Showing posts with label Narcissist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Narcissist. Show all posts

Wednesday, 30 October 2019

Liar’s Poker — Clowns to The Left of Me, Jokers to The Right

We're just gonna sit here and bleed... 'til Joe Cabot sticks his fuckin' head through that door. 

Say hello to a motherfucker who's inside. 
Cabot's doing a job.
He wants me on the team. 

This better not be a joke. 

This ain't a joke.

I'm in. I'm up his ass. 
Nice Guy Eddie tells me Joe wants to meet me.  
He says I should just wait for a phone call. 
After waiting three days he calls me last night and says Joe's ready.
He'll pick me up in 10 minutes.

Who picked you up? 

Nice Guy. We get to a bar.

What bar? 

Smokey Pete's in Gardena. 
We get there... and I meet Joe and a guy named Mr. White. Phony name.
My name's Mr. Orange.

Mr. Orange?

Mr. Orange. 

Okay, Mr. Orange.
You ever see this motherfucker before?

Who? Mr. White? 

Yes. Mr. White. 

No. He ain't one of Cabot's men either.
He's gotta be from out of town.
Joe knows him good.

How can you tell? 

The way they talk.
You can tell they're buddies.

You two talk?

Me and Joe? 

Mr. White.

A little.

About what? 

The Brewers. 

Milwaukee Brewers? 

They won the night before.
He made some money off them. 

Good. If this crook's a Brewers fan, he's gotta be from Wisconsin. 
And I'll bet you everything... they got a sheet in Milwaukee on this Mr. White's ass. 
So I want you to go through everybody in Milwaukee with a history of armed robbery and put a name to the face.
Nice work, Freddy.

Thank you, my man.

How was Long Beach Mike's referral?

Perfect. His backing me up went a long way.
I told them I played poker with him. 
Nice Guy checked it out and said it was A-okay. Said I was a good Thief,
I didn't rattle... and that I was ready to move. 
He's a good guy.
I wouldn't be inside without him. 

No, no — Long Beach Mike is not your friend. 
Long Beach Mike is a fucking scumbag. 
He's selling out his amigos. 
That's how nice he fuckin' is. 
I'll take care of his ass... but you get that scumbag out of mind and take care of business. 


Use The Commode Story.

What's The Commode Story?

It's a scene. 
Memorise it. 

A what?

An undercover cop's gotta be Marlon Brando. 
To do this job you gotta be a great actor, naturalistic. 
You gotta be naturalistic as hell. 
If you're a bad actor, that's bullshit in this job. 

What is this? 

That's an amusing anecdote about a drug deal —
Something funny that happened to you while you were doing a job. 

I gotta memorise all this?
There's four pages of this shit. 

Think about it like it's a joke. 
Memorise what's important.
The rest you make your own. 
You can tell a joke, can't you? 
Well, pretend you're Don Rickles... and tell a joke, all right? 
The things you gotta remember are the details. 
The details sell your story. 

This particular story takes place in a men's room. 
You gotta know all the details-- 

Whether they got paper towels or a blower to dry your hands. 
You gotta know if the stalls ain't got no doors or not. 
You gotta know if they got liquid soap or that pink, granulated shit... they used in high school. 
You gotta know if they got hot water or not, if it stinks... 
if some nasty, lowlife, scum-ridden motherfucker... sprayed diarrhea all over one of the bowls. 

You gotta know every detail there is to know about this commode. 

What you gotta do is take all them details and make 'em your own. 

While you're doing that, remember that this story is about you... 
and how you perceived the events that went down. 

The only way to do that... is keep sayin' it... and sayin' it and sayin' it. 

This is during the L.A. marijuana drought, 
I still had a connection, which was insane 'cause... you couldn't get any weed anywhere then. 
Anyway, I had a connection with this hippie chick in Santa Cruz... and all my friends knew it. 

They call me and say,
"Hey, Freddy--" 


They say, 
"Hey, dude — You gettin' some? 
Can you get some for me too?" 

They knew I still smoked, so they asked me to buy some for them. 
It got to be-- Every time I bought some weed I was buyin' for four or five people.

 Finally I said, fuck this shit.
I'm makin' this bitch rich. She didn't even have to meet these people. 
I was doing all the work. 

That got to be a pain in the ass, people calling all the time. 
I couldn't even rent a tape without six fuckin' interruptions. 

"When's the next time you're gettin' some?" 

"Motherfucker!I'm tryin' to watch The Lost Boys!
When I get some, I'll call you." 

Then these rink-a-dink potheads come by. 

