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Full Metal Jacket

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Bullshit! You didn't convince me. Let me see your real war face!
Ain't war hell?
The dead know only one thing: it is better to be alive.

Full Metal Jacket is a 1987 American film that follows a group of recruits through Marine training and their tour of duty in Vietnam.

Written and directed by Stanley Kubrick, based on the novel The Short-Timers by Gustav Hasford.
In Vietnam, the wind doesn't blow. It sucks. taglines
Today, you people are no longer maggots. Today, you are Marines. You're part of a brotherhood. From now on, until the day you die, wherever you are, every Marine is your brother. Most of you will go to Vietnam. Some of you will not come back. But always remember this: Marines die. That's what we're here for. But the Marine Corps lives forever and that means you live forever.
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!
These are great days we're living, bros. We are jolly green giants, walking the Earth with guns. These people we wasted here today are the finest human beings we will ever know. After we rotate back to the world, we're gonna miss not having anyone around that's worth shooting.
I am so happy that I am alive, in one piece and short. I'm in a world of shit. Yes. But I am alive. And I am not afraid.
The duality of man; the Jungian thing, sir.
7.62 millimeter. Full metal jacket.
I wanted to see exotic Vietnam... the crown jewel of Southeast Asia. I wanted to meet interesting and stimulating people of an ancient culture... and kill them. I wanted to be the first kid on my block to get a confirmed kill!

Private/Sergeant James T. "Joker" Davis

[edit]
The Marine Corps does not want dicks. The Marine Corps wants killers. The Marine Corps wants to build indestructible men, men without fear.
Parris Island, South Carolina—the United States Marine Corps Recruit Depot, an eight-week college for the phony tough and the crazy brave.
  • [narrating] Parris Island, South Carolina—the United States Marine Corps Recruit Depot, an eight-week college for the phony tough and the crazy brave.
  • [narrating] The dead know only one thing: it is better to be alive.
  • I wanted to see exotic Vietnam... the crown jewel of Southeast Asia. I wanted to meet interesting and stimulating people of an ancient culture... and kill them. I wanted to be the first kid on my block to get a confirmed kill.
  • [narrating] Graduation is only a few days away, and the recruits of Platoon 3092 are salty. They are ready to eat their own guts and ask for seconds. The drill instructors are proud to see that we are growing beyond their control. The Marine Corps does not want robots. The Marine Corps wants killers. The Marine Corps wants to build indestructible men, men without fear.
  • [narrating; last lines] We have nailed our names in the pages of history enough for today. We hump down to the Perfume River to set in for the night. My thoughts drift back to erect-nipple wet dreams about Mary Jane Rottencrotch and the Great Homecoming Fuck Fantasy. I am so happy that I am alive, in one piece, and short. I'm in a world of shit, yes, but I am alive. And I am not afraid.

Gunnery Sgt. Hartman

[edit]
You can give your heart to Jesus, but your ass belongs to the Corps!
  • [To Private Pyle when he is unable to climb over an obstacle on a course] Are you quitting on me? Well, are you? Then quit, you slimy fucking walrus-looking piece of shit! Get the fuck off of my obstacle! Get the fuck down off of my obstacle! NOW! MOVE IT! Or I'm going to rip your balls off, so you cannot contaminate the rest of the world! I will motivate you, Private Pyle, IF IT SHORT-DICKS EVERY CANNIBAL ON THE CONGO!
  • [Graduation speech to the platoon] Today, you people are no longer maggots. Today, you are Marines. You're part of a brotherhood. From now on, until the day you die, wherever you are, every Marine is your brother. Most of you will go to Vietnam. Some of you will not come back. But always remember this: Marines die. That's what we're here for. But the Marine Corps lives forever and that means you live forever.
  • 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?
  • [Speech to the platoon on Christmas Day] Today is Christmas. There will be a magic show at zero-nine-thirty. 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!
  • Drop your cocks and grab your socks!

