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: That's just fucking great! Oh great! Do you know what that is? Hans
: Yeah. Marty
: Do you know what that is? Hans
: Great. Marty
: That's just fucking great!
: Are you pissed at me, baby? Kaya
: Why would I be pissed at you, Marty? Billy
: [Kaya brushes past Billy and slams the door as she leaves
] Because you're a cunt? Marty
: How's the Seven Psychopaths coming, Marty? Marty
: Slow, slow. I've got the title, y'know... just haven't been able to come up with all the psychopaths yet. Billy
: How many you got? Marty
: One. And he ain't really much of a psychopath. He's more of a... kind of a Buddhist. Billy
: A Buddhist? Marty
: Yeah, I'm sick of all these stereotypical Hollywood murderer scumbag type psychopath movies. I don't want it to be one more film about guys with guns in their hands. I want it... overall... to be about love... and peace. But it still has to be about these seven psychopaths, so this Buddhist psychopath, he... he doesn't believe in violence. I don't know what the fuck he's going to do in the movie.
: I'm going to be over to kill you Tuesday. Marty
] . That's good, I'm not doing anything Tuesday.
: How are you ever gonna get a job, Billy, if you break the director guy's nose before you even got the part? Billy
: I didn't mean to break his nose. His nose was just in the middle of where I was punching.
: Should've brought that gun along, buddy. Marty
: I don't believe in them. Charlie
: In guns? You don't believe in guns? They ain't fucking leprechauns, you dumb Mick.
: Billy's a psychopath, Hans. Hans
: I guess he's made it into your movie now.
: Is that a guinea pig? It's a gerbil, isn't it? That's enormous. Hey, Marty, we just seen some kind of giant gerbil.
[Marty punches Billy
: Marty, you alcoholic fucking bastard. Hans
: Yeah, you might wanna stop drinking, Martin, if this is the way you're gonna behave. Marty
: If this is the way I'm gonna... This guy just telephoned a psycho-killer to come down and psycho-kill us. And this guy's doubting a lifelong belief in the afterlife because of a psychedelic cactus he just ate. And you motherfuckers are telling me to behave? Billy
: Whoa. Whoa. Time out. What's all this about doubting a lifelong belief in the afterlife because of a psychedelic cactus you just ate? Hans, what the heck? Hans
: I met Myra. On the ridge. She had some things to say. Billy
: About the afterlife being non-existent or something? Hans
: That was the gist. Billy
: No, no, it might have sounded like Myra. But you know why? Now don't get mad, but you know I can do Myra's voice pretty good. Yeah, I snuck up there a little while ago and I pretended to be her. I started saying all kinds of crazy stuff. Hans
: Hmm? But what specifically did you say? About the place you were in? The place Myra was in. Huh? How did you describe it, specifically? Billy
: You mean specifically? Hans
: Yeah. Billy
: I just kind of said it was all kind of... I just kind of said it was all kind of gray and shit. Hans
: My wife is sitting on a chair someplace. Some gray place. I thought she'd be in Heaven, but she's sitting on a chair with a bullet in her head. I thought they'd have cleaned that kind of stuff up. Marty
: Maybe you've just eaten too many hallucinogenic cactuses tonight, Hans. Hans
: Nothing to do with the hallucinogens. Marty
: But you've just seen Myra on a chair with a bullet through her head. Hans
: In some gray place. Marty
: England? Hans
: It seemed a lot worse than that. Marty
[Marty Tells Vietnamese psychopath story
: That's a great fuckin' psychopath Marty! Marty
] Yeah... But it's not what I wanna really be writin' about anymore. Billy
: [pauses to think
] Hey new idea how 'bout we change the title from The Seven Psychopaths to The Seven Lesbians Who Are All Disabled And Have Overcome All Their Spazzy Shit And Are Really Nice to Everybody And Two of Them Are Black. How 'bout that?
: I don't have a drinking problem. I just like drinking. Billy
: Of course you do, Marty. One: You're a writer. Two: You're from Ireland. It's part of your heritage. You're fucked!
: We can't leave him. Marty
: You ain't gonna fight. Hans
: Of course I ain't gonna fight, but I ain't gonna run. Marty
: What are you gonna do then? Hans
: I guess I'm gonna die. Marty
: Friends don't make their friends die Hans. Hans
: Psychopathic friends do. You're the one thought psychopaths were so interesting, but they're kinda tiresome after awhile, don't you think?
: Marty, I've been reading your movie. Your women characters are awful. None of them have anything to say for themselves. And most of them get either shot or stabbed to death within five minutes. And the ones that don't probably will later on. Marty
: Well, it's a hard world for women. I guess that's what I'm trying to say. Hans
: Yeah, it's a hard world for women, but most of the ones I know can string a sentence together.
