Discworld II: Mortality Bytes! (1996 Video Game)
Rincewind: One croquet hoop. Or, if we're being foreign, we'd say hoopla.
Windle Poons: If this is Heaven, I wish I'd done wicked things when I was alive.
Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully: I haven't seen anything this awful since I saw the Dean in the showers.
Rincewind: [describing himself when the player right-clicks on him] Rincewind. Homo-Sapiens Sorcerus Irritabulis. In reality I'm a full foot taller, bronzed and rippling with muscles but it's been a hard night for the artist.
Mrs Cake: I am, too!
Rincewind: You're not really a psychic!
Mrs Cake: I will!
Rincewind: Prove it!
Mrs Cake: Alright! Ask them!
Rincewind: I know, answer my questions.
Mrs Cake: Blue!
Rincewind: Describe my favourite colour!
Mrs Cake: A rash!
Rincewind: Describe what I got for my birthday!
Mrs Cake: Fat, toothless and covered in sauce!
Rincewind: Describe my breakfast!
Mrs Cake: Frilly underwear!
Rincewind: Nope... I just can't remember what I meant to ask just then.
Mrs Cake: I do, and you ought to wash your mind with soap and water. Now, why don't you just go off about your business or I'll tell all the nice audience about what you keep in your sock drawer!
Rincewind: Collect a babe, a jingle and some novelties... I don't suppose you'd consider collecting them yourself?
Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler: No, mate! What sort of fool would waste his valuable leisure time voluntarily going off on annoying little quests set by stupid and ungrateful people, eh?
Rincewind: Ha ha ha. Yes, he'd have to be some sort of idiot, wouldn't he?
Rincewind: Hello there! And what are we doing in this awful place, eh?
Susan Sto Helit: What are WE doing here? Well, I'm minding my own business, as for you're doing, some of us would rather not now. Apart from that there doesn't seem to be much going on.
Rincewind: Look, I was only trying to be friendly.
Susan Sto Helit: Yes, probably not a good idea seeing as you're wearing that dress. I was always told not to talk to strangers and it'd be hard to be stranger than you.
Rincewind: Well, excuse me! All I thought was "Hello, here's another mortal in the land of death, then"! I mean, it seemed we might have a few mutual talking points, information to exchange, pleasantries, something in common, that sort of thing.
Susan Sto Helit: Well, it looks as if we buy our clothes in the same shop.
Bursar: Er, he, he, um... He, he says he's not dead!
Windle Poons: I AM dead. But I'm still bloody ambulatory!
Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully: No, you're not. You're fooling no one but yourself, you know.
Bursar: Hmmm. Well, he, he looks dead.
Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully: [sniffs] Smells dead. Course, he always did though.
Rincewind: So, you're a clickie star now, are you?
Milkmaid: Yeah, isn't it fun! They said my assets and experience perfectly suited me to the job.
Rincewind: Experience? You were a bloody milkmaid!
Rincewind: I fail to see what milk production has to do with qualities of screen charisma... Ah. Well, forget I said that.
Duckman: Spare a gold piece, sir? Spare a gold piece?
Rincewind: A whole gold piece? Most people don't earn that in a month!
Duckman: Well, the streets are swarming with beggars, sir, so I just thought I'd establish myself in a different niche market. You know, beggar to the upper gentry.
Rincewind: Oh really?
Duckman: So, as I say, sir, any gold pieces to spare? Perhaps raw bullion? Shares, futures, that sort of thing?
Rincewind: Oh, stop it! And go and do something about that duck!
Duckman: [has a live duck on his head] What duck?
Ship Captain: Aaaaar! Yo ho ho, me matey! Shiver your timber, avast improvement!
Dead Collector: Stop that!
Ship Captain: Oh, please! It's genuine nautical gibberish.
Dead Collector: No! I've told you about that. I'm only doing business with you if you stop all ridiculous yo-ho-ho business. It's... demeaning.
Ship Captain: But it's establishing character!
Dead Collector: No, it's establishing that you are a loony! This is supposed to be a sea voyage, not Captain Seadog's Little Shipmates Holiday Fun Club!
Ship Captain: Look, if we're going to sea, then we ought to establish ourselves as acceptable stereotypes of sea-going characters. It all stands to reason! Now, you can't hold me responsible for the paradigms which grip our customers. They don't think you're real without all that "Avast the mainbrace! Arrrr!" business. Word-of-mouth advertising can make-or-break a business like mine.
Dead Collector: Word of mouth! They're dead!
Ship Captain: Oh. Oh, all right. Just bring 'em onboard then and we'll forget all about it.
[the Dead Collector tosses the bodies onto the ship, including Rincewind]
Ship Captain: [muttering] Arrrr, so, er, timbers, arrrr. Shiver, arrrr, errrr, hoist, hoist, er, hurhurhur, herrr. Oh, locker, oh, her, herr! Oh, wooden, wooden, oh, errr, mouse... oh, stop, no, ho ho...
Dead Collector: What?
Ship Captain: Erm, nothing! Er, just, um, ahem, clearing me throat!
Dead Collector: There's something very odd about you.
Dead Collector: Oh well, can't win them all... Or any of them, come to think of it.
Rincewind: Why do people lapse into insanity when they talk to me?
Rincewind: [ending a conversation] Excuse me, I... I think it's probably time for me to take my medicine.
Old Woman: Hey there, your Highness! And aren't you a pretty little girl!
Rincewind: I'm not a little girl, I'm a powerful and dignified magician.
Old Woman: Why are you dressed up as a princess, then?
