Dan Aykroyd: Grocer

Grosse Pointe Blank

Grocer

Mr. Grocer: [singing] I'll be comin' around the mountain when I come / I'll be comin' around the mountain when I come / I'll be blowin' your fuckin' head off / I'll be blowin' your fuckin' head off / I'll be whackin' your fuckin' mind out when I come.

Martin Q. Blank: You must've done some *naughty* shit there, Bart.
[flips dossier over to him]
Martin Q. Blank: There's a contract out on your life. Believe me. I was hired to kill you, but I'm not going to do it. It's either because I'm in love with your daughter or because I have a newfound respect for life.
Mr. Grocer: [following in van] That punk is either in love with that guy's daughter or he has a newfound respect for life.
Mr. Newberry: [after reading dossier] My whole life!
Martin Q. Blank: Hopefully not.

Mr. Grocer: [Martin and Grocer have just killed Agents Lardner and McCullers] Workers of the world, UNITE!
[point their empty guns at each other]
Mr. Grocer: Look at that: Empty!
Mr. Grocer: [Grocer pulls a fresh pistol as he hears Martin releasing the slide on his empty pistol] Solidarity baby! You out?
Marty: Yeah.
Mr. Grocer: So, what are you gonna do? You gonna THROW that gun at me?
Marty: No.
Mr. Grocer: How 'bout this? How 'bout I sell you a piece for a hundred Gs?
Marty: OK! Front me?
[grabs TV]
Mr. Grocer: Deal!
[throws the gun out, waiting to off Martin]
Marty: Popcorn!
[slams TV on Grocer's head, killing him]

Mr. Grocer: [Marty and Grocer are shooting eachother] Comrade! Comrade!
Marty: What?
Mr. Grocer: Why don't you just join the union, we'll go upstairs together and cap daddy!
Marty: This union, there's gonna be meetings?
Mr. Grocer: Of course!
Marty: No meetings.
[They continue shooting]

Mr. Grocer: And after we do your job, we're gonna do another little job.
Marty: Tell me about it.
Mr. Grocer: Like I'm gonna put a bullet hole in your fuckin' forehead, and I'm gonna fuck the brain hole!
Marty: Nice talk, sugar mouth.

Mr. Grocer: Here's the new stuff, kid. Durazac 15. Makes Prozac seem like a decaf latté. Want a couple? I've got jars.
Marty: I don't do that stuff anymore.
Mr. Grocer: No wonder you got the shakes. And don't say "do it," because I don't "do it." I *ingest* it, on orders from my neurophysiologist. It's legal. In five years they'll be putting it in the water for the citizens, like fluoride.

Mr. Grocer: Ya sure Oregon doesn't ring a bell? The Pacific Northwest, couple of months ago? Something about you doin' some wonderdog named Cujo...
Martin Q. Blank: Ah, *Budro*, yes, Budro, Jesus Christ! Yeah, I was out there tryin' to whack these junk bond fuckos and these idiots were flushing game with sticks of dynamite! And the dog that they borrowed, little Budro, was a retriever, get it? Budro was never a target, Budro was acting on instinct. I would never hurt an animal and I'm offended at the accusation...
Mr. Grocer: Whoa, whoa, whoa, Chatty Cathy! Clip yer string, I don't need to know! But, just for the record, here's what I heard: the marks borrowed your client's prize hunting pup. So, bad luck for Budro and bad luck for Blank. Poodle pumper. Hound hitter. Pooch puncher!

Mr. Grocer: Smells like a wedding. You're breaking my heart down here, Blank, I can't aim through the tears.

Mr. Grocer: Look, I don't want to play against you! This thing is real.
Martin Q. Blank: How real?
Mr. Grocer: Maranga Brothers, them, uh, East German ex-Stasi guys...
Martin Q. Blank: Oh, I don't like those guys.
Mr. Grocer: Them butch Filipino ladies...
Martin Q. Blank: What, the dwarf, maid...
[makes stabbing motion]
Mr. Grocer: Stabbers! Queens of the hotel hit, you know.
Martin Q. Blank: You got a great crew.
Mr. Grocer: Everybody's in!
Martin Q. Blank: Yeah well, not me, so don't paw at me with your dirty little guild, okay?

Mr. Grocer: Hey, if you're lookin' for a father figure I'll give you a spankin'!

Marty: What about those two guys in a Caprice Classic outside? The word is you turned two Governments on me, you turncoat.
Mr. Grocer: Me?
Marty: You.
Mr. Grocer: Go G?
Marty: Yes.
Mr. Grocer: On you?
Marty: Yes.
Mr. Grocer: Never.

Mr. Grocer: Kid, I'm putting together a little concern, which would enable those of us in our, uh, rarified profession to avoid embarrassing overlaps.
Martin Q. Blank: What, like a union?
Mr. Grocer: More like a club. You know, work less, make more.
Martin Q. Blank: Wow, sounds like a great idea, but... thank you, no.
Mr. Grocer: No? You remember Burma?
Martin Q. Blank: Yeah, I do.
Mr. Grocer: That nut, General Kwang? You were like a... colonel in that army, weren't you?
Martin Q. Blank: Yeah, yeah, he sold you all those tanks, you shipped 'em to Alabama...
Mr. Grocer: T-34s, I took a bath on that.
Martin Q. Blank: Yeah, that was fun.
Mr. Grocer: That's what I'm talking about, kid, we could be working together again, for God's sake! You know, making big money, killing important people!

Mr. Grocer: Alright, well, you know, life's full of second chances. And here's chance two for you. You think about coming in with me! You ponder, okay?

Steve: If we observe the subject in an illegal act, only then can we intervene and terminate.
Dr. Oatman: Yeah.
Mr. Grocer: Why don't you just go and shoot the fucker, huh?
Steve: Because we are not assassins, Mr. Grocer. We work for the American government.