: You're fucked from birth. The Spanish got bullfighting. The French got cheese. And the Irish have alcoholism. Marty
: And what do the Americans have? Billy
: You know what I think the movie should be? The first half should be a perfect setup for an out-and-out revenge flick. Violence. Guns. All the usual bullshit. And then... The lead characters should just walk away. They should just drive off into the desert and pitch a tent somewhere and just talk for the rest of the frigging movie. No shoot-outs, no pay-offs. Just human beings talking. Billy
: What, are we making French movies now? That sounds like the stupidest ending. No shoot-outs? That sounds like the stupidest ending I've ever fucking... NO SHOOT-OUTS? Marty
: No? Billy
: I don't remember doing anything to piss her off. Billy
: Don't worry about it. She's probably pissed at you not for anything specific, more because she's a fucking bitch. Marty
: She's not a fucking bitch, Billy. She's just got issues. Billy
: Yeah, she's got issues. She's got "being a fucking bitch" issues.
: What the hell happened? Marty
: Some punks jumped us. Said they were looking for a little shih tzu. Then some other punk killed those punks. Billy
: I've only been gone 10 fucking minutes!
: It's impossible for someone's head to actually explode, isn't it? When it gets shot. Billy
: No, no, it's possible. If the person's head was made out of explosives, it's possible.
: Okay, here we go. Exterior. Cemetery. Night. The shoot-out. Yeah! The Jack O' Diamonds is waiting there with Bonny, and he's arranged to give him back and have this whole thing end because all he really wants is peace. You know, like Gandhi or Jesus or that other guy. Anyway, he's waiting there for the Mafia boss, who's agreed to show up alone and unarmed. But, yeah, guess what? Marty
: Wait, wait a minute. Surely he knows that the Mafia boss is a psycho? Why would he believe he'd show up alone and unarmed? You know? Billy
: Yeah. Exactly! Maybe the Jack O' Diamonds was expecting to get double-crossed because he just happens to have brought a couple of friends along. Suddenly, from out of every fucking grave burst the seven psychopaths, a gun in every hand. Flamethrower! Who the fuck is that? It's the Vietcong guy. He was hiding up a tree. You!
[Points to Marty
: You're there, but you're just there to observe, and that's all right. Nobody thinks you're a pussy. But it's started raining now. Lightning. And oh, no, look who's wandered in like a fucking idiot. It's Kaya. She's come to say sorry to you, and she loves you, and that she didn't mean to be such a fucking bitch. You scream out, "Kaya! Stay back!" Too late, she's fucking mown down. Fucking mown down! Her head almost comes off. Her head does come off. You scream out her name, all sad, and she dies. You throw your notepad away. Art and peace and all that shit can wait! Now's the time for men to be men! "Fuck you, you cunts!" It's really emotional. And then... Hold on. Yeah... The black chick from the serial killer killers. She fought good, but she's the next to croak. Zachariah dies, too. He buys it. Dies in her arms. And they die and they're old and mental, and so much in love. You know, it's really sad. But his rabbit gets away, though, because you can't let the animals die in a movie. Just the women. Anyway, guns, guns, guns! Blam, blam, blam. The Vietcong gets hit. Then he dies, and he never even had a fucking name, and he's so good. With his dying move, he throws his nunchakus and he kills two of the bastards. Hans
: Nunchakus are Japanese. Billy
: [Ignores this
] So the only ones left are you and Hans. Peace is for queers. And now you're gonna die. But the Jack O' Diamonds isn't dead at all. He was just a bit injured and he had a fucking crossbow up his sleeve. That's not enough, so he pulls out a shotgun. Goodbye. And as the Jack O' Diamonds dies in their arms, he whispers, "We did good, we did good, didn't we, Marty?" And through your tears, you say, "Ah, bejesus, Jack, "we did more than good. We did grand." Jack says, "All I ever wanted was to be your friend. Marty, I'm your friend now, ain't I?" And you say, "Ah, bejesus, sure, you're me best friend, Jack. "You're me best friend." And then the Jack O' Diamonds dies. And as his soul leaves his body to go dance with the angels, we pan up over the blood-strewn cemetery and off into the pretty blue skies of dawn. Skies blue enough to suggest that maybe there can be peace one day in this troubled but beautiful world. Maybe there can be peace because that would be good!
: Now don't get mad. Marty
: What the hell did you do? Billy
: I set the car on fire. Marty
: How the hell are we supposed to get home? We're in the middle of the fucking desert, Billy. Billy
: Yeah, that's the least of our worries. Marty
: What else did you do? Billy
: I'll give you a clue. Come on in. So, yeah, I just called up old Charlie Costello and I told him where we were and to come down and get his dog back and said if he had any trouble finding us, just look for a Buick on fire. But I did tell him to promise to come alone and unarmed, and he said he would. And he'll be here in a couple of hours, depending on traffic.
: This guy just telephoned a psycho-killer to come down and psycho-kill us!
: Sorry for hitting you in the face so hard. Billy
: That's all right. It was a pretty good punch, for a pacifist.