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: Fuck me, hold tight. What's that? Tommy
: It's me belt, Turkish. Turkish
: No, Tommy. There's a gun in your trousers. What's a gun doing in your trousers? Tommy
: It's for protection. Turkish
: Protection from what? "Zee Germans"?
: You take sugar? Brick Top
: No thank you, Turkish; I'm sweet enough.
: Well, do you want to do it? Mickey
: That depends. Turkish
: On what? Mickey
: On you buying this caravan. Not the rouge one, the rose. Turkish
: It's not the same caravan. Mickey
: It's not the same fight. Turkish
: It's twice the fucking size of the last one. Mickey
: Turkish, the fight is twice the size. And me ma still needs a caravan. I like to look after me ma. It's a fair deal. Take it. Turkish
: Mickey, you're lucky we aren't worm food after your last performance. Buying a tart's mobile palace is a little fucking rich.
[Realizes his mistake
: I wasn't calling your mum a tart. I just meant... Mickey
: Ah, save your breath for cooling your porridge. Now, look... Mickey
: She wants the Hector-2 roof lights, uh... the stylish ash-framed furniture and the scatter cushions with the matching shag pile covering. Mickey
: Right. And she's terrible partial to the periwinkle blue, boys. Have I made myself clear, boys? Turkish
: Yeah, that's perfectly clear, Mickey. Yeah... just give me one minute to confer with my colleague.
: Did you understand a single word of what he just said?
: You show me how to control a wild fucking gypsy and I'll show you how to control an unhinged, pig-feeding gangster.
: Who took the jam outta your doughnut? Turkish
: You took the fucking jam outta my doughnut, Tommy. You did.
: What's happening with them sausages, Charlie? Sausage Charlie
: Five minutes, Turkish. Turkish
: It was two minutes five minutes ago.
: I fail to recognize the correlation between losing ten grand, hospitalizing Gorgeous, and a good deal.
: [looks at the caravan
] Look at it. How am I suppose to run this thing from that? We'll need a proper office. I want a new one, Tommy. You're going to buy it for me. Tommy
: Why me? Turkish
: Well, you know about caravans. Tommy
: How's that? Turkish
: You spent a summer in one, which means you know more than me. And I don't want to have my pants pulled down over the price. Tommy
: What's wrong with this one? Turkish
: [Pulls the caravan's door from its hinges
] Oh, nothing, Tommy. It's tiptop. It's just I'm not sure about the colour.
: So, what you doin here? Turkish
: I'm taking the dog for a walk. What's the problem? Policeman
: What's in the car? Turkish
: Seats and a steering wheel.
: I'm sorry, Mickey. Mickey
: Did ya do it? Then why are ya sorry?
: I can't make him fight, can I? Brick Top
: You're not much good to me alive, are you, Turkish?
: Fuckface, who's speaking to you? He asked him, didn't he? Turkish
: Fuckface... I like that one Errol. I'll have to remember that one next time I'm climbing off yer mum.
: Well the rabbit gets fucked. Tommy
] Proper fucked? Turkish
: Yes, before "Zee Germans" get there.
: [voice over
] Boris the Blade, or Boris "the Bullet Dodger." As bent as the Soviet sickle, and as hard as the hammer that crosses it. Apparently, it's just impossible to kill the bastard.
: I'll bet you for it. Tommy
: You'll what? Pikeys
: HE'LL BET YOU FOR IT! Turkish
: What, like Tommy did last time? Do me a favour? Mickey
: I'll do you a favour. You have first bet. If I win, I get a caravan... and the boys get a pair of them shoes.
[the Pikeys laugh at Turkish and Tommy, who are wearing plastic bags around their shoes
: If I lose... Oh fuck it, I'll do the fight for free. Turkish
] Now the last thing I really wanna do is bet a pikey.
] My name is Turkish. Funny name for an Englishman, I know. My parents to be were on the same plane when it crashed. That's how they met. They named me after the name of the plane. Not many people are named after a plane crash. That's Tommy. He tells people he was named after a gun, but I know he was really named after a famous 19th century ballet dancer.
: [Tommy has a gun in his trousers
] What's to stop it blowing your bollocks off every time you sit down?
: Now, I know he looks like a fat fucker... well, he is a fat fucker...
: Are you sayin' I can't shoot? Turkish
: No Tommy, I'm not saying you can't shoot. I know you can't shoot. I'm saying that six-pound piece of shit stuck in your trousers would do more damage if you fed it to him.
: Have you ever crossed the road, and looked the wrong way? A car's nearly on you? So what do you do? Something very silly. You freeze. Your life doesn't flash before you, 'cause you're too fuckin' scared to think - you just freeze and pull a stupid face. But the pikey didn't. Why? Because he had plans of running the car over.
: Get back down or you will not be coming up next time.