Sergeant "Crazy" Earl

[edit]
  • These are great days we're living, bros. We are jolly green giants, walking the Earth with guns. These people we wasted here today are the finest human beings we will ever know. After we rotate back to the world, we're gonna miss not having anyone around that's worth shooting.

Private/Sergeant "Cowboy" Evans

[edit]
  • [after he and the other recruits have hazed Pyle by restraining and beating him] Remember, it's just a bad dream, fat boy!

Dialogue

[edit]
You think we waste gooks for freedom? This is a slaughter. If I'm gonna get my balls blown off for a word, then my word is "poontang".
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.
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: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Bullshit! I can't hear you. Sound off like you got a pair.
Recruits: SIR, YES, SIR!
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 fucking beings. You are nothing but unorganized, grab-asstic 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: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Bullshit! I can't hear you.
Recruits: SIR, YES, SIR!
Joker: [under his breath, imitating John Wayne] Is that you, John Wayne? Is this me?
Hartman: [hearing him] Who said that? WHO THE FUCK SAID THAT?! [crossing toward Joker's end of the barracks] Who's the slimy little Communist shit twinkle-toed cocksucker down here who just signed his own death warrant? Nobody, huh? The fairy fucking godmother said it. Out-fucking-standing. I will PT you all until you fucking DIE! I'll PT you until your assholes are sucking buttermilk! [to Cowboy] Was it you, you scroungy little fuck, huh?!
Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: You little piece of shit, you look like a fucking worm! I'll bet it was you!
Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Joker: Sir, I said it, sir!
Hartman: 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. [punches Joker in the gut; he falls to his knees] You little scumbag! I've got your name! I've 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! [Joker does so] You had best un-fuck yourself, or I will unscrew your head and shit down your neck!
Joker: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Private Joker, why did you join my beloved Corps?
Joker: Sir, to kill, sir!
Hartman: So you're a killer.
Joker: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Let me see your war face.
Joker: Sir?
Hartman: You got a war face? [gives a fierce yell] That's a war face! Now let me see your war face! [Joker gives one with a not-so-convincingly-fierce yell] Bullshit! You didn't convince me. Let me see your real war face! [Joker gives a louder, more convincing fierce yell, but Hartman is not impressed] You don't scare me. Work on it.
Joker: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: What's your excuse?
Cowboy: Sir, excuse for what, sir?
Hartman: I'm asking the fuckin' questions here, Private! Do you understand?
Cowboy: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Well, thank you very much! Can I be in charge for a while?
Cowboy: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Are you shook up? Are you nervous?
Cowboy: Sir, I am, sir!
Hartman: Do I make you nervous?
Cowboy: Sir!
Hartman: "Sir" what? Were you about to call me an asshole?
Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: How tall are you, Private?
Cowboy: Sir, 5'9", sir!
Hartman: 5'9"? I didn’t know they stacked shit that high! You trying to squeeze an inch in on me somewhere, huh?!
Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
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 in the hell are you from anyway, Private?
Cowboy: Sir, Texas, sir!
Hartman: Holy dogshit! Texas? Only steers and queers come from Texas, Private Cowboy, and you don’t much look like a steer to me, so that kinda narrows it down. Do you suck dicks?
Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: Are you a peter-puffer?!
Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: I’ll 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.
Hartman: Did your parents have any children that lived?
Pyle: Sir, yes, sir.
