweet Stephan: What makes you so sure he wouldn't-turn our lights out?
Mr. Jack: You said it yourself in the porno store. Wasn't in his nature. Really Stephen. You don't give yourself enough credit.
Sweet Stephan: I could've been wrong. You know? If that cop had come in two seconds later-.
Mr. Jack: It was fate then.
Sweet Stephan: Fate's what people believe in when it's the last choice they've got.
Mr. Jack: Oh my, I disagree. I think fate had everything to do with it. It was fate that we were in the store to begin with. It was fate that there was a clerk behind the counter, and it was his fate to die today. I believe in fate as much as I believe in love.
Sweet Stephan: I know you do. But that doesn't make a difference. You didn't know.
Mr. Jack: Well I'll tell you this I go by two things, intuition, and assumption. Intuition tells me what to think and how to act. And assumption rules out the rest.
Sweet Stephan: And you'd risk your life based on that line of shit?
Mr. Jack: If we stop assuming, we'll lose something important. An assumption, is a leap of faith to believe that, something that we really want to believe is actually true. If we stop making assumptions, we might just lose our faith.
Sweet Stephan: I was scared.
Mr. Jack: And that's okay.
Sweet Stephan: Uh, what if uh-my intuition tells me-that we're both gonna die-soon?
Mr. Jack: Sweet Stephen, everything dies. The world is a circle, and everything dies.
[Landlord knocking on door]
Landlord: Miss Sinclair? Miss Sinclair, please open the door. Miss Sinclair? [Tommy arrives] Well, it's about time you got here. I called over an hour ago.
Tommy: Ma'am, I've already killed one person today. Don't make me kill another.
[Landlord laughs with Tommy mimicking her]
Tommy: So, what's the deal?
Landlord: Well, I got three phone calls- three- at 3:00 a.m. All noise complaints. They all said they heard screams coming from this apartment- blood-curdling screams
Tommy: And you went to check it out?
Landlord: Nah, went back to bed and went to sleep. I figured it was nothing that couldn't wait.
Tommy: Of course.
Landlord: So after I had my breakfast and went for a walk, I came to investigate and I knocked and knocked and knocked. No answer.
Tommy: And how does she sign her checks?
Landlord: What?
Tommy: What's her full name?
Landlord: Stephanie Sinclair.
Tommy: Lives alone?
Landlord: Fast as I know.
Tommy: Reports of screams, hmm?
Landlord: Mmm-hmm
Tommy: Hmm.
Landlord: Think something happened?
Tommy: Well, ma'am, I hope so.
[They both laugh]
...
[They burst into apartment]
Tommy: Baretta!
Norma: What the fuck?! Who the fuck are you?!
Tommy: You Stephanie Sinclair?
Landlord: She's not Stephanie Sinclair.
Norma: Gee, if I'm not Stephanie Sinclair, and you're not Stephanie Sinclair and this is Stephanie Sinclair's apartment, then what the fuck are we all doing here?!
...
Tommy: So, how'd you get a key to this aparment?
Norma: I work at the same restaurant as Stephanie- The Beehive on Melrose. She lets me crash sometimes.
Tommy: How's the job?
Norma: It's okay. So they make us waitresses wear these black and yellow outfits like we're fucking bumblebees or something.
Tommy: Ha.
Norma: It's real short and some drunk asshole is always trying to pull on my stinger. Except for that, the job is cool.
Tommy: Well, having a cool job is important.
Norma: Obviously you think you have a pretty cool job.
Tommy: I'm a cop.
Norma: I know- Baretta.
Tommy: So finish your story. I got into a fight with my boyfriend Tyler this morning. He can be a real hairy fuck when he wants to be. Tyler said he wanted to see more of my friends, which I thought was great. Didn't know he meant naked. Prick. He slaps me around too. Anyway, I thought I'd crash here on the couch. Stephanie wasn't home so I took the bed.
Tommy: Any sign of trouble when you got here? Struggle?
