Reservoir Dogs (1992)

Share this quote on facebook Mr. Blonde: Joe, you want me to shoot him for you?
Mr. White: Shit, you shoot me in a dream, you better wake up and apologize.

Share this quote on facebook Nice Guy Eddie: C'mon, throw in a buck!
Mr. Pink: Uh-uh, I don't tip.
Nice Guy Eddie: You don't tip?
Mr. Pink: I don't believe in it.
Nice Guy Eddie: You don't believe in tipping?
Mr. Blue: You know what these chicks make? They make shit.
Mr. Pink: Don't give me that. She don't make enough money, she can quit.
Nice Guy Eddie: I don't even know a fucking Jew who'd have the balls to say that. Let me just get this straight: you don't ever tip, huh?
Mr. Pink: I don't tip because society says I have to. Alright, I mean I'll tip if somebody really deserves a tip. If they really put forth the effort, I'll give them something extra. But I mean, this tipping automatically, it's for the birds. I mean, as far as I'm concerned, they're just doing their job.
Mr. Blue: Hey, this girl was nice.
Mr. Pink: She was OK. But she wasn't anything special.
Mr. Blue: What's special? Take you in the back and suck your dick?
[They all laugh]
Nice Guy Eddie: I'd go over twelve percent for that.
Mr. Pink: Look, I ordered coffee, alright? And we been here a long fucking time, and she's only filled my cup three times. I mean, when I order coffee, I want it filled six times.
Mr. Blonde: Six times? Well, what if she's too fucking busy?
Mr. Pink: The words "too fucking busy" shouldn't be in a waitress' vocabulary.
Nice Guy Eddie: Excuse me Mr. Pink, but the last fucking thing you need's another cup of coffee.
Mr. Pink: Jesus Christ. I mean, these ladies aren't starving to death. They make minimum wage. You know, I used to work minimum wage, and when I did, I wasn't lucky enough to have a job that society deemed tipworthy.
Mr. Blue: You don't care if they're counting on your tips to live?
Mr. Pink: [rubbing his middle finger and thumb together] You know what this is? It's the world's smallest violin playing just for the waitresses.
Mr. White: You don't have any idea what you're talking about. These people bust their ass. This is a hard job.
Mr. Pink: So is working at McDonald's, but you don't feel the need to tip them, do ya? Well why not? They're serving you food. But no, society says don't tip these guys over here, but tip these guys over here. That's bullshit!
Mr. White: Waitressing is the number one occupation for female non-college graduates in this country. It's the one job basically any woman can get and make a living on. The reason is because of their tips.
Mr. Pink: Fuck all that.
Mr. Brown: [laughing] Jesus Christ.
Mr. Pink: I mean, I'm very sorry the government taxes their tips, that's fucked up. That ain't my fault. It would appear to me that waitresses are one of the many groups the government fucks in the ass on a regular basis. I mean, if you show me a piece of paper that says the government shouldn't do that, I'll sign it. Put it to a vote, I'll vote for it. But what I won't do is play ball. And this non-college bullshit you're givin' me, I got two words for that: learn to fuckin' type, 'cause if you're expecting me to help out with the rent, you're in for a big fuckin' surprise.
Mr. Orange: He's convinced me. Gimme my dollar back!

Share this quote on facebook Mr. Pink: I tagged a couple of cops. Did you kill anybody?
Mr. White: A few cops.
Mr. Pink: No real people?
Mr. White: Just cops.

Share this quote on facebook Mr. Orange: This is a very weird situation. 'Cause I don't know if you remember back in '86 there was a major fucking drought. Nobody had anything. People were living on resin... smoking the wood in their pipes for months. This chick had a bunch. And she's begging me to sell it. So I told her I wasn't going to be Joe the potman anymore, but I would take a little bit and sell it to my close, close, close friends. She agreed to that, said we'd keep the same arrangement as before; 10%, free pot for me, as long as I helped her out that weekend. She had a brick of weed she was selling, she didn't want to go to the buy alone. Her brother usually goes with her, but he's in county unexpectedly.
Mr. White: What for?
Mr. Orange: His traffic tickets. Got a warrant. They stopped him for something, found warrants on him, took him to county. Now she doesn't walk around alone with all that weed. I don't want to do this. I have a very bad feeling about it. But she keeps asking me, keeps asking me, keeps asking me, finally I said OK 'cause I'm sick of hearing it. Now, we're picking the guy up at the train station...
Nice Guy Eddie: Wait a minute. You go to the train station to pick up the buyer with the weed on you?
Mr. Orange: The guy needed it right away. Don't ask me why. Anyway, we're get to the station and we're waiting for the guy. I'm carrying the weed in one of those little carry-on bags. I got to take a piss. So I tell the connection I'll be right back, I'm going to the boys' room. So I walk in the mens' room, and who's standing there? Four Los Angeles county sheriffs and a German shepherd.
Nice Guy Eddie: They're waiting for you?
Mr. Orange: No, they're just a bunch of cops hanging out in the men's room, talking. When I walked through the door, they all stopped what they were talking about and they looked at me.
Mr. White: [laughs] That's hard, man. That's a fucking hard situation.
Mr. Orange: German shepherd starts barking. He's barking at me. I mean, it's obvious. He's barking at me. Every nerve-ending, all my senses, blood in my veins, everything I have is screaming, "Take off, man! Just bail, just get the fuck out of there!" Panic hits me like a bucket of water. First there's the shock of it--BAM, right in the face. I'm standing there drenched in panic. All these sheriffs looking at me, and they know, man. They can smell it. Sure as that fucking dog can, they can smell it on me.

