I am The Job

 

Michael Caine :

Hands folded... ankles 

crossed. Neck up! 

And remember. Smile. 

Smilers wear a crown, 

Losers wear a frown.

Miss Congeniality :

I would so love to hurt you right now.

Michael Caine :

As long as you... smile. 

Now... Why is New Jersey 

called The Garden State? 

Miss Congeniality : (smiling)

Because it's too hard to fit "Oil and 

Petrochemical-refinery State" 

on a license plate? 

Michael Caine :

You know, I-I don't appreciate 

your selfishness and immaturity 

when I'm working 

as hard as I am. 

Miss Congeniality :

You know, what is the diffence? Big deal. 

It is fixed — I'm in the top five. 

Congratulations... to me. 

But i-i-is that enough? 

Have you no pride in...

in yourself, in your... 

in your presentation? 

Miss Congeniality :

You know what? I'm an 

FBI agent, all right? 

I'm not a performing 

monkey in heels. 

Michael Caine :

You're also a person and 

an incomplete one at that! 

In place of friends and relationships, 

you have sarcasm and a gun. 

Miss Congeniality :

Oh, I have sarcasm? 

When every word that 

comes out of your mouth 

is dripping with disdain? 

Michael Caine :

Ah, that is because 

I am a miserable, 

grumpy elitist, and 

that works for Me. 

Miss Congeniality :

You know what? I don't 

have relationships because 

I don't want them. 

And-and-and I don't have 

friends because I work 24-7. 

And you have no idea why 

I am the way that I am. 

Look, as we're practising interviews here, 

why are you the way you are? 

Miss Congeniality :

None o' your damn business. That's why. 

None o' your damn business. 

All the judges probably have 

never heard that before. 

(intercepting to steal-away her glazed-

donut blood-sugar infusion—)

We have more to do here. 

Miss Congeniality :

(pulls a gun)

No, we are finished. 

Michael Caine :

Finished. 

Miss Congeniality :

Come in, gimme a 20 on 

Matthews. Right now. 

Be advised he's at the pool. 

"How do you feel about 

gun control?" Favorable. 

Miss Congeniality :

Thought I'd let you know I was 

quittin', all right? Take care. 

Hold on a second. Wait a minute. 

What do you mean, you quit? 

Miss Congeniality :

I mean, you got the wrong girl. All right? 

Hart, I do not need this now. 

I know you don't need 

this right now. 

Miss Congeniality :

That's what I'm saying, all right? 

I'm totally screwing up in there! 

I don't even feel like a real agent anymore. 

I mean, Vic says this thing that's, like, so... 

You know... I don't care what he said. 

I don't care. I-I-I don't care, you know? 

Because I am the job. I am the job 

and I'm okay with that. 

I mean, you're the job. Right?

Yeah, I'm the job. 

We're all the job. 

You're the job. 

So, then, what's wrong with me? 

I date. I go on dates. I know... 

I know everyone thinks I haven't 

had a date about 10 years.

Is that... is that what you think? 

I think you date. 

Miss Congeniality :

Damn right I do. But, you know, 

both times it was totally screwed up. 

You know what? I don't even care. I don't care. All I... all I wanna do... is my job. 

And for the last three days, 

I feel like I'm completely lost. 

Hart, listen to me. I've been 

waiting five years to 

run my own op. 

You think I'd blow it 

on the wrong girl? 

No, no, no. I know the only reason 

you picked me is because 

I'm the only one to look 

half decent in the bikini and 

wasn't on maternity leave. 

No, that's why They 

let me pick you.

You wanna know 

why I picked you?

Lost a bet. 

Because you're smart, because 

you don't take any crap from people, 

you're funny... you're easy to 

talk to when you're not armed... 

Give yourself a break, cut Vic 

and the rest of the pageant 

ladies some slack. 

Because if they see ever 

get the chance to see what I see, 

then... they're gonna love you. 

So, what do you say?

All right, I won't let you down.

Good, that's what I wanna hear. 

I mean, in all honesty, 

I-I-I might let you down. 

But I'm gonna... 

try my best... not to. 

Do not mess with 

The Dress.

Oh, Vic is gonna kill you.

