R.S.V.P. (I) (2002)
Garrett: Your overeducated, undermotivated, scrawny little toothpick ass shows up at my site,
[In Jamaican accent]
Garrett: I'll be damned if I be given it a job.
Terry: You know, security's tight these days, Republican White House and all.
Nick: [To the other guests, about Hal] Don't let the poor schlep's appearance fool you, though, he actually is quite harmless.
Nick: What exactly is the object of this game?
Hal Evans: Where's Jim?
Nick: He's not here yet.
Hal Evans: No, stupid, that's the object of the game.
Hal Evans: Now, I could be famous by sunrise if I really wanted to.
Jordan: Oh really? And how's that?
Hal Evans: I'd kill everyone in this room.
Skyles: What is the correlation here between this freak and death?
Hal Evans: A, I readily concede that I am a freak, right, and B, death is just this particular freak's hobby and occupation.
Hal Evans: [To Nick] Ten people dead without anyone sayin' a word. I mean, it's downright impressive. I imagine I'll be teaching it real soon. So don't get me wrong pal when I say that you're a crazy mother fucker and they're going to fry your ass.
Hal Evans: [To Jordan] In case you haven't noticed, that crazy fuck out there's got a gun, and I... we DON'T! Just look around for a weapon.
[Jordan holds the base of a lamp]
Hal Evans: . A REAL WEAPON!
[Nick is pointing the gun at Hal and Jordan]
Hal: You know, for a big brain Nick, you're awfully fucking stupid.
Nick: Smart enough to beat you.
Hal: *Beat?* Hah! Shit, boy! Did you ever stop for fucking one goddamn minute and take a good arm's length look at the fucking situation, eh? You're nothin' but a show, my friend - a little experiment that I've privately undertaken, that I readily admit's gone a *wee* bit wrong. Right, question: how much bullshit do I have to fill an overly-intelligent, but fucking emotionally retarded kid's head with before he steps, or in Nick's case *leaps*, with both feet *and* a kitchen sink, over the edge?
Jordan: Evidentally, not fucking much!
Hal: Just whispered fucking sweet nothings about murder and mayhem into his ear and three semesters later, he's got his best friend stuffed into a box, man. Jesus, kid, wake the fuck up! You're not in control here, I am, always have been!