Norma: I didn't see anything like that. If I was to pay you or something, could you give Tyler a special visit with your nightstick? Or could I get in trouble for even asking you?
Tommy: He likes to beat on you, huh?
Norma: I don't know if he likes it or not, but he does it.
Tommy: Well, I'll tell you what- here. [Hands card] We'll figure out a convenient time for me to meet your fella. So there a picture of Stephanie Sinclair around here anywhere?
Norma: [Holds up phone] Meet Stephanie Sinclair.
Tommy: Thanks, Norma.
Norma: Think she's okay?
Tommy: I'm sure she'll turn up. If you doesn't, you give me a call. Even if she does. You know whose this is?
Norma: I've never seen it before.
Mr. Jack: Hello, Barney.
Barney: How are you?
Mr. Jack: I'm dandy, sir.
Barney: What can I do for you?
Mr. Jack: What a lovely disposition you have. Are you with some sort of program?
Barney: I don't think I follow you, sir.
Mr. Jack: You don't have to call me, sir. I may sound English but I'm not royalty.
Barney: all right, okay.
Mr. Jack: So tell me, are you with one of those programs? You know, where they drive around, pick up the old chaps, find 'em a job, make their useless lives feel purposeful?
Barney: Actually, I own this theater.
Mr. Jack: Slap my face, you own this place?
Barney: Yes, I do. [Mr. Jack laughs] Ran into some hard times lately, but now I just do the concessions.
Mr. Jack: And yet you maintain such a pleasant attitude. Kudos to you, Barney.
Barney: Well, I didn't get as far as I did in this life by being an asshole.
Mr. Jack: [Laughs] I like that. I like that a lot. Right, well, I'll have a large tub of popcorn and- do you use butter or that cheap greasy shit?
Barney: The cheap greasy shit.
Mr. Jack: Ah, good. I'll have a large tub of popcorn, some cheap greasy shit and a large icy-cold cola.
Barney: Okay, coming right up.
...
[Mr. Jack joins Sweet Stephen in the theater]
Sweet Stephen: Is this the greasy shit?
Mr. Jack: Absolutely.
...
[A couple is conversing in front of them]
Woman: I didn't know Jack Nicholson was in this.
Man: Mmm-hmm. It was one of his first movies.
Sweet Stephen: How rude.
Man: Mmm-hmm. Did you know he ad-libbed the "here's Johnny" line in the The Shining?
Woman: I don't remember that-
Sweet Stephen: They are so fucking loud. Sone people have no manners whatsoever.
Man: He chops up the door with his axe, sticks his mug in and goes...
Sweet Stephen: I'll be right back.
Man: ..."Here's Johnny!"
Woman: Oh, that was good.
Man: Did you know he's such a Lakers fan, the producers have to schedule his shooting days around the Lakers schedule?
Sweet Stephen: Did you know I'm trying to watch this fine movie around your fucking conversation? Shut the fuck up. Home video first came out in the '70s, right? It changed the movie industry forever. Can you imagine being in your house watching a movie?
Man: Whoa.
Sweet Stephen: Well, you could put in pause. You could take a piss, fuck the wife, make a sandwich, anything you want to do, yeah.
Man: Who are you?
Sweet Stephen: Shh. [Laughs] Home video and eventually DVD also taught us something elese; a new form of rudeness. Now if we can watch movies in our own home, there's nobody to offend but the people in that home. Right? So now we've got people watching movies, talking all the way throught in their fucking movies, reconditioned to think it's okay to do it in public, which bothers people like me who couldn't give a fuck what your fucking opinion of the movie was or how good the blah blah blah was last week.
Man: Look, man, if we disturbed you...
Sweet Stephen: I have a gun in my waistband. Right now. Yeah, I do. And if you two don't shut the fuck up, I'm gonna stick it up both your asses and I'm gonna pull the trigger until your colons say; no más. enjoy the show.
Mr. Jack: What'd you say to them?