[watches as Mickey warms up
] Gorgeous George
: Oh, bollocks to you. This is sick. I'm out of here. Mickey
: You're not going anywhere, you thick lump.
[Pulls off his shirt
: You stay until the job's done.
[kisses his good luck charms and knocks Gorgeous out with a single punch
] It turned out that the sweet-talking, tattoo-sporting pikey was a gypsy bare-knuckle boxing champion. Which makes him harder than a coffin nail. Right now, that's the last thing on Tommy's mind. If Gorgeous doesn't wake up in the next few minutes, Tommy knows he'll be buried with him. Why would the gypsies go through the trouble of explaining why a man died in their campsite when they can bury the pair of them and just move camp? It's not like they got social security numbers, is it? Tommy - the tit - is praying. And if he isn't, he fucking should be.
: It's an unlicensed boxing match. It's not a tickling competition. These lads are out to hurt each other.
: You aren't exactly Mister Current Affairs are you, Tommy? "Mad Fist" went mad, and "The Gun," shot himself.
: Well, why didn't you just
: "bust a cap in his ass," Tommy?
: I'll tell ya what. I'll do it for a caravan. Turkish
: For what? Pikeys
: For a caravan. Tommy
: It was us who wanted a caravan.
: Anyway, what's wrong with this one? Mickey
: It's not for me. It's for me ma. Turkish
: Your what? Pikeys
: His ma.
: For ever action, there is a reaction. And a Pikey reaction... is quite a fucking thing.
: The human body hasn't got used to dairy products yet. Turkish
: Well fuck me Tommy. What have you been reading?
[Gorgeous George has just been knocked out
: We've lost Gorgeous George. Brick Top
: Shhh. You're going to have to repeat that. Turkish
: We've lost Gorgeous George. Brick Top
: Well, where'd you lose him? He ain't a set of fucking car keys, is he? And it ain't as if he's incon-fucking-spicuous now, is it?
: Are you Turkish? Turkish
: Well I'm not fuckin' Greek now, am I?
: All he's gotta do is stay down.
[Mickey suddenly rises from the mat and knocks out Anderson with a single punch
: *Now* we are fucked.
: Oink oink! Turkish
: Shit! Errol
: So that's where you keep the sugar.
: I don't want to go in there. He's a dangerous bastard. Taken too many disco biscuits in the heat of Russian disputations. He's got as many of these nuts as he has those nuts. Tommy
: I don't care if he's got fucking hazelnuts. I want a gun that works, and I'm gonna tell him. Turkish
: My God, Tommy, you certainly got those minerals. Well, come on, then before "zee" Germans get here.
: [to Brick Top
] You've still got your fight. Brick Top
: No, all bets are off at the bookies, you can't change fighters. So no, I don't have my fight do I? You fucking prat!
] Tommy persuaded me to keep the dog. I eventually agreed, as long as he took it to a vet. I couldn't stand that squeaking any more. The vet found half an undigested shoe, a squeaky toy, and an 84-carat diamond lodged in its stomach. It's quite amazing what can happen in a week. Still didn't shut it up though. So what do you do? You go to see the man that knows about these sort of things. Turkish
: So what do you think? Do you know anyone who'd be interested? Doug the Head
: I might.
: Pull your tongue out of my arsehole, Gary. Dogs do that. You're not a dog, are ya Gary? Gary
: No, no I'm not. Brick Top
: But you do have all the characteristics of a dog, Gary. All except loyalty.
[Errol zaps Gary
: [Voice over
] It's rumored that Brick Top's favorite means of dispatch involves a stun gun, a plastic bag, a roll of tape, and a pack of hungry pigs. Brick Top
: [to Errol's companion
] You're a ruthless little cunt, Liam, I'll give you that. But I've got no time for grassers.
[John throws a plastic bag over Liam's head and suffocates him
] Brick Top
: Feed 'em to the pigs, Errol.
[to the two boxers, who are now staring in horror
] Brick Top
: What the fuck are you two looking at?
: Tommy, why is your skin leaking? Tommy
: I'm a little worried actually, Turkish. Turkish
: Worried about what? Tommy
: What happens if the gypsy knocks the other man out? I mean, he's done it before ain't he? Turkish
: We get murdered before we leave the building, and I imagine we get fed to the pigs. Tommy
: Well I'm glad to see you're climbing the walls in fucking anxiety. Pardon my cynicism, but I don't exactly trust the pikey. Turkish
: Don't think I haven't thunk about that one, Tommy. It's his mum's funeral tonight. God bless her. You know those gypsies like a drink at a wake. I'm not worried about whether Mickey knocks the other man out. I'm worried about whether Mickey makes it to the fourth fucking round. Tommy
: What if he doesn't make it to the fourth round? Turkish
: We get murdered before we leave the building, and I imagine we get fed to the pigs.
[Police are watching Tommy chase the dog
: He loves that dog. Always playing silly games.
: Bollocks! I'm going for a walk.