They're my friends and everything, but still-- I got it laid out in -dollar bags, they don't want dollars worth. 

They want ten dollars' worth, and breaking it up wasn't easy. 
I don't even know what ten dollars' worth looks like. 

This was a very weird situation. Remember back in ' ... there was a major fuckin' drought. 
Nobody had anything. People were livin' on resin, smokin' the wood in their pipes. 

This chick had a bunch and she's beggin' me to sell it. 

So I told her I wasn't gonna be Joe the pot man anymore... but I would take a little bit
and sell it to my close friends. 

She agreed and we kept the same arrangement as before-- ten percent and free pot for me... if I helped her that weekend. 

She was sellin' a brick of weed and didn't wanna go to the buy alone. Her brother usually goes with her, but he's in County unexpectedly. 

What for? His traffic tickets gone to warrant. 
They stopped him, found warrants on him, took him to County. 

She doesn't wanna walk around alone with all that weed. 
I don't wanna do this.
I have a very bad feeling about it. 
She keeps asking me, asking me. 

Finally I said okay 'cause I'm sick of hearing it. 

So we go to the train station--

Wait. You're goin' to the train station with the weed on ya? 

Yeah, The guy needed it right away. 
Anyway, we get to the train station... and we're waitin' for the guy. 

I'm carryin' the weed in a carry-on bag. 
I gotta take a piss, so I tell her I'm goin' to the boy's room. 
So I walk into the men's room and who's standing there? 
Four Los Angeles County sheriffs and a German shepherd. 

They're waitin' for you?

No, they're just four guys standing around in a Men's Room talkin'. 
And when I walked in, they all stopped talkin'... and they looked at me. 

That's hard.
That's a fuckin' hard situation. 

German shepherd starts barking. 
He's barkin' at me. I mean, it's obvious he's barkin' at me
Every nerve ending, all of my senses, the blood in the veins was screamin': 

"Take off, man. Just bail. Get the fuck outta there." 

Panic hits me like a bucket of water. Bam! 

Right in the face. I'm drenched in panic and these cops are lookin' at me and they know it. 

They can smell it,sure as that fuckin' dog can. They can smell it on me. 

"Shut up. So anyway,
I got my gun drawn. I point it at this guy
and I tell him... 

"Freeze.Don't fuckin' move." 

This little idiot's looking right at me and saying... 

"I know, I know." 

But meanwhile his right hand
is creepin' toward the glove box. I scream at him, 

I'm gonna blow you away right now! 
Put your hands on the dash." 

He's still looking at me, nodding his head. "I know, buddy, I know." 

Meanwhile his hand is still
going for the glove box. And I said... 

"Buddy, I'm gonna shoot you
in the face... if you don't put your hands up." 

Then this guy's girlfriend, this real sexy Oriental bitch... she starts screaming at him:

"Chuck, what are you doin'? 
Listen to the officer!
Put your hands on the dash!" 

So then the guy snaps out of it and puts his hands on the dash. 

What was he goin' for? 

His fucking registration. 

You're kidding.

No, man! Stupid citizen doesn't know how closehe came to gettin' blown away. That close, man. 

You knew how to handle that situation. 
You shit your pants, dive in and swim. 

Tell me more about Cabot. 

I don't know. He's a cool guy. He's funny.
He's a funny guy. You remember the Fantastic Four? 

Yeah, with that invisible bitch... and "Flame on" and shit, right? 

Thing. Motherfucker... looks just like the Thing. 

Hey! Showtime! Grab your jacket.
I'm parked outside. 

I'll be right down. 

He'll be right down. 

Don't pussy out on me now. 
They don't know. 

They don't know shit. 
You're not gonna get hurt.

You're fuckin' Baretta. 
They believe every fuckin' word 'cause you're super cool. 

There goes our boy. 
The guy has to have rocks in his head the size of Gibraltar... to work undercover. 

You want one of these?
Yeah, give me the bear claw. 

 Fuck. Jesus. I'm blind, man.
I'm fuckin' blind. 

No, you just got blood in your eyes. 
Is he dead? Did he die or not? 
Let's go. 

Hold it! Get out! 
Get out of the fuckin' car! 

I'm sorry.
I'm sorry, Larry. I can't believe she killed me. 
Who'd have fucking thought that? 

Hey, just cancel that shit right now. You're hurt.
You're hurt real fuckin' bad. 
But you ain't dying. All this blood's scaring the shit out of me, Larry. 
I'm gonna die. I know it. 

What the fuck happened? 

He slashed the cop's face, cut off his ear and was gonna burn him alive. 

What? I didn't hear you. 