What?You in big trouble. - Why? You fell. You actually... - Big trouble.

The Secret is Laughter

The Master (2012) - "The Secret"

…..you fail to understand History 

(or Humanity) in addition 

to Wagner -- 

Master : 

Are You Unpredictable?

Dog : ……

......(*fart) [starts sniggering]

Master : Silly. 

(audibly smiling) Silly Animal.

Dog : (giggling) 

I couldn't help it(!)

Master : (grinning) 

Dirty Animal.

Dog : (struggling 

to calm down) 

Sorry.....

Master : (making it up as he goes along)

It's GOOD to Laugh during Processing -- 

Sometimes we forget, even if 

it is The Sound of An Animal.

-- Freddie Quell, Test Session,

March 5th, 1950, 18:00 hours.

Aboard the sailing vessel Alethia.

LD, MOC, MD, Logged and Approved.

Master :

That's enough. That's enough now. 

You're gonna make me red all over. 

Thank you. 

Thank you. 

Book II... is about Man. 

And the title of the book 

is ‘The Split Saber’. 

And here we have 

some Answers. 

No more secrets.

 The source of all Creation, 

Good and Evil, and 

the source of All... 

...now, funny enough, 

the source of All... 

...is you. 

I have unlocked and discovered 

A Secret to Living in 

these bodies that we hold. 

And, oh yes,

 it's very, very, 

VERY, VERY SERIOUS --

The Secret... 

...is Laughter. 

Now, I'd like to discuss processing and 

communication. The art of 

Listening, if you will. 

Bill. Hello. - How are you? - Fine, thank you. - You came from New York? - New York City, yes. 

So, what do you think of the book? 

What do you think about it? 

I think it stinks. 

If it were up to me I'd chop this thing down 

to a three-page pamphlet and 

hand it to people before they got on the subway. 

But I edited most of his earlier work. 

Can I talk to you for a minute?

Outside?

Let me say this, the man is a Grade-A Mystic. 

A true, original mystic of the highest order. But his work is garbled and twisted, and let me tell you... What... What is this?

Helen :

Hello.

Master :

Helen. - Author. - Please. - I've been reading the new book. - What do you think? I think it's wonderful. - Wait till you get to the good parts. - Oh, yes. Well, as I've begun, I did notice on page 13 there's a change. You've changed the processing-platform question. Now it says, "Can you imagine...?" Yes. Yes. If our previous method was to induce memory by asking, "Can you recall," doesn't it then change everything if now we say, "Can you imagine?" We are invoking a new, wider range to account for the new data. "Can you imagine," allows for a more creative pathway to the mind. More open. - But if the new... - What do you want?! Helen. This is the new work.

To Survive a War -- You Gotta Become War

All's Fair in Love and War.

This is My Design.

Gremlins 2- Gizmo Vs. Mohawk (Spider-Gremlin)

MARLA: 

Could I get some help here?

I'm trapped in adhesive

polymer material...

...and I'm on deadline!

Darling, it's you!

Thank God you're here.

Well, I could help you,

or I could just leave you here.

Listen, about Billy.

Nothing happened.

I asked him out to dinner.

It was strictly business.

Okay, it wasn't absolutely,

completely strictly business,

I'll be Honest.

It'll be an Openness thing.

I did have Designs on him.

I didn't get to First Base. Okay?

It'll Do.

- What a wonderfully prepared woman.

Gizmo.

[GREMLIN GROANING]

What happened to him?

BILLY: I don't know.

I guess they pushed him too far.

No, I cannot. But I Will.

The Crossing: Glover/Washington Scenes

General Washington : 

(finishes explaining The Plan)

That's it, that's the whole of it.

 Col. Glover :

And You want 

My Opinion? 

General Washington : 

Forthrightly, 

and Honestly.

 Col. Glover :

I Think You've lost 

Your Mind. 

General Washington : 

Well, that's plainly-said, 

Colonel Glover, but it's 

quite beside The Point, 

The Question is 

Can You Do it? 

 Col. Glover :

No, I cannot. 

But I Will. 

General Washington : 

....what The Devil 

does that mean?

 Col. Glover :

It means that the whole thing 

is a damn-lunatic affair --  

But if you're determined to 

ride into Hell -- I'll go along. 

