Paul Smecker
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Quotes for
Paul Smecker (Character)
from The Boondock Saints (1999)

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The Boondock Saints (1999)
Paul Smecker: [Agent Smecker walks up to the first crime scene, where Chekov and his partner lay dead] Brilliant. So now we got a huge guy theory, and a serial crusher theory. Top notch. What's your name?
Detective Greenly: Detective Greenly. Who the fuck are you?
Paul Smecker: [opens his coat and shows his FBI credentials] That's who the fuck I am.

[after Smecker proves the Boston detectives wrong]
Paul Smecker: We'll start the ass-kissing with you.

Paul Smecker: [enters the police station, packed with cops] First of all, I'd like to thank whichever one of you donut-munching, barrel-assed, pud-pulling sissies leaked this to the press. That's just what we need now: some sensational story in the papers making these boys out to be superheroes, triumphing over evil. Let me squash the rumors now. These two are not heroes. They're just two ordinary men who were put in an extraordinary situation and they just happened to come out on top. Yes, nothing from our far-reaching computer system has turned up diddly on these two. All we know is what we found out from the neighbors, and the general consensus is, they're angels. But angels don't kill. And we got two bodies in the morgue that look like they've been "serial-crushed by some huge friggin' guy".

Paul Smecker: Now, you Irish cops are perking up. That's two sound theories in one day, neither of which deal with abnormally sized men. Kind of makes me feel like Riverdancing.
[He proceeds to riverdance]

Paul Smecker: Oh, isn't that beautiful? All the lowlifes in quiet city Boston start dropping dead and *you* think it's unrelated! Greenly, the day I want the Boston Police to do my thinking for me, I will have a fucking tag on my toe!

Paul Smecker: So you're telling me it was one guy with six guns, and he was a senior frigging citizen?

Paul Smecker: These burns indicate that they used silencers. Look at these entry and exit wounds. They're almost identical. The two bullets went in here, through the top of the skull, criss-crossed, and exited through the eyeballs. This one clue tells us three distinct facts. Number one, Duffy?
Detective Duffy: They shot him at a downward angle... They put him on his knees?
Paul Smecker: Excellent! Number two, Greenly?
Detective Greenly: They... shot him at a downward angle?
Paul Smecker: It tells us he was the last to die. And number three, Dolly?
Detective Dolly: Uh... there was two shooters.
Paul Smecker: Fan-frigging-tastic.
[the other detectives start to object]
Paul Smecker: Stay with me, boys! What did they do to make two such identical wounds. Two men, of similar height, drop this guy down, each puts some iron to his head, and boom, that's all she freakin' wrote.
Detective Duffy: What about one guy, two guns?
Paul Smecker: Eh, possible, but unlikely. The angles are too extreme. A guy holding two guns to the back of your noodle is gonna shoot straight ahead. He wouldn't cock out his elbows, it makes no sense. Besides, are you telling me *one guy* came in here and killed eight men with eight extremely well-aimed shots in just a few seconds? No way. Had to be at least two.

Paul Smecker: Television. Television is the explanation for this - you see this in bad television. Little assault guys creeping through the vents, coming in through the ceiling - that James Bond shit never happens in real life! Professionals don't do that!

Paul Smecker: So Duffy, you got any theories to go with that... tie?

Paul Smecker: They exited out the front door. They had no idea what they were in for. Now they're staring at six men with guns drawn. It was a fucking ambush.
[they exit the house to find Il Duce, one man with six guns]
Paul Smecker: This was a fucking bomb dropping on Beaver Cleaverville. For a few seconds, this place was Armageddon!
[shouts]
Paul Smecker: There was a firefight!

The Priest: Would they ever harm an innocent person for any reason?
[of Rocco, who's holding him at gunpoint]
Paul Smecker: No, they would never do that. Well, the two Irish guys wouldn't, the Italian guy, he might, he's kind of an idiot.

Paul Smecker: Good shooting, shitty shooting.

[while drunk in the confession booth]
Paul Smecker: I put evil men behind bars, but the law has miles of red tape and loopholes for these cocksuckers to slip through.

