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Jaret von Massaker the LoverIt has been many times said,
They are all so amazing, I can hardly express my thanks to all of you~! <3
|Fuck off with your sofa units and strine green stripe patterns, I say never be complete, I say stop being perfect, I say let... lets evolve, let the chips fall where they may.|
Now, a question of etiquette - as I pass, do I give you the ass or the crotch?
Hey, you created me. I didn't create some loser alter-ego to make myself feel better. Take some responsibility!
With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels.
For a second, I totally forgot about Tyler's murder-suicide thing, and I wonder how clean the gun is.
Fuck damnation, man! Fuck redemption! We are God's unwanted children? So be it!
First you have to give up. First you have to know that some day...know, not fear...know, that someday you are going to die.
Tyler Durden: [pointing at an emergency instruction manual on a plane] You know why they put oxygen masks on planes?
Narrator: So you can breathe.
Tyler Durden: Oxygen gets you high. In a catastrophic emergency, you're taking giant panicked breaths. Suddenly you become euphoric, docile. You accept your fate. It's all right here. Emergency water landing - 600 miles an hour. Blank faces, calm as Hindu cows.
Narrator: That's, um... That's an interesting theory.
I am Jack's smirking revenge.
Man, I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.
First person that comes out this fucking door gets a... gets a lead salad! You understand?!
All the ways you wish you could be, that's me. I look like you wanna look, I fuck like you wanna fuck, I am smart, capable, and most importantly, I am free in all the ways that you are not.
Is that your blood?
...Some of it, yeah.
You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.
Listen up, maggots. You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You're the same decaying organic matter as everything else.
On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.
Welcome to Fight Club. The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is: you DO NOT talk about Fight Club! Third rule of Fight Club: someone yells "stop!", goes limp, taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule: only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule: one fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule: No shirts, no shoes. Seventh rule: fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule: if this is your first time at Fight Club, you have to fight.
Tyler sold his soap to department stores at $20 a bar. Lord knows what they charged. It was beautiful. We were selling rich women their own fat asses back to them.
Narrator: Well, what do you want me to do? You just want me to hit you?
Tyler Durden: C'mon, do me this one favor.
Tyler Durden: Why? I don't know why; I don't know. Never been in a fight. You?
Narrator: No, but that's a good thing.
Tyler Durden: No, it is not. How much can you know about yourself, you've never been in a fight? I don't wanna die without any scars. So come on; hit me before I lose my nerve.
Narrator: This is crazy.
Tyler Durden: So go crazy. Let 'er rip.
Narrator: I don't know about this.
Tyler Durden: I don't either. Who gives a shit? No one's watching. What do you care?
Narrator: Whoa, wait, this is crazy. You want me to hit you?
Tyler Durden: That's right.
Narrator: What, like in the face?
Tyler Durden: Surprise me.
Narrator: This is so fucking stupid...
[Narrator swings, connects against Tyler's head]
Tyler Durden: Motherfucker! You hit me in the ear!
Narrator: Well, Jesus, I'm sorry.
Tyler Durden: Ow, Christ... why the ear, man?
Narrator: Guess I fucked it up...
Tyler Durden: No, that was perfect!
(after car crash) Hahaha! You just had a near-life experience!
Tyler Durden: OK: any historic figure.
Narrator: I'd fight Gandhi.
Tyler Durden: Good answer.
Narrator: How about you?
Tyler Durden: Lincoln.
Tyler Durden: Big guy, big reach. Skinny guys fight 'til they're burger.
Narrator: A new car built by my company leaves somewhere traveling at 60 mph. The rear differential locks up. The car crashes and burns with everyone trapped inside. Now, should we initiate a recall? Take the number of vehicles in the field, A, multiply by the probable rate of failure, B, multiply by the average out-of-court settlement, C. A times B times C equals X. If X is less than the cost of a recall, we don't do one.
Business woman on plane: Are there a lot of these kinds of accidents?
Narrator: You wouldn't believe.
Business woman on plane: Which car company do you work for?
Narrator: A major one.
Tyler Durden: Shut up! Our fathers were our models for God. If our fathers bailed, what does that tell you about God?
Narrator: No, no, I... don't...
Tyler Durden: Listen to me! You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you. He never wanted you. In all probability, he hates you. This is not the worst thing that can happen.