Sweet Stephen: Oh, I said that we were trying to enjoy the movie and if they could keep it down to like a dull roar, we'd appreciate it.
Mr. Jack: You threatened them, didn't you?
Sweet Stephen: No. I don't know. I- I don't think so. I told them to enjoy the movie. Is that threatening? I- I can't tell anymore.
Sweet Stephen: So I've been working in this place for less than a week. You know, I'm standing by the water cooler and I'm trying to get this hot little telemarketer to notice me. I'm staring and I'm staring. I've been having a thing for her for a while. And finally, bingo, she stares at me. Okay? I give her a look. You know? The look.
Mr. Jack: The look?
Sweet Stephen: The look. [Telemarketer's boyfriend comes by in flashback]
Telemarketer: That's my fiancée.
Sweet Stephen: So fuckin' what? [Grunts] But that wasn't the weirdest dream I ever had.
Mr. Jack: No?
Sweet Stephen: No.
Waitress: Two beers.
Mr. Jack: Thank you, lovely lady drink bearer. So how about you?
Sweet Stephen: What about me?
Mr. Jack: How's your beer?
Sweet Stephen: Pretty fucking perfect. This whole place is a fucking plastic factory. The whole city is. And your accent, about the fakest thing in here.
Mr. Jack: You were saying?
Sweet Stephen: What was I saying?
Mr. Jack: That the office massacre wasn't the worst dream you ever had.
Sweet Stephen: Gives me the heebies just thinking about it. I only had the damn thing once, so... My parents got divorced when I was four and I saw my dad at the weekends, right? But my dad doesn't want to bother with some fucking dumb kid. You know? He's a single dude in a loose mood. So, he dropped me off at my grandma's apartment. Now my grandma- She was a queen. You know, a real nice lady. And I was a real fucking TV hound at the time. So, I'd always fall asleep in front of the tube.
Sweet's grandma: Eat your fucking breakfast. Now! Eat your fucking breakfast.
Sweet Stephen: She was a real queen. And the thing is now I think about it all the time.
Mr. Jack: Why do you think about it so much?
Sweet Stephen: Well, my grandma was the greatest lady I ever knew. And she was the first person to call me sweet.
Mr. Jack: Aw, that's...
Sweet Stephen: Well, why would I have that dream?
Mr. Jack: I don't know. I'm not a mind-reader. What do you want me to say?
Sweet Stephen: Maybe one of those little pearls of wisdom pearls of fucking wisdom you've been spitting out all day.
Mr. Jack: All right. Give me a second. I don't believe in dreams.
Sweet Stephen: You don't believe in dreams? What kind of shit is that?! That- that doesn't make sense. [Laughs]
Mr. Jack: Well, I wish my life were more like a Burt Reynolds movie.
Sweet Stephen: You want to be old and bald?
Mr. Jack: No, I don't wish I was Burt Reynolds. I wish my life were more like his movies. You know, lots of high-pitched laugs, fast cars, bar-room brawls, fucking cowboy boots. [Mimics laugh] Just fun. The guys were guys, the gals were gals, and nothing really mattered.
Sweet Stephen: You can have your dream I guess.
Mr. Jack: You said you didn't believe in dreams.
Sweet Stephen: No, I said you could have your dream... I guess.
Mr. Jack: Ah. [Noticing a woman across the bar] Uh-oh. I've seen that look before.
Sweet Stephen: You could pick one out, you know?
Mr. Jack: It's not my bag.
Sweet Stephen: All you need to know is what they want to hear and be able to say it without sounding like you're full of shit. Believe me, you're a terrific bullshitter.
Jessica: Hey.
Sweet Stephen: Hey.
Jessica: But me a drink.
Sweet Stephen: Buy you a drink?
Jessica: Yeah.
Sweet Stephen: Who the fuck are you?!
Jessica: Jessica. Who the fuck are you?
Sweet Stephen: Paul Spinozi. Everyone calls me Spo.
Jessica: I love to eat Italian.
Sweet Stephen: You do?