Paul Smecker: Just pour the drink, you fairy fuck.

Detective Dolly: So what's the symbology there?
Paul Smecker: Symbology? Now that Duffy has relinquished his "King Bonehead" crown, I see we have an heir to the throne! I'm sure the word you were looking for was "symbolism." What is the ssss-himbolism there?

[after Smecker gets a phone call in bed with his gay lover and slaps him]
Paul Smecker: What are you doing?
Hojo: I just wanted to cuddle.
Paul Smecker: Cuddle? What a fag.

Detective Greenly: These guys are miles away by now, but if you wanna beat your head against a wall, then here's what you're looking for: they're scared, like two little bunny rabbits. Anything in a uniform or flashing blue lights is gonna spook 'em, okay? So the only thing we can do is put a potato on a string and drag it through South Boston, "Thanks for coming out!"
[Murphy and Connor walk into the station and Smecker sees them]
Murphy: You'd probably have better luck with a beer.
Connor: Aye, you would.
Detective Greenly: Aw, fuck.
Paul Smecker: Hey, Greenly. Onion bagel, cream cheese.

Paul Smecker: [walking through the hotel room] How many bodies, Greenly?
Detective Greenly: Eight.
[Smecker gives him a look]
Detective Greenly: Ah, shit! I forgot about that one! Nine! Nine?
Paul Smecker: While Greenly's out gettin' coffee, anybody else want anything?
Detective Greenly: Shit.

Detective Duffy: This was their target, the fag-man.
Paul Smecker: The what-man?
[awkward pause]
Detective Duffy: The fat man.
Paul Smecker: Well. Freud was right.

Detective Greenly: What if it was just one guy with six guns?
Paul Smecker: Why don't you let me do the thinking, huh, genius?

Paul Smecker: Why don't you get me a cup of coffee?
Detective Greenly: Who the hell is this...?
Paul Smecker: Cafe latte.
Detective Greenly: What the fuck...?
Paul Smecker: Twist of lemon.
Detective Greenly: Chief, what the fuck is this?
Paul Smecker: Sweet'N Low.

Paul Smecker: It looks like we've got us a cowboy.

Murphy: [at the police station] Is there any way that we could stay here?
Officer Chaffey: Uh, yeah, you know, we have an extra holding cell, you guys c- Can they stay?
Paul Smecker: [sheepish grin] Well, we'll have to check with your mom. But it's okay with me if your friends sleep over.

[about the scene of the two dead Russian mobsters]
Detective Dolly: Nobody reported any gunshots.
Paul Smecker: This is an Irish neighborhood. I'm surprised you even got a phone call.

Paul Smecker: Oh really! I might just be wanting a bagel with my coffee.

[while interrogating the boys, Smecker is surprised that they are fluent in Russian]
Paul Smecker: You speak any other languages?
Murphy: Aye. Our mother insisted on it.
Paul Smecker: French?
Murphy: [in French] How do you think he figured all this out without talking to us?
Paul Smecker: Oh, that's beautiful.
Connor: [in Italian] I have no idea. Maybe somebody saw and talked.
Paul Smecker: What's that?
Connor: [chuckling] That's Italian.
Murphy: [in German] Not in our neighborhood, man. A hundred percent Irish. No one talks to cops. Period.
Paul Smecker: [not understanding] Jawohl!
Connor: [in Spanish] Then I guess he's just real, real good.


The Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day (2009)
Father Sibeal MacManus: We just wanted you to know that you aren't alone.
Eunice: There you go again saying "we" again. Who is "we"?
Paul Smecker: [offscreen] You ready to go?
[long pause]
Paul Smecker: I hear they party pretty hard in that monastery.
[Another long pause as Eunice approaches and looks to see if it's really him]
Paul Smecker: I'm not sure I'm in love with that new look you're sporting, Betty Boop.
Eunice: I went to your funeral you son of a bitch!
Paul Smecker: I know. Loved your shoes. The skirt was a tad risque for a funeral. But then again, who am I to question one's sense of *individuality*.