Rincewind: I most certainly am not!
Old Woman: You've got a tall, pointy hat. All princesses have tall, pointy hats.
Rincewind: Look, it's not...
Old Woman: And a dress! A tall, pointy hat and a dress, that's a princess in my book!
Rincewind: So how do you explain the beard then, eh? Eh?
Old Woman: I thought that was just probably your peasant blood, dear. A lot of men find a bit of hair sultry and attractive.
Rincewind: I wish a lot of women did.
Henry Coffin: [coughing violently] Ere, spare a groat for a...
Henry Coffin: Spare a... Eeeer, damn! Forgotten what I was asking now!
Foul Ole Ron: Talking! I'm good at that. Most of the time I talks to myself, cos it's nice to hear an intelligent person speak. Millenium hand and shrimp! You can blow that out of your teapot and no mistake. I'm as sane as the next man, listen!
Rincewind: I just hope I never meet the next man. But I probably will.
Foul Ole Ron: Spiders... spiders... mumble-mumble-muhhuh. Sticking like sticky paper, and lying. Millenium hand and shrimp! Lying!
Rincewind: [aside] You know, some might say that this chap lacks a firm grasp upon reality.
Foul Ole Ron: Ehh, bugger 'em! Bugger 'em all!
Rincewind: My personal theory is that he has a very firm grasp upon reality, it's simply not a reality the rest of us have ever met before.
Rincewind: A rodent bar. How lovely.
Gimlet: Prime eatin', sir. Vole-au-vents and rat-tatouille. Fresh caught at the table, sir.
Rincewind: And do you cook them?
Gimlet: Cook? Ha, and ruin the flavour?
Rincewind: Gimlet - here's a dwarf who knows the meaning of the word 'hygiene', he thinks it's a greeting. Still, at least his shirt front can act as a sort of menu.
Rincewind: So, we're into clickies now, are we? At last the monkey has found the banana plantation.
Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler: Yep, moving pictures. Clickies! Ah, now there's romance for you. Hot dogs, popcorn, drink stands, the merry rumble of candy rolling down the aisles.
Rincewind: And the shows? Don't forget the actual clickies themselves!
Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler: What? Oh, oh yeah, I mean the shows go without saying. Chocolate-dipped ice cream, novelty drinking cups, collectable lobby cards...
Rincewind: I don't believe this! You mean to tell me that art has to take a second place to cheap licensing and marketing? Well, I can tell you that I'm above that sort of thing! Catch me being involved in some damned licensing scam? Hah! Fat chance. The last think I'd ever do is allow myself to become involved in a shabby marketing ploy designed to use a famous name to sell a product which is in itself devoid of any real... Hmmmm... right. Well, good luck with the career and I'll be off.
[Rincewind walks away]
Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler: Did we mention the range of pewter figurines and exciting T-shirts this time?
Rincewind: If I promise you that I'll find a way of making you popular, will you come back?
Death: People will like me, you promise?
Rincewind: Cross my heart and hope to meet you in your professional capacity.
Rincewind: Are you sure there's no one else's life you'd like to ruin?
Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully: At the moment, I'm content to merely ruin the life of Assistant Wizard Rincewind. I suppose if pushed, I could try ruining the life of Gardener's Assistant Rincewind... Assistant Street Sweeper Rincewind... Actually, I feel a certain yearning to really come down like a ton of rectangular building things upon a Sewerage Systems Blockage Removal Technician Rincewind!
Rincewind: Um, so that was 3 sticks, mouse's blood, glitter, stench and candles. Right, back in a tick! Or maybe a jiffy!
Rincewind: [to the Archchancellor] You know, when I get older, I want a job where I just sit drinking milky tea all day too.
[Rincewind is chased out of the elf kingdom by a pair of camp elves]
Elf #1: And don't come back!
Elf #2: You set foot in here again and you'll be taking your ears home in your hat.
Elf #1: We are fey creatures of the twilight, pal, not little tooth fairies.
Elf #2: The difference is we take all your teeth and leave your head under the pillow.
Rincewind: [if the player double-clicks on him] Ooooh, you handsome little sea weevil, you!
Rincewind: You wouldn't say there's anything in the slightest bit unusual in your appearance at all?
Duckman: [has a live duck on his head] No. Why?
Rincewind: Nothing that, say, when viewed in a mirror might give you pause for thought?
Duckman: What's a mirror, sir?
Rincewind: Ah! We may, in fact, have reached the root of the problem. However it's a silly problem and so I am suddenly going to stop talking to you.
Rincewind: My dear, faithful old Luggage. Quiet as a log, and just about as smart.
Rincewind: The Archchancellor, my imperious leader, who thinks shouting is the same as intelligence.
Rincewind: A black sheep? But he's a skeleton! Ah, I get it, he's died in the wool. Er, this is a pun or play on words. Go on, let the groan out. It's therapeutic.
Rincewind: For you, "irony" means "sort of like iron", doesn't it?
Stenkh the Imp: [singing] Oh, you say I'm just a smelly little imp and so I say hooray-oh! You say that I'm just a silly little gimp and I say go away-oh! 'Cos I'm smelly over here, I'm smelly over there, I'm smelly, smelly, smelly everywhere! I fill the bath tub plug with hair and then I sing all day-oh! Oh, you say I'm just a silly jelly blimp and I say it's OK-oh! You say a piece of string is limp and I say the word potato! Limp, limp, limp here, limp, limp, limp there and potato peeling everywhere! How long's it take to skin a bear? And I say... um... and I say... all day-oh! Oit!