Hartman: I bet they regret that. You're so ugly you could be a modern art masterpiece! What's your name fat body?
Pyle: Sir, Leonard Lawrence, sir.
Hartman: Lawrence? Lawrence what... of Arabia?
Pyle: Sir, no, sir.
Hartman: That name sounds like royalty. Are you royalty?
Pyle: Sir, no, sir.
Hartman: Do you suck dicks?
Pyle: Sir, no, sir.
Hartman: Bullshit. I bet you could suck a golf ball through a garden hose.
Pyle: Sir, no, sir.
Hartman: I don't like the name Lawrence, only faggots and sailors are called Lawrence. From now on you're Gomer Pyle.
Pyle: Sir, yes, sir.
Hartman: Left shoulder, hut! [Lawrence briefly hikes his rifle to his right shoulder and corrects himself, but Hartman notices the error and angrily marches to him] Private Pyle, what are you trying to do to my beloved Corps?!
Pyle: Sir, I don't know, sir!
Hartman: You are dumb, Private Pyle, but do you expect me to believe that you don't know left from right?!
Pyle: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: Then you did that on purpose; you wanna be different!
Pyle: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: [slaps Private Lawrence's left cheek] What side was that, Private Pyle?
Pyle: Sir, left side, sir!
Hartman: Are you sure, Private Pyle?!
Pyle: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: [slaps Private Lawrence's right cheek; knocking his cover off] What side was that, Private Pyle?!
Pyle: [barely holding it together] Sir, right side, sir!
Hartman: Don't fuck with me again, Pyle! Pick up your fuckin' cover.
Pyle: Sir, yes, sir!
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 old Mary Jane Rottencrotch through her purty 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] Prepare to mount! [Recruits step back towards their bunks.] Mount! [Recruits quickly hop onto their bunks] Port, hut! [Recruits grab their rifles and hold them up] Pray!
Recruits: [simultaneously] 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.
Hartman: Order, hut! [Recruits lay their rifles at their sides] At ease! [shuts the lights off] Good night, ladies.
Recruits: Good night, sir!
Hartman: [to Night Watchman] Hit it, sweetheart.
Night Watchman: Sir, aye-aye, sir!
Hartman: Next two privates, go! Quickly! [To Lawrence as he struggles on an obstacle course] Get your fat ass over there, Private Pyle. Oh, that's right, Private Pyle. Don't make any fucking effort to get up to the top of the fucking obstacle! If God wanted you up there, He would've miracled your ass up there by now, wouldn't he?
Pyle: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Get your fat ass up there, Pyle!
Pyle: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: What the hell is the matter with you anyway? I'll bet you if there was some pussy up there on top of that obstacle...
Pyle: [falling off again] Shit!
Hartman: ...you could get up there, couldn't you?
Pyle: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Your ass looks like about a hundred and fifty pounds of chewed bubble gum, Pyle! You know that?
Pyle: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: [To Privates Joker and Cowboy] As soon as you finish your bunks, I want you two turds to clean the head.
Joker & Cowboy: Sir, aye-aye, sir!
Hartman: I want that head so sanitary and squared away that the Virgin Mary herself would be proud to go in there and take a dump.
Joker & Cowboy: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Private Joker, do you believe in The Virgin Mary?
Joker: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: [Throws the trash can aside in anger] Well, Private Joker, I DON'T BELIEVE I heard you correctly.
Joker: Sir, the private said "No, sir", sir!
Hartman: Why, you little maggot; you make me wanna vomit! [Slaps Joker across the face] You goddamn communist heathen. You had best sound off that you love the Virgin Mary, or I'm gonna stomp your guts out! Now, you do love the Virgin Mary, don't you?
Joker: Sir, negative, sir!
Hartman: Private Joker, are you trying to offend me?
Joker: Sir, negative, sir! Sir, the private believes that any answer he gives will be wrong, and the Senior Drill Instructor will beat him harder if he reverses himself, sir!
Hartman: Who's your squad leader, scumbag?
Joker: Sir, the private's squad leader is Private Snowball, sir!
