Shoot 'Em Up (2007)
Mr. Hertz: My god! Do we really suck, or is this guy really that good?
Mr. Smith: [after a shootout with several men, and shooting out letters of a neon sign so that all that's left says "FUK U."] Fuck you, ya fucking fuckers.
[DQ has just had a quickie with a passing john to raise some quick cash]
DQ: To buy something for the baby.
Mr. Smith: Something for the baby?
[back in the pawnshop, she wraps Baby Oliver in a bulletproof vest]
DQ: A bulletproof vest is better than a crib.
Mr. Smith: I hate to think what you'd do to get him into the right school.
Mr. Hertz: Do you know why a gun is better than a wife?
Man Who Rides Shotgun: Dunno.
Mr. Hertz: You can put a silencer on a gun.
Mr. Hertz: Bravo, Mr. Hero. Bravo.
Mr. Smith: Why are you trying to kill this woman?
Mr. Smith: Something funny?
Mr. Hertz: Well, I was just remembering a limerick. "There once was a woman who was quite begat. She had three babies named Nat, Pat, and Tat. She said it was fun in the breeding, but found it was hell in the feeding, when she saw there was no tit for Tat." You have caused me no end of trouble, but now I shall return the favor. Tit for tat, right?
Mr. Smith: [after being propelled from his car into a van and shooting all occupants inside] So much for wearing your seatbelt.
Mr. Smith: [after killing several men while at the same time having sex with DQ] Talk about shooting your load.
Mr. Hertz: What the hell *is* that thing? Oh my God, that is twisted! That sick son of a bitch! Oh, that sick son of a bitch suckered us *again*!
Hammerson: Do you know why Americans love guns, Mr. Hertz? And it's got nothing to do with all that phallic mumbo-jumbo, "cockin' your gun." No, Hertz, people love guns because America is a land of opportunity, where a poor man can become rich, and a pussy can become a tough guy, if he's got a gun in his hand. Now, I'm hopin' you're not just a pussy with a gun in your hand.
Mr. Hertz: Oh no, sir. No, no, I am not. I'm a tough guy with a pussy in my hand.
Mr. Smith: I move my finger one inch to use my turn signal. Why are these assholes so lazy they can't move their finger one fucking measly inch to drive more safely? You wanna know why?
DQ: Not particularly.
Mr. Smith: Because these rich bastards have to be callous and inconsiderate in the first place to make all that money, so when they get on the road, they can't help themselves. They've gotta be callous and inconsiderate drivers too. It's in their nature.
Mr. Hertz: Are you trying to tell me that some bum came to her rescue? Well well well, this is a fine mess.
Killer Shot in Behind: I won't make this mistake again. I got a piece of lead in my butt as a reminder!
Mr. Hertz: Yeah, I can appreciate that.
[Hertz shoots him in the other cheek]
Killer Shot in Behind: Aw! My ass!
Mr. Hertz: And let that be a reminder never to fail me again.
Hertz's Driver: Of all the squats in the city, how does he know Smith's in this one? Another lucky guess?
Man Who Rides Shotgun: Naw, he doesn't guess. He sees things we don't. He was once an FBI profiler.
Mr. Hertz: Forensic behavior consultant. My god, how many times do I have to tell you guys? Details make all the difference in this business.
[opens the door]
Man Who Rides Shotgun: Hey, uh, don't you think you should hang back, sir?
Mr. Hertz: The leader who stays in the rear, takes it in the rear. Besides, violence is one of the most fun things to watch.
DQ: You are the angriest man in the world!
Mr. Smith: If I remember right, you used to like it like that.
Mr. Smith: I hate it when parents hit their children.
Woman in Museum: Let go of my arm!
Mr. Smith: Not until you stop hitting your kid.
Woman in Museum: I will discipline my child as I see fit.
Mr. Smith: How would you like it if I spank you?
[Smith spanks the mother]
Mr. Smith: See? It doesn't feel so good, does it?
Mr. Smith: You know what I really hate?
[Smith shoots Hertz in the the chest]
Mr. Smith: What I really hate, is a pussy with a gun in his hand.
[as DQ rants in Italian at Smith]
Mr. Smith: I don't understand a word you're going on about, but I know exactly what you're saying and I refuse to apologize.
Mr. Smith: [after ramming a carrot through the back of a killer's head] Eat your vegetables.
Mr. Smith: Do you know what I hate?
Baby's Mother: [in pain] No!
Mr. Smith: I hate these forty-year-old jack-holes wearing ponytails. That pony tail doesn't make you look hip, young, or cool.
[Smith shoots a ponytail henchmen in the head]
[Smith wakes up and sees Hertz pointing his gun at him]
Mr. Hertz: Don't move, Mr. Hero.
[cell phone rings]
Mr. Hertz: I can't talk right now, honey. I'm right in the middle of something.
Mr. Smith: You want to know the difference between this luxury car and a porcupine?
DQ: I give up.
Mr. Smith: With the car, the prick's on the inside.
Mr. Hertz: Does anyone know what a Jimmy Cagney love scene is? It's when Cagney lets the good guy live.
[lobby of henchmen laugh]
Mr. Hertz: [growing serious] And if that happens in this show, I will do a lot more than ask for my money back.