And My Fishermen will go too. 

When all is Said and Done; there's 

no alternative -- is there?

General Washington : 

I think not... 

 Col. Glover :

Very well, then.

That's that. 

General Washington : 

Glover.... 

 Col. Glover :

Sir? 

General Washington : 

Thank you.

 Col. Glover :

Tell me that when 

We've Done it -- Sire.

It's Christmas, sir. Happy to you, Christmas. Thank you. Always shave with cold water? - I have to get used to it. It's true. If we go. We're crossing, Chief. Tonight. May I ask something? - Would you Did not you say no? -I would not. Then, of course, to Gloucester. Say it. - Would you attack Hessence in the afternoon? A stupid question, I do not intend to. But would you? - Talk, openly. - Good. Let's say the boats Prepare until 17.30. It's already night. We're left six and a half hours to cross. Mash at midnight. People will be Cold, it will be wet and tired. With three kilometers per hour, We arrive in Trenton before dawn. We'll go five an hour. - Maybe, I'm not saying that you will not even want to. But such an army can not to get ice for 6 or 10 hours. So you'll be in Trenton for a day. If we even cross the damn river. What did you say last time? -Please? - If we go anyway. Header? -Yes? Since I've known you, You're bothering me and torturing me. You'd be a general not to torture and all the others. - I do not care about that. We need more soldiers, not generals. - The truth. 

You're a hard man to Like, Glover -- 

But you saved us to Brooklyn, on

 the Frogs to the North and the North. 

You are brave of anyone I know. 

And you're a great soldier. So this is the command, if you will not to return people to Massachusetts. Or where did you come from? So, execute the command. Transfer me an army across the river, and this night. I understand, General, I'll transport you army across the river. So, God, I do not know how, but I will do it. I'm not going to Trenton until all boats pass. I want Tour Fishermen with me.

Wash

"....and, 23rdly -- Out There, 

in The Space-Time Vortex,
'Time', and 'Distance' 

have No Meaning...."

 

“We’re going,” he said excitedly, and shivered with energy.

  “Where? How?” said Arthur.

  “I don’t know,” said Ford, “but I just feel that The Time is Right. Things are Going to Happen. We’re on Our Way.”

  He lowered his voice to a whisper.

  “I have detected,” he said, “disturbances in The Wash.”

  He gazed keenly into the distance and looked as if he would quite like The Wind to blow his hair back dramatically at that point, but the wind was busy fooling around with some leaves a little way off.

  Arthur asked him to repeat what he had just said because he hadn’t quite understood his meaning. Ford repeated it.

  “The Wash?” said Arthur.

  “The Space-Time Wash,” said Ford and, as The Wind blew briefly past at that moment, he bared his teeth into it.

  Arthur nodded, and then cleared his throat.

  “Are we talking about,” he asked cautiously, “some sort of Vogon laundromat, or what are we talking about?”

  “Eddies,” said Ford, “in the Space-Time continuum.”

  “Ah,” nodded Arthur, “is he. Is he.” He pushed his hands into the pockets of his dressing gown and looked knowledgeably into the distance.

  “What?” said Ford.

  “Er, who,” said Arthur, “is Eddy, then, exactly, then?” Ford looked angrily at him. “Will you listen?” he snapped.

  “I have been listening,” said Arthur, “but I’m not sure it’s helped.”

  Ford grasped him by the lapels of his dressing gown and spoke to him as slowly and distinctly and patiently as if he were somebody from the telephone company accounts department.

  “There seem …” he said, “to be some pools …” he said, “of instability … he said, “in the fabric …” he said.

  Arthur looked foolishly at the cloth of his dressing gown where Ford was holding it. Ford swept on before Arthur could turn the foolish look into a foolish remark.

  “ … in the fabric of space-time,” he said.

  “Ah, that,” said Arthur.

  “Yes, that,” confirmed Ford.

  They stood there alone on a hill on prehistoric Earth and stared each other resolutely in the face.

  “And it’s done what?” said Arthur.

  “It,” said Ford, “has developed pools of instability.”

  “Has it,” said Arthur, his eyes not wavering for a moment.