I said... Blonde went crazy. 
He slashed the cop's face, cut off his ear and was gonna burn him alive. 

This cop? 
He went crazy?
Something like that? 
Worse or better? 

Eddie, he was pulling a burn, man. 
He was gonna kill the cop and me. 

When you guys walked in, he was gonna kill you and run with the diamonds. 

What'd I tell ya? That sick piece of shit was a stone-cold psycho. 

You should've asked the cop, not just killed him. 

He talked about what he was gonna do when he was slicing him up. 

I don't buy it. Doesn't make sense. 

Makes perfect fuckin' sense to me. 
You didn't see how he acted during the job. 
We did. 

He's right.
The ear's hacked off. 

Let me just say this out loud, 'cause I wanna get this straight. 

You're saying that Mr. Blonde... was gonna kill you... 
and then when we got back he was gonna kill us... 
take the diamonds and scram. 
I'm right about that, right?
That's your story? 

I swear on my mother's soul... that's what happened. 

The man you killed just got released from prison. 
He got caught at a company warehouse full of hot items. 
He could've fuckin' walked. 
All he had to do was say my dad's name, but he didn't; he kept his mouth shut. 
He did his fuckin' time like a man. 
He did four years for us. 
So, Mr. Orange... you're telling me that this good friend of mine... who did four years
for my father... who, in four years, never made a deal, no matter what they offered him... 
you're telling me 
that now that he's free... and we're making good on our commitment to him... 
he's just gonna decideout of the fucking blue... to rip us off? 
Why don't you tell me what really happened. 

What the hell for? 
It'd just be more bullshit.

What? Wait, wait.
You didn't tell him your name, did you?

I told him my first name and where I was from.


I told him where I was from a few days ago.
It was just a natural conversation.

What was tellin' him your name when you weren't supposed to?

He asked.
We had just gotten away from the cops.
He just got shot.
It was my fault he got shot.

He's a fuckin' bloody mess.
He's screamin'.
I swear to God, I thought he was gonna die right then and there.
I'm tryin' to comfort him, telling him 
"Not to worry...
Everything's going to be okay,
I'm gonna take care of him."
And he asked me what my name was.
I mean, the man was dyin' in my arms.
What the fuck was I supposed to do?
Tell him "I'm sorry? 
I can't give out that fuckin' information?
It's against the rules?
I don't trust you enough?"
Maybe I should've, but I couldn't.
Fuck you! Fuck Joe!

Friday, 8 December 2017


Harmony, shut up. 

Do you know What You Are, Harmony? 

You're a Sheep.

I'm not a Sheep.

You're a Sheep. 

All you ever do is what everyone else does just so you can say you did it first. 

And here I am, scrambling for your approval, when I'm way cooler than you are 'cause I'm not a sheep!

I do What I Wanna Do, 
and I wear what I wanna wear. 

And you know what? 

I'll date whoever the hell I wanna date. 

No matter how lame he is  
(and he is.).

You betrayed me. 

You are betraying me now, even as we are talking

(raising her voice)
Because you never have any confidence in me. 

No, because you have no soul

would, if you had confidence in me. 

Hamilton punches Angel immensely hard, sending him through the penthouse windows, where Angel falls outside for a few stories before finally falling through the glass ceiling into the lobby. 
Cut to:

Angel finally lands on the floor in front of the elevator. Harmony turns to see what happened. Angel moans as he tries to get to his feet.

Oh, my God! 


(high pitched, defensively, backing away from Angel)
He's not my boyfriend. 

I mean, I certainly didn't betray you or anything. 
(pushing himself to his feet)
Drop the act, Harm. 

It's not an act! I really am this nervous. 

I knew you'd turn on me. 

I just didn't know when. 
What do you mean you knew? 

Loyalty really isn't high on your list. 

Oh, is that right? I'll have you know I am damn loyal, dumbass.
(crosses her arms)

(walks slowly, painfully toward her)
You betrayed me. 

You are betraying me now, even as we are talking
(raising her voice)
Because you never have any confidence in me. 

No, because you have no soul

I would, if you had confidence in me. 
Hamilton is on his way down in the private elevator.
Get out of the building. 

Are you firing me? 

Among other things, yes. 

Do you think I could get a recommendation? 

Yeah, OK. 

[hesitating]....But see, if you don't so much live, as do The Other Thing, how— 
It's already in the desk. 

You're The Best....!
(goes to the desk to get her things)

(Hamilton walks out of Angel's office, slowly heading straight for Angel)
Good luck. 

May The Best Man win...?
(shrugs, exits, persued by a Good Work)