Jessica: Yeah. Yummy.
Sweet Stephen: Wow.
Jessica: Well, maybe- maybe you want to leave and get a bite to eat then? Huh?
Sweet Stephen: Sounds like a good start.
Jessica: Really?
Sweet Stephen: Yeah. Have fun.
Jessica: What?
Sweet Stephen: Have fun leaving. Now get the fuck away from me.
Jessica: Fucking idiots in this place. You too.
Mr. Jack: Whoo hoo hoo!
Sweet Stephen: I can't seem to meet a nice girl anymore.
Mr. Jack: You see, that's a mystery to me. I could never do that, the way you just spoke to that girl. I', just not that sort of chap.
Waitress: Can I get you guys anything else? Strawberries? [Mr. Jack laughs]
[Mr. Jack and Sweet Stephen are lying in bed of a motel room]
Mr. Jack: You know what? Today was a great day.
Sweet Stephan: It was a day.
Mr. Jack: The perfect mix of intrigue, danger, tragedy, love, sex, violence and plain old American fun.
Sweet Stephan: You're not from England, you know.
[Camera pans down to reveal the murdered body of a young woman]
Police detective: Now that's a fucking shame. [Laughs] My stomach can't take this job much longer, Tommy. Nobody should have to see this shit. [Snaps fingers] Man, I've seen things lately that'll make a leper count his blessings. Ha. We found this body about a year ago. [Laughs] This motherfucker had twelve dill pickles up his ass. Twelve dill pickles. And I ain't talking about the little-bitty dill pickles that you get down in the soup-and-salad special down by the station. I'm talking about twelve John Holmes dill pickles up his ass. So Jonesy goes, "How'd he got the pickles up his ass? I'm not a dill-ologist." [Laughs] I'm talking about twelve John Holmes dill pickles or thirteen pickles up his ass. His eyes pop out, right? Eyes on the ground somewhere. And this fella's got arms hanging there like the scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz. I'm on the ground, I'm looking for his eyes because I've got to get the color right, you know, for the bureacratic bullshit, of course. [Laughs]
Tommy: [Looks into trashcan to see dismembered remains of a woman] Fuck.
Police detective: Wow, that's something ain't it thought? Stay cool, Tommy.
Tommy: Yeah, I need to put out an A.P.B..
Police detective: You ever get insomnia?
Tommy: Rarely. You?
Police detective: Yeah. Yeah, I do. It's in the brain they say. Maybe that's the problem. Every night- every night I lie awake in bed. And it's like I've forgotten how to sleep. You know? And the later it gets, the more I realise it's not gonna happen. And I- I see my eyes becoming dark and I fixated on the neon numbers on the clock. And they're teasing me: "You're never gonna sleep again, you're never gonna sleep again, you're never gonna sleep again, and my head just gets all these thoughts. Thought after thought after thought after thought after thought. Va-vim! And my heart fucking beats faster and faster and faster and faster. And I try to think relaxed thoughts like sleeping on a fluffy cloud or floating on a raft, but nothing- nothing changes the fucking fact that I will not fall asleep. [Screams] Look at me. I feel I've contracted this new- new- new disease, you know? Like this is the first symptom. And- and this disease is fatal. And since I'm gonna die anyway, why not just get the out of this coffin, go over to my dresser, grab my gun, put it in my fucking mouth? 'Cause that's the only way I'm gonna get any fucking sleep.
Mr. Jack: Have you ever tried counting sheep?
Police detective: Have I ever tried counting- You just asked me if I ever tried counting fucking sheep?!
Song lyrics: In this life, you just need something to go right...
Sweet Stephen: Maybe it's conscience-driven.
Mr. Jack: Are you guilty?
Sweet Stephen: Yeah, I fucking am.
Mr. Jack: What do you feel guilty about?
Sweet Stephen: I'm not sure. Evil begat evil, so... Where the fuck do I come from?
Mr. Jack: What?! You- I asked you why Philly was sent to the porn store. You said you hadn't thought that far in advance. Any fucking ideas?!