  “It has,” said Ford, with a similar degree of ocular immobility.

  “Good,” said Arthur.

  “See?” said Ford.

  “No,” said Arthur.

  There was a quiet pause.

  “The difficulty with this conversation,” said Arthur after a sort of ponderous look had crawled slowly across his face like a mountaineer negotiating a tricky outcrop, “is that it’s very different from most of the ones I’ve had of late. Which, as I explained, have mostly been with trees. They weren’t like this. Except perhaps some of the ones I’ve had with elms that sometimes got a bit bogged down.”

  “Arthur,” said Ford.

  “Hello? Yes?” said Arthur.

  “Just believe everything I tell you, and it will all be very, very simple.”

  “Ah, well, I’m not sure I believe that.”

  They sat down and composed their thoughts.

  Ford got out his Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic. It was making vague humming noises and a tiny light on it was flickering faintly.

  “Flat battery?” said Arthur.

  “No,” said Ford, “there is a moving disturbance in the fabric of space-time, an eddy, a pool of instability, and it’s somewhere in our vicinity.”

  “Where?”

  Ford moved the device in a slow, lightly bobbing semicircle. Suddenly the light flashed.

  “There!” said Ford, shooting out his arm; “there, behind that sofa!”

  Arthur looked. Much to his surprise, there was a velvet paisley-covered Chesterfield sofa in the field in front of them. He boggled intelligently at it. Shrewd questions sprang into his mind.

  “Why,” he said, “is there a sofa in that field?”

  “I told you!” shouted Ford, leaping to his feet. “Eddies in the space-time continuum!”

  “And this is his sofa, is it?” asked Arthur, struggling to his feet and, he hoped, though not very optimistically, to his senses.

  “Arthur!” shouted Ford at him, “that sofa is there because of the space-time instability I’ve been trying to get your terminally softened brain to come to grips with. It’s been washed up out of the continuum, it’s space-time jetsam, it doesn’t matter what it is, we’ve got to catch it, it’s our only way out of here!”

  He scrambled rapidly down the rocky outcrop and made off across the field.

  “Catch it?” muttered Arthur, then frowned in bemusement as he saw that the Chesterfield was lazily bobbing and wafting away across the grass.

  With a whoop of utterly unexpected delight he leaped down the rock and plunged off in hectic pursuit of Ford Prefect and the irrational piece of furniture.

  They careened wildly through the grass, leaping, laughing, shouting instructions to each other to head the thing off this way or that way. The sun shone dreamily on the swaying grass, tiny field animals scattered crazily in their wake.

  Arthur felt happy. He was terribly pleased that the day was for once working out so much according to plan. Only twenty minutes ago he had decided he would go mad, and now here he was already chasing a Chesterfield sofa across the fields of prehistoric Earth.

  The sofa bobbed this way and that and seemed simultaneously to be as solid as the trees as it drifted past some of them and hazy as a billowing dream as it floated like a ghost through others.

  Ford and Arthur pounded chaotically after it, but it dodged and weaved as if following its own complex mathematical topography, which it was. Still they pursued, still it danced and spun, and suddenly turned and dipped as if crossing the lip of a catastrophe graph, and they were practically on top of it. With a heave and a shout they leaped on it, the sun winked out, they fell through a sickening nothingness and emerged unexpectedly in the middle of the pitch at Lord’s Cricket Ground, St. John’s Wood, London, toward the end of the last Test Match of the Australian series in the year 198-, with England only needing twenty-eight runs to win.

  Important Fact from Galactic History, Number One : (reproduced from the Siderial Daily Mentioner’s Book of Popular Galactic History)
  The night sky over the planet Krikkit is the least interesting sight in the entire Universe.

Ricky September

The individual Act of Obedience 

is the cornerstone not only 

of The Strength of 

Authoritarian Society 

but also of its weakness.

Today, we acknowledge 

a really terrible loss. 

Cedric Diggory was, as you all know, 

exceptionally hard-working 

infinitely fair-minded 

and, most importantly, 

a fierce, fierce friend. 

Now, I Think, therefore, 

you have the right to know 

exactly how he died. 

You see, Cedric Diggory was 

murdered by Lord Voldemort! 