Hartman: Private Snowball!
Snowball: Sir, Private Snowball reporting as ordered, sir!
Hartman: Private Snowball, you're fired. Private Joker is promoted to squad leader.
Snowball: Sir, aye-aye, sir!
Hartman: Disappear, scumbag!
Snowball: Sir, aye-aye, sir!
Hartman: Private Pyle!
Pyle: Sir, Private Pyle reporting as ordered, sir!
Hartman: Private Pyle, Private Joker is your new squad leader, and you will bunk with him! He'll teach you everything, he'll teach you how to pee!
Pyle: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Private Joker is silly and he's ignorant, but he's got guts, and guts is enough. Now, you ladies carry on.
Cowboy, Joker & Pyle: [together] Sir, aye-aye, sir!
Hartman: [inspecting recruits' finger/toenails, as they stand on their footlockers] Trim 'em. Toe jam. Pop that blister. [sees Lawrence's footlocker is not secured] Jesus H. Christ. Private Pyle, why is your footlocker unlocked?!
Pyle: Sir, I don't know, sir!
Hartman: Private Pyle, if there is one thing in this world that I hate, it is an unlocked footlocker! You know that, don't you?!
Pyle: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: If it wasn't for dickheads like you, there wouldn't be any thievery in this world, would there?!
Pyle: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: GET DOWN! [Lawrence steps down; Hartman opens the footlocker] Well, now! Let's just see if there's anything missing! [rummages through it; finds a jelly donut] Holy Jesus. What is that? What the fuck is that? [holds it up in Lawrence's face] WHAT IS THAT, PRIVATE PYLE?!
Pyle: Sir, a jelly donut, sir!
Hartman: A jelly donut?!
Pyle: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: How did it get here?
Pyle: Sir, I took it from the mess hall, sir!
Hartman: Is chow allowed in the barracks, Private Pyle?
Pyle: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: Are you allowed to eat jelly donuts, Private Pyle?
Pyle: Sir, no, sir!
Hartman: And why not, Private Pyle?
Pyle: Sir, because I'm too heavy, sir!
Hartman: Because you are a disgusting fat body, Private Pyle!
Pyle: Sir, yes, sir!
Hartman: Then why did you hide a jelly donut in your footlocker, Private Pyle?
Pyle: Sir, because I was hungry, sir!
Hartman: Because you were hungry. [pacing the barracks, still holding the donut] 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! So, from now on, whenever Private Pyle fucks 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! [to Lawrence] Open your mouth! [Lawrence does so and Hartman shoves the donut into his mouth] They're payin' for it, you eat it! [to recruits] Ready, exercise!
Recruits beside Pyle: [doing push-ups] 1-2-3-4! I love Marine Corps! 1-2-3-4! I love Marine Corps! 1-2-3-4! I love Marine Corps! 1-2-3-4! I love Marine Corps! 1-2-3-4! [Lawrence eats the donut, looking ready to cry]
Hartman: Do any of you people know who Charles Whitman was? None of you dumbasses knows? Private Cowboy?
Cowboy: Sir, he was that guy who shot all those people from that tower in Austin, Texas, sir!
Hartman: That's affirmative. Charles Whitman killed 12 people from a 28-story observation tower at the University of Texas, from distances up to 400 yards. Anybody know who Lee Harvey Oswald was? Private Snowball?
Snowball: Sir, he (was the one who) shot (John F.) Kennedy, sir!
Hartman: That's right, and do you know how far away he was?
Snowball: Sir, it was pretty far; From that book suppository building, sir. [the recruits laugh]
Hartman: All right, knock it off. 250 feet. [Snowball sits down] He was 250 feet away and shooting at a moving target. Oswald got off 3 rounds with an old Italian bolt action rifle in only 6 seconds, and scored 2 hits, including a headshot. Do any of you people know where these individuals learned to shoot? [Joker raises hand] Private Joker?
Joker: [stands up] Sir, in the Marines, sir!
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: [narrating] Our last night on the island. I draw fire watch.
[Joker goes into the head to find Private Lawrence sitting on a head with his rifle and loading rounds into a magazine]
Pyle: [smiles eerily] Hi... Joker.
Joker: [worried] Are those... live rounds?