Mr. Smith: [after making Hammerson shoot himself] Aren't guns just fucking great, Hammerson?
Mr. Hertz: Oh, yes-siree-Bob, it certainly has been a pleasure. But before we part ways, tell me one thing: I am dead on about who you are, right?
Mr. Smith: Say that again?
Mr. Hertz: I said, I am dead...
Mr. Smith: [interrupting him] Stop. That part of it you got right.
Pawnshop Owner: You wanna buy bullets with food stamps?
Mr. Smith: [shrugging] It's just as good as cash.
Mr. Smith: [to presidential candidate Senator Rutledge] Let me give you a piece of advice. Never trust the people who stand to profit, plain and simple. They're the bad guys.
Mr. Hertz: [after telling Smith his gun is empty] And you won't be getting it up with that gun you took off my man. No, you see, like my weapon, it also has the thumbprint safety device!
Mr. Smith: Oh, really?
[holds up the thug's severed hand]
Mr. Smith: Wanna bet?
[Hertz grabs a shard of glass and charges, screaming. Smith fits the severed hand's thumb onto the pistol grip, and shoots Hertz in the chest]
Mr. Smith: Nothing like a good hand-job.
DQ: Why don't you take the baby to the police?
Mr. Smith: I can't go to the police.
DQ: Why not?
Mr. Smith: I'm the Unabomber.
DQ: They caught the Unabomber.
Mr. Smith: That's what they think.
Mr. Smith: [after biting into a carrot and pointing a gun at Hertz] What's up, doc?
Mr. Hertz: Ooh, you're a wascally wabbit.
[points his gun at Smith]
Mr. Hertz: But you're not wascally enough.
Mr. Smith: Yeah? That's a six-shooter. I just counted six shots. You've blown your load.
Mr. Hertz: [after passing a dead woman with exposed breasts] Nice knockers.
Mr. Smith: You know what I hate?
Diner Holdup Leader: [gives Smith the middle finger] Shut up and sit on this, asshole!
Diner Hood with Earring: That's right! You heard him...
[the Earring Hood advances on Smith with his gun. Smith kicks it into the air, catches it on the end of a carrot, and uses it to blow off the Leader's middle finger, the second hood's earring, and the third hood's disgustingly dirty foot]
1st Killer: You're dead, bitch!
[walks past Smith]
1st Killer: What the hell you looking at?
Woman in Park: Oh my god, look at this. Someone left a baby!
[woman is immediately shot in the back by Hertz, who looks up from his rifle's scope]
Mr. Hertz: Oops.
Mr. Hertz: [refering to Mr. Smith's techniques] National sports pistol champion at age 10. Recruited by the army. Sound like black ops got him and trained him.
Lone Man: You know we were never really trying to kill you. We only wanted to scare you into surrendering.
Mr. Smith: Well, that's one way to explain why you can't shoot straight.
Mr. Smith: Hey. Do you notice that?
DQ: Notice what?
Mr. Smith: Look.
[flicks channels on TV]
Mr. Smith: Lame-ass politician rants about gun control, he cries.
Mr. Smith: Switch to this channel with this heavy metal music... he shuts up. That's so weird.
Mr. Smith: [lone man walks out of bathroom stall] What were you doing in there so long?
Lone Man: [rubbing rag on his .44 magnum] Cleaning my gun.
Mr. Smith: [raises eye-brow] Really?
DQ: [DQ is breastfeeding another man] Wait your turn, Smith, there's plenty to go around.
Mr. Smith: Not for me, thanks. I'm lactose intolerant.
Mr. Smith: This is an M-24 tank. You are safe from all gunfire and most explosives.
Mr. Hertz: Hey, who trained you? Hmm? NSA, Black Ops, CIA, the Army? Well whoever, it's seems you haven't lost your aim, champ.
Mr. Smith: If you think that's good you should see me spell my name in the snow.
Mr. Hertz: [laughs] Hey you know my boss here thinks that you're the Lone Ranger or something. But I believe I have a better idea about who you are. I found out how your wife and son where killed. My god, what a tragedy. Some guy walks into a burger joint. He starts shooting up the place. Oh my god, what a shame that your wife and son were there, eating their chicken nuggets.
[Smith is silent in shock]
Mr. Hertz: What's the matter, you don't like that story? Well then why don't you tell me one, hmm? Children's story, please. Oh, I know, tell me my favorite. Yeah, tell me the one about the baby.
Mr. Smith: Maybe later, when I put you to sleep.
Mr. Smith: [after coming across a room full of semen samples] Watch where you step. The ice cream is melting.
Mr. Smith: I thought donor sperm was your department.
Mr. Hertz: Stop the car. He was here.
Hertz's Driver: Come on, what makes you think he was here?
Mr. Hertz: Trust me, I know what people do and I know what people think. I always have. Even as a kid I had this gift, and you should have seen the playground hurt I laid down playing rock-paper-scissors.
[while his men are cleaning up the scene of the warehouse shootout, Hertz drags the corpse of the Baby's Mother to the car]
Hertz's Driver: I was going back for her, Boss...
Mr. Hertz: No, I got it. I'm not the head honcho who sits on his hands, warming them with his own exhaust, while everybody else does the work.