The Ministry of Magic does not 

wish me to tell you this. 

But not to do so, I think, would 

be an insult to his memory. 

Now, the pain we all feel 

at this dreadful loss 

reminds me, and reminds us

that while we may come 

from different places and 

speak in different tongues

our hearts beat as one. 

In light of recent events 

the bonds of friendship 

we've made this year will be 

more important than ever. 

Remember that, and Cedric Diggory 

will not have died in vain. 

You remember that, and 

we'll celebrate a boy who 

was kind and honest, and 

brave and true, right 

to the very end. 

Through a bullhorn, a police captain began to shout,

 

 CLEAR THE PLAZA CLEAR THE PLAZA.

 

The first reports of the annihilation camps were passed on to the OSS by a Swiss businessman evaluated as being one of the most trustworthy informants on affairs in Nazi Europe. The State Department decided that the stories were not confirmed. 

That was early in 1943. By autumn of that year, more urgent reports from the same source transmitted still through the OSS forced a major policy conference. It was again decided that the reports were not True. 

As winter began, the English government asked for another conference to discuss similar reports from their own intelligence networks and from the government of Rumania. The delegates met in Bermuda for a warm, sunny weekend, and decided that the reports were not True; they returned to their work refreshed and tanned. The death trains continued to roll. 

Early in 1944, Henry Morgenthau, Jr., Secretary of the Treasury, was reached by dissenters in the State Department, examined the evidence, and forced a meeting with President Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Shaken by the assertions in Morgenthau's documents, Roosevelt pledged that he would act at once. 

He never did. 

It was said later that the State Department convinced him, once again, of their own analysis: the reports simply were not true. 

When Mr. Hitler said Veminichtung he had not really meant Vemichtung. An author, Ben Hecht, then placed an ad in the New York Times, presenting the evidence to the public; a group of prominent rabbis attacked him for alarming Jews unnecessarily and undermining confidence in America's Chief Executive during wartime. 

Finally, late that year, American and Russian troops began liberating the camps, and General Eisenbower insisted that news photographers take detailed movies which were released to the whole world. In the interval between the first suppressed report by the Swiss businessman and the liberation of the first camp, six million people had died.

"That's what we call a Bavarian Fire Drill," Simon explained to Joe. (It was another time; he was driving another Volkswagen. In fact, it was the night of April 23 and they were going to meet Tobias Knight at the UN building.) "It was one official named Winifred who'd been transferred from the Justice Department to a key State Department desk where every bit of evidence passed for evaluation. 

But the same principles apply everywhere. 

For instance — we're half an hour early for the meeting anyhow — I'll give you an illustration right now." They were approaching the corner of Forty-third Street and Third Avenue and Simon had observed that the streetlight was changing to red. As he stopped the car, he opened the door and said to Joe, "Follow me."

Puzzled, Joe got out as Simon ran to the car behind them, beat on the hood with his hand and shouted "Bavarian Fire Drill! Out!" He made vigorous but ambiguous motions with his hands and ran to the car next back. Joe saw the first subject look dubiously at his companion and then open the door and get out, obediently trailing behind Simon's urgent and somber figure.

 "Bavarian Fire Drill! Out!" Simon was already shouting at the third car back.

 

As Joe trotted along, occasionally adding his own voice to persuade the more dubious drivers, every car gradually emptied and people formed a neat line heading back toward Lexington Avenue. Simon then ducked between two cars and began jogging toward the front of the -line at Third Avenue again, shouting to everybody, "Complete circle! Stay in line!" Obediently, everyone followed in a great circle back to their own cars, reentering from the side opposite to that from which they had left. Simon and Joe climbed back into the VW, the light changed, and they sped ahead.

 

 "You see?" Simon asked. 

"Use words they've been conditioned to since childhood — 'fire drill,' 'stay in line,' like that — and never look back to see if they're obeying. 

They'll follow. 

Well, that's the way the Illuminati guaranteed that the Final Solution wouldn't be interrupted. Winifred, one guy who had been around long enough to have an impressive title, and his scrawl 'Evaluation: dubious' on the bottom of each memo . . . and six million died. 

Hilarious, isn't it?"

