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Max: It's like giving a handgun to a six-year-old, Wade - you don't know how it's gonna end, but you're pretty sure it's gonna make the papers.
Max: I'm saving the country, Wade - doing something for the benefit of the United States of America.
Wade: I was born in Quebec.
Max: Okay... then we're saving *North* America.
Max: What do you know about deep-space tachyons?
Wade: Nothing.
Max: Base-particle string theory?
Wade: Nothing.
Max: Singularity events?
Wade: Not a ton.
Max: I think we should move on, then.
Max: What the hell am I looking at here, Wade?
Wade: Clay and his unit.
Max: "Clay and his unit?" That sounds like a porno, Wade.
Wade: You had them killed four months ago.
Max: I've done a lot in four months, Wade. I'm a very busy man.
Max: Okay, so five dead men hijacked you, Wade. Did you happen to find out who's behind them?
Wade: Not the CIA, NSA, Special Ops...
Max: Yeah, I'm aware it's not us.
Max: Home again, home again... jiggedy jig.
Vikram: Do you have the money?
Max: Jesus! Always with the money. "Hi, how are ya? How've you been? Namaste?
Vikram: I recently attended the funeral of my best friend, who you had thrown off a roof. How have *you* been?
Max: I can't complain. Actually, I'm thinking about getting a satellite radio for my car.
[
looks at Vikram's fellow scientist]
Max: God, you ARE short. Seriously, how much do you weigh? Are you standing in a hole?
Vikram: We have your ordinances.
Max: All righty. Let's make a cash withdrawal, and
[
in bad Hindu accent]
Max: *Who wants to be a billionaire?*
Max: [
as Clay drives off his helicopter with a blast of machine gun fire] That was my ride.
Clay: Bummer.