MiloMy friend, Phil, he wants to join the police department. He goes to the station, and starts filling out the application. They ask him, "Mr. Scarangello, how tall are you?" And he looks at his right hand and says, "Uh, five foot ten." And they ask him, "how much do you weigh?" And he looks at his other hand, and says, "Two hundred and three pounds." So then they ask, "Okay, and what's your first name?" He goes...
Milo[bobs his head from side to side]"Philly." They ask him, "what are you doing with your head there?" He goes...
Milo[bobbing]"Happy Birthday to me, Happy birthday to me...
MiloWe'll go away. But you know what? We'll get her. Somebody'll get her. A hit and run, a mugging. Do you know what botulism is? We can get her with soup.
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HaroldYou ought to try that tough guy shit with me sometime.
MikeYou're killin' him, Mad Dog... Get him some Melba toast.
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Milo[after being accused, by Mike, of killing the shooter that was left in the garbage pail]Oh and incidently, I don't know what you are talking about... a guy in a garbage pail... but uh, most of the people I know who don't die in bed... they usually wind up killing themselves.
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Milo[Speaking to MadDog]Hey ossifer, what's the word?
Dealer in CarI got meatballs, I got ready rocks, I got gumballs. Shit, I even got gas starter kits.
ShooterJumbos, two-twentys.
Dealer in CarTwo-twentys'll be 40.
Shooter[flashing bills]You break this?
Dealer in CarI ain't no cash machine.
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MiloDon't ever, ever fuck with me. Don't ever lie to me, disrespect me, underestimate me. If you do, your life becomes a raging sea. But, come to me like a man - come to me eyes open, head up, hand out, then I become more than a friend, more than a shoulder. I become the expediter of your dreams.
MikeLook, I would've walked in there and drilled the red-eyed little bastard - but that's just the way I am. But if I ever had an intelligent thought, it would die of loneliness. It all evens out. You know what I mean? Let me tell you something. Next time that happens, you're that scared - the best thing is sex. You're all adrenalized. You'll go off like a rocket.
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Mad DogFrom the direction of the blood on the window, I'd say your victim got whacked here - and your shooter was sitting in the front passenger seat there. You got a lot of blood in the doorwell - so the door had to be open at the time. Maybe he slipped in for a quick sale and the deal went sour or it was rip-off time and ba-boom.
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MikeSlip your piece under the towel.
AndrewI got no beef with you.
MikeAre you sweet? Is that your problem?
AndrewCome on, I'm on the job.
MikeYou ain't on my fuckin' job.
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Mad DogMy wife - she thinks fucking and cooking are two cities in China.
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Mad DogYou know, I get this feeling me and you - we both wanna be someplace else. You know what I mean?
GloryI'm like a thank-you present. I'm like - I'm like - I'm a seven-day singing telegram. I'm like one of those people that comes to your door in a gorilla suit with balloons.
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MikeCome on, you fuckin' hump. Come on, you hero. I want a taste of you. Let's go. Come on, get up.
MiloAngie's father was on his deathbed. He calls his sons to him and says, "Put a hundred in my coffin. Each of you." In case, you know, you can take it with you. The guy dies. Angie's two brothers put in their yardage. Angie - drops in a check for 300 and takes out the cash.
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MiloMy therapist says that I crave recognition more than accomplishment. Maybe that's why I do stand-up. What the hell? I own the club. So, what do you think of my act?
Mad DogI heard two Buddy Hackett jokes, a Pat Cooper, and a half a Lenny Bruce.
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MiloAll right, let the body heat coming up through your hand warm up the cognac. Give it a little swirl. Alright, take a little sniff. Nice, right? Okay, take a sip, but hold it. Don't gulp it. Just let it like - leak back down your throat.
GloryYou ask a bartender or a waiter around here, "What do you do?" They say, "I'm an actor." "I'm a singer." "I'm a student." "I'm a writer." After a couple years, you have to be honest with yourself. I'm a bartender. A waiter. Waitress.
GloryMade love. I like that. You talk like someone out of the Round Table days. Sir Lancelot. Galahad.
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Mad DogThe thing about photographing death - there's no dignity in death. The body can't defend itself. Can't pull its skirt down. Can't close its mouth. Cops are walkin' around the crime scene, everything's a joke. And what you're photographing on the job is like the worst kind of - helplessness.