And Joe remembered from the little book by Hagbard Celine, Never Whistle While You're Pissing (privately printed, and distributed only to members of the JAMs and the Legion of Dynamic Discord): "The individual act of obedience is the cornerstone not only of the strength of authoritarian society but also of its weakness."

(On November 23, 1970, the body of Stanislaus Oedipuski, forty-six, of West living Park Road, was found floating in the Chicago river. Death, according to the police laboratory, did not result from drowning but from beating about the head and shoulders with a square-ended object. 

The first inquiries by homicide detectives revealed that Oedipuski had been a member of God's Lightning and the theory was formed that a conflict between the dead man and his former colleagues might have resulted in his being snuffed with their Wooden crosses. 

Further investigation revealed that Oedipuski had been a construction worker and until very recently well liked on his job, behaving in a normal, down-to-earth manner, bitching about the government, cursing the lazy bums on Welfare, hating n*ggers, shouting obscene remarks at good-looking dolls who passed construction sites and — when the odds were safely above the 8-to-l level— joining other middle-aged workers in attacking and beating young men with long hair, peace buttons, or other un-American stigmata. 

Then, about a month before, all that had changed. He began bitching about The Bosses as well as The Government — almost sounding like a communist at times; when somebody else cussed the crumb-bums on Welfare, Stan remarked thoughtfully, "Well, you know, our union keeps them from getting jobs, fellows, so what else can they do but go on Welfare? Steal?" 

He even said once, when some of the guys were good-humoredly giving the finger and making other gallant noises and signals toward a passing eighteen-year-old girl, "Hey, you know, that might really be embarrassing and scaring her . . . !" 

Worse yet, his own hair begun to grow surprisingly long in the back, and his wife told friends that he didn't look at TV much anymore but instead sat in a chair most evenings reading books. The Police found that was indeed true, and his small library — gathered in less than a month — was remarkable indeed, featuring works on astronomy, sociology, Oriental mysticism, Darwin's Origin of the Species, detective novels by Raymond Chandler, Alice in Wonderland, and a college-level text on number theory with the section on primes heavily marked with notes in the margin; the gallant, and now pathetic, tracks of a mind that was beginning to grow after four decades of stagnation, and then had been abruptly stomped. Most mysterious of all was the card found in the dead man's pocket, which although waterlogged, could still be read. 

One side said 

 

 THERE IS NO ENEMY ANYWHERE

 

 

 and the other side, even more mysteriously, was inscribed :

 

 

 

 

The Police might have tried to decipher this, but then they discovered that Oedipuski had resigned from God's Lightning — giving his fellow members a lecture on Tolerance in the process — the night before his death. 

That closed the case, definitely. 

Homicide did not investigate murders clearly connected with God's Lightning, since the Red Squad had its own personal accommodation with that burgeoning organization. 

"Poor motherfucker," a detective said, looking at Oedipuski's photographs; and closed the file forever. 

Nobody ever reopened it, or traced the change in the dead man back to his attendance at the meeting, one month before, of KCUF at the Sheraton-Chicago, where the punch was spiked with AUM.)

 

 

 

In the act of conception, of course, the father contributes 23 chromosomes and the mother contributes another 23. In the I Ching, hexagram 23 has connotations of "sinking" or "breaking apart," shades of the unfortunate Captain Clarks...

The Power Of Music On The Brain

Power Of Music On The Brain | Dementia & Parkinson's

(original) Man In Nursing Home Reacts To Hearing Music From His Era

The Old Man

Frank Black, The Sheriff :

Hush! No quick moves. Move back. Move back.

(He spots The Old Man watching 

them on the rim of The Ravine)

Frank Black, The Sheriff :

Call off Your Dogs.

The Old Man :

They ain't My Dogs. 

The Old Man :

Hey. Huh. What are you doing here? 

Frank Black, The Sheriff :

I think you're supposed to tell me. 

The winnebago? 

The Old Man :

They left it for you to have a look. 

Frank Black, The Sheriff :

What did you do with the bodies? 

The Old Man :

Well, they were tended to 

and sent to their family. 

Frank Black, The Sheriff :

And the explanation was? 

The Old Man :

Did you happen to catch the may 1997 

"Morbidity and mortality weekly report"? 

