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Quotes for
Bacon (Character)
from Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998)

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Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998)
Soap: Where the fuck are they going?... Shift a piano? I thought this was meant to be a robbery.
Eddie: Where did they get those outfits?
Tom, Bacon: Not a bad idea, that.

[first lines]
Bacon: Right. Let's sort the buyers from the spyers, the needy from the greedy, and those who trust me from the ones who don't, because if you can't see value here today, you're not up here shopping. You're up here shoplifting. You see these goods? Never seen daylight, moonlight, Israelite. Fanny by the gaslight. Take a bag, c'mon take a bag. I took a bag home last night. Cost me a lot more than ten pound, I can tell you. Anyone like jewelry? Look at that one there. Handmade in Italy, hand-stolen in Stepney. It's as long as my arm. I wish it was as long as something else. Don't think because these boxes are sealed up, they're empty. The only man who sells empty boxes is the undertaker, and by the look of some of you lot today, I'd make more money with me measuring tape. Here, one price. Ten pound.
Eddie: Did you say ten pound?
Bacon: Are you deaf?
Eddie: That's a bargain. I'll take one.
Bacon: Squeeze in if you can. Left leg, right leg, your body will follow. They call it walking. You want one as well, darling? You do? That's it. They're waking up. Treat the wife. Treat somebody else's wife. It's a lot more fun if you don't get caught. Hold on. You want one as well? Okay, darling, show me a bit of life then. It's no good standing out there like one o'clock half-struck. Buy them, you better buy them. These are not stolen, they just haven't been paid for, and we can't get them again. They've changed the bloody locks. Here. One for you. It's no good coming back later when I've sold out. "Too late, too late" will be the cry when the man with the bargains has passed you by. If you got no money on you now, you'll be crying tears as big as October cabbages.
Eddie: Bacon, cozzers!
Bacon: Shit.

Eddie: Oh, and if Tom or anyone else for that matter feels like givin' them a bit of a kickin', I'm sure it won't do any harm.
Soap: Yeah, little bit of pain never hurt anybody. If you know what I mean. Also, I think knives are a good idea. Big, fuck-off shiny ones. Ones that look like they could skin a crocodile. Knives are good, because they don't make any noise, and the less noise they make, the more likely we are to use them. Shit 'em right up. Makes it look like we're serious. Guns for show, knives for a pro.
Tom: Soap, is there something we should know about you?
Bacon: I'm not sure what's more worrying. The job or your past.

Bacon: Once there was this geezer called Smithy Robinson, who worked for Harry. It was rumoured that he was on the take. Harry's invited Smithy round for an explanation. Smithy didn't do a very good job. Within a minute, Harry's lost his rag, reached out for the nearest thing at hand, which happened to be a 15 inch black rubber cock. He's then proceeded to batter poor Smithy to death with it. Now that was seen as a pleasant way to go. Hence, Hatchet Harry is a man you pay if you owe.

Eddie: The entire British empire was built on cups of tea...
Bacon: Yeah, and look what happened to that.
Eddie: ...And if you think I'm going to war without one, mate, you're mistaken.

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!
Bacon: So how long do you have to wait for a return?
Tom: Probably no more than four weeks.
Bacon: Well what good is that if we need it in six... no, five days?
Tom: Well it was still a good idea.

Bacon: What's that?
Samoan Joe's Barman: It's 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 orangutan in that!
Samoan Joe's Barman: You want a pint, you go to the pub.
Bacon: I thought this was a pub!
Samoan Joes Barman: It's a Samoan pub.

Tom: [after having just robbed Dog and his crew] Jesus, that wasn't too bad, was it?
Soap: When the bottle in my arse has contracted, I'll let you know.
Eddie: Bacon, see what we've got.
Bacon: Let's have a butcher's, eh?
[as he inspects their loot]
Bacon: We've hit the jackpot, lads! We've got God-knows-how-much of this stinking weed, a shitload of cash... and a traffic warden.
Tom: What?
[Bacon holds up an unconscious man]
Tom: Jesus, 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?
Eddie: I don't know, but I don't think we need him! Knock him out and dump him at the lights!
Bacon: Knock him out? What'd ya mean, knock him out? Knock him out with what?
Eddie: I don't know! Use your imagination!
[Bacon punches the Traffic Warden, who moans in pain]
Tom: Don't touch him up! Knock him out!
Bacon: I'll knock you out in a minute! Look, you want to knock him out? *You* knock him out.
Eddie: I fucking hate traffic wardens.
[after a pause, Tom and Eddie jump into the back of the van with Bacon; all three proceed to batter the Traffic Warden senseless]

Dog: I'll find you... I'll find you.
Bacon: 'Course you will sweetheart!
[Ties Dog's hands behind him]
Dog: I'll find you.
Bacon: What d'you think this is? Fucking hide and seek?

Eddie: Tom, you take those guns and you throw them off a bridge.
Bacon: And throw yourself off while you're at it.

Eddie: The Traffic Warden identified the neighbours' bodies. Which sort of puts us in the clear. The only thing connecting us with the case is those shotguns.
Bacon: And Tom took care of them.
Soap: You did take care of the shotguns?
Tom: I wanted to talk to you about that?
Bacon: Well, talk.
Tom: Well, actually no. I've got them sitting in the car. I was gonna sell them back to Nick the Greek, but I'm having a bit of trouble getting hold of him.
Bacon: You dippy bastard.
Eddie: So... the only thing connecting us with the case, is in the back of your car which is parked outside?
Tom: They cost us 700 quid. I'm not gonna throw them away. And they're hardly likely to trace 'em back to us, are they?
Soap: Do you really think it's worth taking the risk for £700?
Eddie: Tom, you're a dick. Now you take those guns and you throw them off a bridge.
Bacon: And throw yourself off while you're at it.
Soap: Now.

Soap: I don't think it's the right move.
Eddie: It's either that, the old boy's place and we lose a digit daily. I'm gonna phone him.
Bacon: As if he'll care.
Eddie: He'll care alright, that was supposed to be his money. Whether he cares about us or not is different.

Bacon: I don't believe this. What the fuck has happened here?
Soap: Jesus.
[Looking through a window smashed during the shootout]