Sweet Stephen: Doesn't much matter.
Mr. Jack: Yes, it does. Well, millions of people pray to God up above to protect them.
Sweet Stephen: From who?
Mr. Jack: I- I don't- If there's a God above, there must be something else for balance. It's obvious that there's two choices. Some choose one, some choose the other. Some choose both. Those that choose both are probably smarter.
Sweet Stephen: What if it seems like somebody has made a choice. Can he change his mind?
Mr. Jack: That would depende on how far down the path he's gone. Could be too late. Or it could be fate. It's the endless possibilities of fate, not the idea itself, that scares the shit out of everyone.
Sweet Stephen: Ah! I told you I don't believe in fucking fate.
Mr. Jack: [Voices echoes] You said you believe in God. What makes you think he doesn't have reason, purpose? That's what fate does- in ensures that everything that's supposed to happen, happens. And everyone does what they're supposed to do.
Sweet Stephen: [Exhales deeply] Fuck. Sorry.
Mr. Jack: Hey mate, it's alright. Pretend you're on one of those roller coasters. Sit back, relax, try not to throw up, and if you feel like screaming, feel free.
Sweet Stephen: Shut the fuck up. Get away from me.
Song lyrics: Open up our eyes...
Mr. Jack: Nobody can control death. [Sweet Stephen grunts and gags]
Song lyrics: So we can see more...
Sweet Stephen: [Screams] Fucker!
[Backstage]
Dennis Rivers: Second row center, the blonde in the short skirt and right field- the asian hottie. And then-
Studio co-ordinator: Stage hands, please, clear the area. What the fuck?
Dennis Rivers: In the back row, get the other blonde in the glasses. She looks hot. And this coffee tastes like shit. Do something about it or you're fucking history.
Studio co-ordinator: We're back in five.
Dennis Rivers: Just kidding. And we're back. [Audience chants] Okay. our topic again today is "Kids that kill". [Audience jeers] Wonderful. Kenny Edwards is an 11-year-old boy who has admitted to murdering his own parents. Ain't that a bitch?! [Audience jeeers]
Audience woman: Dennis, I just want to say, I am a mother of four boys and I just want to say that murder is a terrible thing to do to any parent.
[Audience jeers] I think that little boy is plain evil!
Mr. Jack: The little bastard is being ambushed.
Dennis Rivers: I hear you, ma'am. Oh yes, here. Kenny, let me tell you something- You need to check yourself, okay? 'Cause killing your parents is messed up. You know what I'm sayin'? You know what I'm sayin'? All right!
Mr. Jack: Leave the lad alone.
Audience man: What?!
Dennis Rivers: Oh, who was it said that?
Mr. Jack: I did.
Dennis Rivers: Huh. I'm- I'm trying to understand how you would- I mean, how you could, after, uh- are you going to cry again?
Audience woman: Did you hear him?
Dennis Rivers: What's your name, sir?
Mr. Jack: Mr. Jack.
Dennis Rivers: I'm Mr. Dennis. Pleased to meet you.
Mr. Jack: My pleasure.
Dennis Rivers: I've never shaken hands with a man that condones murder. And pities murderers.
Mr. Jack: What makes you think that's me?
Dennis Rivers: I am amazingly resourceful.
Mr. Jack: Oy. Ha! All I'm saying is the lad seems to be a bit out of sorts all alone on the stage there by himself.
Dennis Rivers: Well, perhaps you'd like to join him.
Audience woman: Yeah!
Mr. Jack: Perhaps I would. [Audience jeers] Can I bring someone?
Dennis Rivers: Be my guest. I'd love to get your thoughts on this subject. Audience? [Audience cheers in approval] Come one. All right. Tell 'em that's right. [Audience chants] Come on, welcome. Welcome. There you go. Okay, here we are talking to our spontaneous guests straight out of the studio audience. Their names are Mr. Jack and Sweet Stephen. And they subscribe to the belief that people like Kenny Edwards, a convicted murderer, ought to be left alone. [Audience boo's] Now Mr. Jack, why would you say something like that?
