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: Champagne for my real friends, and real pain for my sham friends.
[Monty standing in the men's bathroom, talking to himself in a mirror with "FUCK YOU!" written on it
] Monty Brogan
: Yeah, fuck you, too. Fuck *me*? Fuck *you*, Fuck you and this whole city and everyone in it. Fuck the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back. Fuck the squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car - get a fucking job! Fuck the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores stinking up my day. Terrorists in fucking training. SLOW THE FUCK DOWN! Fuck the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped-up biceps. Going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jingling their dicks on my Channel 35. Fuck the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speaky English? Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafés, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth. Wheelin' and dealin' and schemin'. Go back where you fucking came from! Fuck the black-hatted Chassidim, strolling up and down 47th street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff. Selling South African apartheid diamonds! Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas, Gordon Gekko wannabe mother fuckers, figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for FUCKING LIFE! You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fucking break! Tyco! Worldcom! Fuck the Puerto Ricans. Twenty to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls, worst fuckin' parade in the city. And don't even get me started on the Dom-in-i-cans, 'cause they make the Puerto Ricans look good. Fuck the Bensonhurst Italians with their pomaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, their St. Anthony medallions, swinging their Jason Giambi Louisville Slugger baseball bats, trying to audition for "The Sopranos." Fuck the Upper East Side wives with their Hermès scarves and their fifty-dollar Balducci artichokes. Overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched, all taut and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart! Fuck the uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want to play defense, they take five steps on every lay-up to the hoop. And then they want to turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended one hundred and thirty seven years ago. Move the fuck on! Fuck the corrupt cops with their anus-violating plungers and their 41 shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray our trust! Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. And while you're at it, fuck J.C.! He got off easy! A day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity! Try seven years in fuckin' Otisville, J.! Fuck Osama Bin Laden, al-Qaeda, and backward-ass cave-dwelling fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your seventy-two whores roasting in a jet-fuel fire in hell. You towel-headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal Irish ass! Fuck Jacob Elinsky. Whining malcontent. Fuck Francis Xavier Slaughtery my best friend, judging me while he stares at my girlfriend's ass. Fuck Naturelle Riviera, I gave her my trust and she stabbed me in the back, sold me up the river, fucking bitch. Fuck my father with his endless grief, standing behind that bar sipping on club sodas, selling whisky to firemen, and cheering the Bronx Bombers. Fuck this whole city and everyone in it. From the row-houses of Astoria to the penthouses on Park Avenue, from the projects in the Bronx to the lofts in Soho. From the tenements in Alphabet City to the brownstones in Park Slope to the split-levels in Staten Island. Let an earthquake crumble it, let the fires rage, let it burn to fucking ash and then let the waters rise and submerge this whole rat-infested place.
] Monty Brogan
: No. No, fuck you, Montgomery Brogan. You had it all, and you threw it away, you *dumb* *fuck*!
: I need you to make me ugly.
: [as he arrives late for the party
] So how can you start this party without me? Monty Brogan
: Oh shut up, you fat Russian fuck! Kostya Novotny
: Fat UKRANIAN fuck!
: [Mary drinks her champagne all at once
] Did you like that? Mary D'Annunzio
: Monty, I have beautiful woman, very nice! Monty Brogan
: Yeah, well, I'm not really in the mood for that. I've got a nice girl. Kostya Novotny
: I know, I know. Tonight is a special night. Last night as free man. I pick her out special, just for you. Monty Brogan
: The last girl you picked out special for me had three teeth, all in the back!
] Monty Brogan
: Look at this. He's alive. Kostya Novotny
: This dog, how you call it? Bull pit? Monty Brogan
: No, Pit-Bull. But that's not a pit bull. I don't know, I don't know what he is. I bet he lost somebody some money though. Give me your gun. Kostya Novotny
: Shooting him? Monty Brogan
: [from deleted scene
] Y'know, people think I was after the money... and I was in a way. I mean, let's face it, money gets you nice things. I like... Italian shoes and a fast car like anybody else, but I don't need 'em. It's not like I grew up poor. I wasn't chasing the money, I was chasing a feeling. What I hungered for... was *sway*. Kostya Novotny
: Sway... helps you make money. And money... helps you make sway. But sway is not money. *This* is sway. Naturelle Riviera
: Sway is walking into the Import Warehouse in Brooklyn... all the clothes from Europe straight off the boat, still wrapped in plastic... Gucci, Prada, YSL... You can pick out what you want... because everybody knows your boyfriend, and everyone owes him a favor. Jakob Elinsky
: Sway is walking into the best five-star restaurant in the city, without a reservation, and being seated... right away. Frank Slaughtery
: Sway? Ha ha ha. That's making a phone call in the morning, and having courtside seats, Madison Square Garden, that evening. Lakers vs. Knicks, Kobe and Shizzaq in the hizzouse! Mary D'Annunzio
: Sway is entering a club through the staff entrance, so you can skip the line, the cover charge... and the metal detector. Monty Brogan
: Sway is locking eyes with an undercover cop on the subway. You know what he is, and he knows what you are, and you *wink* at him... because he drives a battered Buick and you drive a vintage muscle car, and he can. Not. Touch. You. That, my friends, is sway.