Pyle: 7.62 millimeter. [loads another round into the magazine] Full... Metal... Jacket.
Joker: [shaken] Leonard... if Hartman comes in here and catches us... we'll both be in a world of shit.
Pyle: I am... in a world... of shit! [loads the last round into the magazine, throws it on the floor, grabs the rifle, and begins drilling loudly] Left shoulder, hut! [flips the rifle to his left shoulder] Right shoulder, hut! [flips the rifle to his right shoulder] Lock and load! [inserts magazine into the rifle, chambers a round] Order, hut! [brings the rifle down to the "order arms" position] This is my rifle! There are many like it, but this one is mine! My rifle is my best friend! It is my life!
[Other recruits wake up; Hartman storms out of his bedroom]
Hartman: [to recruits] Get back in your bunks!
Pyle: I must master it as I must master my life!
Hartman: [storms into the head] What is this Mickey Mouse shit?!
Pyle: Without me, my rifle is useless!
Hartman: 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?!
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!
Hartman: [calmly and sternly, to Lawrence] Now, you listen to me, Private Pyle, and you listen good. I want that weapon, and I want it now. You will place that rifle on the deck at your feet and step back away from it. [Lawrence insanely and eerily smiles and aims at Hartman's chest] [angrily bellowing] WHAT IS YOUR MAJOR MALFUNCTION, NUMBNUTS?! DIDN'T MOMMY AND DADDY SHOW YOU ENOUGH ATTENTION WHEN YOU WERE A CHILD?! [shoots and kills him, then swings the barrel slowly up toward Joker]
Joker: Easy, Leonard. Go easy, man. [Lawrence lowers it, sits on a latrine, and puts the muzzle in his mouth] [alarmed] NO!! [Lawrence pulls the trigger, killing himself and splattering his brains across the wall, leaving Joker horrified at the sight of this]
Da Nang Hooker: Hey, baby. You got girlfriend Vietnam?
Joker: Not just this minute.
Hooker: Well, baby, me so horny. Me so horny! Me love you long time. You party?
Joker: Yeah, we might party. How much?
Da Nang Hooker: $15.
Joker: $15 for both of us?
Da Nang Hooker: No. Each you $15. Me love you long time. Me so horny.
Joker: $15 too beaucoup. $5 each.
Da Nang Hooker: Me sucky-sucky. Me love you too much.
Joker: $5 is all my mom allows me to spend.
Da Nang Hooker: Okay. $10 each.
Joker: What do we get for $10?
Da Nang Hooker: Every t'ing you want.
Joker: Everything?
Da Nang Hooker: Every t'ing.
Joker: [to Rafterman] Well, old buddy, feel like spending some of your hard-earned money?
[Helicopter Door Gunner opens fire, and Rafterman is uncomfortably nauseous]
Door Gunner: Get some! Get some! [continues firing] Get some! Get some! Yeah! Yeah! Get some! Get some! Come on! Come on! [continues firing] Get some! [continues firing] Ha-ha! Get some, baby! Get some! Get some! Get some! Get some! Get some! Come on! Get it! Come on! Get some! Get some! Yeah-yeah-yeah! I've got you, mother! [stops firing] Ha-ha! [looks at Joker and Raftman] Anyone who runs is a VC! Anyone who stands still is a well-disciplined VC! [laughs] You guys oughta do a story about me sometime!
Joker: Why should we do a story about you?!
Door Gunner: 'Cause I'm so fuckin' good! That ain't no shit, neither! I've done got me 157 dead gooks killed. And 50 water buffaloes, too! Them're all certified!
Joker: Any women or children?!
Door Gunner: Sometimes!
Joker: How can you shoot women and children?!
[Rafterman gags in disgust]
Door Gunner: Easy! You just don't lead 'em so much! [laughs] Ain't war Hell?
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.
[Standing over the bodies of two dead squad-mates]
T.H.E. Rock: You're going home now.
Crazy Earl: Semper Fi.
Donlon: We're mean Marines, sir.
Eightball: Go easy, bros.
Animal Mother: Better you than me.
Rafterman: Well, at least they died for a good cause.
Animal Mother: What cause was that?
Rafterman: Freedom.
Animal Mother: Flush out your headgear, New Guy. You think we waste gooks for freedom? This is a slaughter. If I'm gonna get my balls blown off for a word, then my word is "poontang."

Taglines

[edit]
  • In Vietnam, the wind doesn't blow. It sucks.
  • Vietnam can kill me, but it can't make me care.

Cast

[edit]
[edit]
Wikipedia
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