It indicates that injuries from dog attacks 

increased 37% in the last decade. 

4.7 million people in the U.S. 

were bitten by dogs in 1994. 

About a million needed medical care, 

compared to half a million in 1986. 

It's my job to keep an eye on information l

ike that as "The Day" nears. 

Frank Black, The Sheriff :

Is that what you do for The Millennium? 

The Old Man :

The Group or The Event? 

Frank Black, The Sheriff :

The photographs, my name in your journal, 

the gravestones in the ravine. 

The Old Man :

What makes you think 

they're gravestones? 

Frank Black, The Sheriff :

The Snake, The Ouroboros... 

It was used as a secret symbol 

in early christian graves. 

The markers, rough obelisks. 

The Old Man :

So you've been looking into The Group. 

Frank Black, The Sheriff :

Apparently not enough. 

The Old Man :

Apparently. 

Frank Black, The Sheriff :

Were those the graves of past members? 

The Old Man :

Do you know the significance 

of The Ouroboros? 

Frank Black, The Sheriff :

The snake is symbolic of divine life. 

It embraces cyclical systems... 

Unity, multiplicity, evolution, 

involution, birth, death. 

The Old Man :

Hmm. That's all you need to know for now, 

Frank, about The Millennium Group. 

The reason you're here is to 

learn about The Event. 

"When I looked for good, 

then evil came unto me. 

When I waited for the light, 

then came darkness." 

The Circle is about as good 

as it's gonna get. 

No beginning, no end, no boundaries, 

yet nothing but what lies 

inside the circle and 

what lies outside. 

Go stand by that rock. 

Frank Black, The Sheriff :

(afraid of The Dogs) No, no, no, no. 

The Old Man :

Serial killers, spree killers, mass murderers... 

It's all just societal, genetic. 

Inevitability. 

You have no idea about true evil. 

Now go stand by that rock. 

(Frank approaches The Boundary Stones)

The Old Man :

No. One more step. 

(The Dogs back down, retreat and leave)

The Old Man :

Well, you passed. 

This is like matter itself, Frank. 

Neither good nor evil can be destroyed, 

and both will always be here. 

It's meant to be. 

"The Lord hath made all things for himself. 

Yea, even the wicked for the day of evil." 

Our role is to achieve equilibrium. 

And as we do that, we must respect evil, 

and we must make evil respect us. 

But... At times such as now, events indicate 

that we're losing balance, 

and time is running out. 

Well, it's good to meet ya. 

Frank Black, The Sheriff :

The Dogs... That's why 

they're coming into town, because 

Michael Beebee built His House 

in an area that upset The Balance. 

The townspeople don't have 

any idea of this, do they? 

The Old Man :

It's over their damn heads, Frank. 

Their fear shrinks the world 

to the size of nothing 

but their own lives. 

It blinds them to anything 

beyond their own houses. 

All they think is, 

"Why me? Please, just leave me alone."

 All they hope is, it'll go away, 

but it won't go away. 

That's why people like you are sent here. 

You have a gift, Frank. 

But, unlike a bad tie at christmas, 

your gift is unreturnable. 

Frank Black, The Sheriff :

I don't have the gift anymore. 

The images, things I see... 

My personal life... 

Has upset the balance. 

The Old Man :

It'll come back. And when it does, 

you'll think it's diminished, but, actually, 

it'll be greater than before. 

You're moving to a 

new plane, Franklin. 

Frank Black, The Sheriff :

They'll kill Michael. 

The Old Man :

Surprised it ain't happened already. 

Frank Black, The Sheriff :

How can I respect that? 

The Old Man :

Well, I can't respect him. 

My neighbour did nothing to help his, 

or our, situation but run away. 

And from crime, of all things. 

Crime is not evil. 

Any of us would steal if we were hungry, 

and any of us might even kill 

if we were without hope. 

So we confront evil. 

There isn't much time, and we can't 

waste time on one ignorant man. 

Frank Black, The Sheriff :

You could teach him. Hmph. 

The Old Man :

Well, then I haven't taught you. 

Frank Black, The Sheriff : 

(walks off, annoyed) 

My Name is not "Franklin".