: You don't read the papers much, do you smart guy? In New York? We've a wonderful thing called the Rockefeller laws. Let me educate you. You had a kilo in your sofa. That kind of weight makes it an A1 felony. 15 years to life minimum for a first offense. Now with that much spread in the sentencing guidelines, the judges take their cues from the prosecutors. So if the prosecutors wife busted his chops that morning, you're fucked. You're gone for good. If you get lucky? Really lucky? And let's say he got some good trim the night before. Maybe he'll plea you off to an A2. But that's still 3 to 8 for first time, minimum. How much of that stretch you pull is all up to the mood of the prosecutor. And he's gonna ask us, "Did he play ball?" So, why don't you tell us about your friend, Nikolai? Let us make it easy on you. Monty Brogan
: [to Agent Cunningham
] Can I ask you one question? Agent Cunningham
: Sure. Monty Brogan
: When you have your dick in his mouth, does he just keep talking like that? Cause it seems to me he just never shuts up. I'm just curious does that get annoying? You know, you're fucking a guy in the mouth and he just won't shut up? Agent Cunningham
: Look here, you vanilla motherfucker. When you're upstate, takin' it in the culo by a buncha guys callin' you Shirley, you'll only have yourself and Governor Rockefeller to thank for the privilege.
: [bows down over abused dog, which starts lashing out
] Oh, shit... AH! Fuck, he's got a lot of bite left in him, huh? Kostya Novotny
: I think bull-pit is not playing with you, Monty. Monty Brogan
: Yeah, no shit. Kostya Novotny
: Come... you want police coming? Monty Brogan
: Ah, look they used him like a fucking ashtray, man... what a bunch of assholes. Let's get him in the trunk. Kostya Novotny
: What? Monty Brogan
: Yeah... there's a vet emergency room, right over here. Come on, I like this guy. Kostya Novotny
: He tries to bite your face off... he is mean! You want dog, I buy you nice puppy tomorrow. Monty Brogan
: Ah, no... what the fuck I want with a puppy, Kostya. Kostya Novotny
: Where you go, Monty? Monty, wait. What the... I not go near bull-pit, Monty. This thing is disgusting! Monty Brogan
: I told you, I told you... it's not a pit bull. He's... look at him, he's a good dog, I can see it in his eyes. He's a tough little bastard, he wasn't lying down for anybody. Kostya Novotny
: Sometimes I think you very stupid man! Monty Brogan
: Look at him... come on! If we wait much longer he's gonna be dead, alright? Kostya Novotny
: You wanted shoot him with my gun. Monty Brogan
: That was a mercy thing... he's not ready to go yet, he wants to live. Kostya Novotny
: Oh, he tell you this now? Monty Brogan
: No... but it's like a baby, OK. They all bitch and scream like that, you know... they see the doctor coming with the needle. It's good for him in the long run. Kostya Novotny
: You have no baby? Monty Brogan
: I can't talk to you, Kostya.
: [puts abused dog in the trunk
] I'm trying to help you, you little prick! Huh? Come on, come on... quién es más macho? Monty es más macho! Kostya Novotny
: What goes on in your little head? Monty Brogan
: Little the tricks, little the quicks... boom, bam, snap! Kostya Novotny
: Yeah... little tricks, little quicks. You're bleeding, you get bite. Monty Brogan
: Dog's blood. You gotta learn to relax a little bit... live a little. Kostya Novotny
: You have hole in neck and blood is coming out. Monty Brogan
: A little love bite for saving his raggedy ass. Kostya Novotny
: Rule number one; you can not grab half-dead animals! We have people waiting for us! People with money! You want to play this cowboy, no... dogboy, in the middle of the highway. Monty Brogan
: Dogboy? That's funny, Kotsya... you really mastered the language. Kostya Novotny
: Yes, funny... funny. You're bad luck... you bring bad luck on me. Always everything that can go wrong, go wrong. It's not just you and me anymore, when we go out... it's you and me and Doyle. Monty Brogan
: Who's Doyle? Kostya Novotny
: Doyle! Doyle's law. What? Monty Brogan
: It's Murphy. Kostya Novotny
: Who is Murphy? Monty Brogan
: Who's Murphy? Who's Doyle! It's Murphy's law... "whatever can go wrong, will go wrong"? Kostya Novotny
: Him, yes! Monty Brogan
: Yes, him.
: I pick her out special just for you. Monty Brogan
: The last girl you picked out special for me had three teeth, all in the back. Kostya Novotny
: Funny you should say that.
] Monty Brogan
: Why? Why is it funny I should say that? Kostya Novotny
: What you say, it was funny. Monty Brogan
: Kostya, you can't... when you... Monty Brogan
: It's an expression. If you say that... Frank Slaughtery
: It's a, uh, euphemism, right? Monty Brogan
: Can you explain this? You're the English teacher. Jakob Elinsky
: Uh... Jakob Elinsky
: I think what he means, Kostya, is that when you say, "Funny you should say that," that means that it reminds you of a funny story. Monty Brogan
: Exactly. Kostya Novotny
: No, no. It was funny what you say... "Funny you should say that." Monty Brogan
: It still makes no fucking sense. This is what I deal with.