Narrator: It isn't?
Tyler Durden: We don't need him!
Narrator: He was *the* guerilla terrorist in the food service industry.
[the Narrator looks at Tyler, who's urinating in a pot]
Tyler Durden: Do not watch. I cannot go when you watch.
Narrator: Apart from seasoning the lobster bisque, he farted on the meringue, sneezed on braised endive, and as for the cream of mushroom soup, well...
Tyler Durden: [snickers] Go ahead. Tell 'em.
Narrator: ...you get the idea.
A guy who came to Fight Club for the first time, his ass was a wad of cookie dough. After a few weeks, he was carved out of wood.
I ran. I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid. Then I ran some more.
I felt like putting a bullet between the eyes of every Panda that wouldn't screw to save its species. I wanted to open the dump valves on oil tankers and smother all the French beaches I'd never see. I wanted to breathe smoke.
Narrator: [reading] I am Jack's colon.
Tyler Durden: I get cancer, I kill Jack.
It could be worse. A woman could cut off your penis while you're sleeping and toss it out the window of a moving car.
Tyler Durden: The salt balance has to be just right, so the best fat for making soap comes from humans.
Narrator: Wait. What is this place?
Tyler Durden: A liposuction clinic.
...The condom is the glass slipper of our generation. You slip one on when you meet a stranger. You dance all night... then you throw it away. The condom, I mean, not the stranger.
Marla Singer: I got this dress at a thrift store for one dollar.
Narrator: It was worth every penny.
Marla Singer: It's a bridesmaid's dress. Someone loved it intensely for one day, and then tossed it. Like a Christmas tree. So special. Then, bam, it's on the side of the road.
Marla Singer: Tinsel still clinging to it. Like a sex crime victim. Underwear inside out. Bound with electrical tape.
Narrator: Well, then it suits you.
Tyler Durden: We're consumers. We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty, these things don't concern me. What concerns me are celebrity magazines, television with 500 channels, some guy's name on my underwear. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra.
Narrator: Martha Stewart.
Tyler Durden: Fuck Martha Stewart. Martha's polishing the brass on the Titanic. It's all going down, man.
Richard Chesler: [Reading a piece of paper] The first rule of Fight Club is you don't talk about Fight Club?
Narrator: [Voice-over] I'm half asleep again; I must've left the original in the copy machine.
Richard Chesler: The second rule of Fight Club - is this yours?
Richard Chesler: Pretend you're me, make a managerial decision: you find this, what would you do?
Narrator: [pauses] Well, I gotta tell you: I'd be very, very careful who you talk to about that, because the person who wrote that... is dangerous.
[Gets up from the chair]
Narrator: [Talking slowly] And this button-down, Oxford-cloth psycho might just snap, and then stalk from office to office with an Armalite AR-10 carbine gas-powered semi-automatic weapon, pumping round after round into colleagues and co-workers. This might be someone you've known for years. Someone very, very close to you.
Narrator: [Voice-over] Tyler's words coming out of my mouth.
[Snatches the piece of paper from boss' hands]
Narrator: [Voice-over] And I used to be such a nice guy.
Narrator: Or maybe you shouldn't bring me every little piece of trash you happen to pick up.
Narrator: [Into phone] Compliance and Liability...?
Marla Singer: My tit's gonna rot off.
Narrator: [to boss] Would you excuse me? I need to take this.
Self improvement is masturbation. Now self destruction...
Marla's philosophy of life is that she might die at any moment. The tragedy, she said, was that she didn't.
WHOA! WHOA! WHOA! Ok, you are now firing a gun at your 'imaginary friend' near 400 GALLONS OF NITROGLYCERINE!
Tyler Durden: [to the police chief] Hi. You're going to call off your rigorous investigation. You're going to publicly state that there is no underground group. Or... these guys are going to take your balls. They're going to send one to the New York Times, one to the LA Times press-release style. Look, the people you are after are the people you depend on. We cook your meals, we haul your trash, we connect your calls, we drive your ambulances. We guard you while you sleep. Do not... fuck with us.
Narrator: Tyler, I'm grateful to you; for everything that you've done for me. But this is too much. I don't want this.
Tyler Durden: What do you want? Wanna go back to the shit job, fuckin' condo world, watching sitcoms? Fuck you, I won't do it.