Share this quote on facebook Joe: So, you guys like to tell jokes, huh? Gigglin' and laughin' like a bunch of young broads sittin' in a schoolyard. Well, let me tell a joke. Five guys, sittin' in a bullpen, in San Quentin. All wondering how the fuck they got there. What should we have done, what didn't we do, who's fault is it, is it my fault, your fault, his fault, all that bullshit. Then one of them says, hey. Wait a minute. When we were planning this caper, all we did was sit around tellin' fuckin' jokes! Get the message? Boys, I don't mean to holler at ya. When this caper's over - and I'm sure it'll be a successful one - we'll get down to the Hawaiian Islands, hell, I'll roll and laugh with all of ya. You'll find me a different character down there. Right now, it's a matter of business. With the exception of Eddie and myself, whom you already know, we're going to be using aliases on this job. Under no circumstances do I want any one of you to relate to each other by your Christian names, and I don't want any talk about yourself personally. That includes where you been, your wife's name, where you might've done time, or maybe a bank you robbed in St. Petersburg. All I want you guys to talk about, if you have to, is what you're going to do. That should do it. Here are your names... [pointing to each respective member] Mr. Brown, Mr. White, Mr. Blonde, Mr. Blue, Mr. Orange, and Mr. Pink.
Mr. Pink: Why am I Mr. Pink?
Joe: Because, you're a faggot, alright?!
[Mr. Brown laughs]
Mr. Pink: Why can't we pick our own colors?
Joe: No way, no way. Tried it once, doesn't work. You got four guys all fighting over who's gonna be Mr. Black, but they don't know each other, so nobody wants to back down. No way. I pick. You're Mr. Pink. Be thankful you're not Mr. Yellow.
Mr. Brown: Yeah, but Mr. Brown? That's a little too close to Mr. Shit.
Mr. Pink: Mr. Pink sounds like Mr. Pussy. How 'bout if I'm Mr. Purple? That sounds good to me. I'll be Mr. Purple.
Joe: You're not Mr. Purple. Some guy on some other job is Mr. Purple. You're Mr. PINK.
Mr. White: Who cares what your name is?
Mr. Pink: Yeah, that's easy for your to say, you're Mr. White. You have a cool-sounding name. Alright look, if it's no big deal to be Mr. Pink, you wanna trade?
Joe: Hey! NOBODY'S trading with ANYBODY. This ain't a goddamn, fucking city council meeting, you know. Now listen up, Mr. Pink. There's two ways you can go on this job: my way or the highway. Now what's it gonna be, Mr. Pink?
Mr. Pink: Jesus Christ, Joe, fucking forget about it. It's beneath me. I'm Mr. Pink. Let's move on.
Joe: I'll move on when I feel like it... All you guys got the goddamn message?... I'm so Goddamn mad, hollering at you guys, I can hardly talk. Pssh. Let's go to work.

Share this quote on facebook Nice Guy Eddie: Let me say this out loud, 'cause I wanna get it straight in my head. You're saying that Mr. Blonde was gonna kill you, then when we got back, he was gonna kill us, take the satchel of diamonds, and scram. I'm right about that, right? That's correct? That's your story?
Mr. Orange: I swear on my mother's eternal soul that's what happened.
Nice Guy Eddie: The man you just killed was just 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 fucking mouth shut. And did his fuckin' time, and he did it like a man. He did four years for us. So, Mr. Orange, you're tellin' me this very good friend of mine, who did four years for my father, who in four years never made a deal, no matter what they dangled in front of him, you're telling me that now that this man is free, and we're making good on our commitment to him, he's just gonna decide, out of the fucking blue, TO RIP US OFF?! Why don't you tell me what really happened?
Joe: [walks in] What the hell for? It'd just be more bullshit.

Share this quote on facebook Every "dog" has its day.

Share this quote on facebook Five Total Strangers Team Up For The Perfect Crime. They Don't Know Each Other's Name. But They've Got Each Other's Color.

Share this quote on facebook Four perfect killers. One perfect crime. Now all they have to fear is each other.

Share this quote on facebook Let's go to work.

Share this quote on facebook Let's get the job done.