Mr. Jack: Well, a crime is a crime-
Dennis Rivers: Which is to say?
Mr. Jack: [To Kenny] Murdering your parent is wrong, cut and dry and simple as pie. [To audience] But there are lots of different crimes. Murder is a crime. But isn't exploiting that murder for personal gain, maybe some higher ratings, isn't that crime too?
Dennis Rivers: Well see, I would hardly compare running a television show to-
Mr. Jack: You see, I look at you and I look at this lad and I can't tell the difference. [Audience jeers] We don't much about him. Let's review what we know about you. You make your living off other people's misery. Dollars in your pocket, that's all he means to you. These folks in the audience, chump change. [Audience jeers] What the fuck makes you so moral?
Dennis Rivers: Now Mr. Jack, I'm gonna have to ask you to watch your language. All right? We're live. And right next to Mr. Jack is a man who calls himself Sweet Stephen. Now do you share your friend's point of view?
Sweet Stephen: Well, that woman there, she used the word "evil" to describe him, like it was a lifestyle choice. It's not something you choose like an ice-cream flavor. It's- It's a warm and safe inviting feeling. And there's a difference between acting bad and being bad. Acting bad is a moment; being bad is an addiction. I should know.
Dennis Rivers: So, are you saying that you- you enjoy being bad? Are you addicted?
Sweet Stephen: Being bad is fun.
Dennis Rivers: Being bad is fun?!
Sweet Stephen: Yeah.
Dennis Rivers: Is that your message to the youth of America?! Sweet Stephen? Yeah? Are you evil?
Sweet Stephen: Isn't everybody?
Tommy: I have a question.
Mr. Jack: Ladies and gentlemen, it's Tommy the cop!
Dennis Rivers: Okay, mike him, somebody get a mike on him. [Audience chatters] All right, your question, sire?
Tommy: I just wanted to ask if either Mr. Jack or Sweet Stephen here consider stabbing a woman and dismembering her corpse and act of evil?
Dennis Rivers: What?! And who are you, sir?
Tommy: I'm the arresting officer. I'm the hero to be named later. [Audience cheers]
Dennis Rivers: Well, I'd like to answer your question, Tommy. But what's the point in explaining something you'll never understand? Right, wrong, good, evil, God, Satan. Pleased to meet you, Tommy. Wanna guess my name? [Tommy shoots Sweet Stephen and Mr. Jack holds Dennis Rivers hostage]
Mr. Jack: We should talk, you and I.
Tommy: What would you like to talk about?
Mr. Jack: These standoffs are interesting, aren't they? How neither of us has an advantage?
Tommy: Well, that's not exactly true, is it? I've got a huge advantage. I've got a gun on you. You know I'm a great shot. What do you have? You have a knife against the throat of a tabloid television journalist whose been slamming the LAPD for the past five years for bribery, kickbacks and brutality. What makes you think I give a damn about that yellow bastard?
Dennis Rivers: How did this become me?
Mr. Jack: Will you shut the fuck up once and for all?
Tommy: Why don't you put the knife down, Mr. Jack, huh? Or better yet, make a move for Rivers' jugular. Either way, I win.
Mr. Jack: That's very important to you, isn't it? Playing the role of the policeman. But you and I aren't that different. We get the same urges.
Dennis Rivers: Look, he's a trigger happy cop and you're nothing but a pseudo-intellectual psychopath whose realities mean nothing to anyone but yourself and your dead sidekick.
Mr. Jack: Just because a man is fucking crazy doesn't make his opinion less fucking valid. You're nothing. [Tommy shoots Mr. Jack injured]
[Mr. Jack meets Sweet Stephen in Heaven after being executed]
Mr. Jack: [Last lines]
Sweet Stephan: Hey, you're not from England you know.
Mr. Jack: No, I'm not.

Cast

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