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Name that Flick


Raf
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That's the one.  If you haven't seen it, it's actually almost sweet.  Rob Schneider ("Deuce Bigalow") winds up as a gigolo for a lot of women with problems, and he tries to make dates with them where they feel less awkward.  The funniest is where he takes a woman with Tourette's to a Yankees game, because all the swearing fits right in.  In fact, some of the crowd start to repeat her curses.

Anyway, you're up.

George

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"We're the ones with the Imperial, and we're running last?"

 

"Will you take us to Santa Rosita state park?"

"What's the matter, what happened to you? What was ya, in some kind of initiation?"

"We had an accident. We fell into yellow, all right? Hurry up!"

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"We're the ones with the Imperial, and we're running last?"

 

"Will you take us to Santa Rosita state park?"

"What's the matter, what happened to you? What was ya, in some kind of initiation?"

"We had an accident. We fell into yellow, all right? Hurry up!"

 

"Then what happens next? I'll tell you what happens: Then they all decide that I'm supposed to get a smaller share! That I'm somebody extra special stupid, or something! That they don't even care if it's a democracy! And in a democracy, it don't matter how stupid you are, you still get an equal share!"

 

"Now for the last time. Are we calling Sylvester or not?"

"No! We are not! And I'll tell you why not. Because your son Sylvester is an irresponsible, unreliable, big loudmouth no good bum! Who if he isn't a crook? It's because he doesn't have the brains or ambition even to become a crook!"

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"We're the ones with the Imperial, and we're running last?"

 

"Will you take us to Santa Rosita state park?"

"What's the matter, what happened to you? What was ya, in some kind of initiation?"

"We had an accident. We fell into yellow, all right? Hurry up!"

 

"Then what happens next? I'll tell you what happens: Then they all decide that I'm supposed to get a smaller share! That I'm somebody extra special stupid, or something! That they don't even care if it's a democracy! And in a democracy, it don't matter how stupid you are, you still get an equal share!"

 

"Now for the last time. Are we calling Sylvester or not?"

"No! We are not! And I'll tell you why not. Because your son Sylvester is an irresponsible, unreliable, big loudmouth no good bum! Who if he isn't a crook? It's because he doesn't have the brains or ambition even to become a crook!"

 

 

"I must say, if I had the grievous misfortune to be a citizen of this benighted country, I should be the most hesitant at offering any criticism whatever of any other."

"Wait a minute, are you knocking this country? Are you saying something against America?"

"Against it? I should be positively astounded to hear of anything that could be said FOR it. Why, the whole bloody place is the most unspeakable matriarchy in the whole history of civilization! Look at yourself, and the way your wife and her strumpet of a mother push you through the hoop! As far as I can see, American men have been totally emasculated. They're like slaves! They die like flies from coronary thrombosis, while their women sit under hairdryers, eating chocolates and arranging for every second Tuesday to be some sort of Mother's Day! And this positively infantile preoccupation with bosoms. In all my time in this wretched, godforsaken country, the one thing that has appalled me most of all is this preposterous preoccupation with bosoms. Don't you realize they have become the dominant theme in American culture: in literature, advertising and all fields of entertainment and everything. I'll wager you anything you like: if American women stopped wearing brassieres, your whole national economy would collapse overnight."

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We're the ones with the Imperial, and we're running last?"

 

"Will you take us to Santa Rosita state park?"

"What's the matter, what happened to you? What was ya, in some kind of initiation?"

"We had an accident. We fell into yellow, all right? Hurry up!"

 

"Then what happens next? I'll tell you what happens: Then they all decide that I'm supposed to get a smaller share! That I'm somebody extra special stupid, or something! That they don't even care if it's a democracy! And in a democracy, it don't matter how stupid you are, you still get an equal share!"

 

"Now for the last time. Are we calling Sylvester or not?"

"No! We are not! And I'll tell you why not. Because your son Sylvester is an irresponsible, unreliable, big loudmouth no good bum! Who if he isn't a crook? It's because he doesn't have the brains or ambition even to become a crook!"

 

 

"I must say, if I had the grievous misfortune to be a citizen of this benighted country, I should be the most hesitant at offering any criticism whatever of any other."

"Wait a minute, are you knocking this country? Are you saying something against America?"

"Against it? I should be positively astounded to hear of anything that could be said FOR it. Why, the whole bloody place is the most unspeakable matriarchy in the whole history of civilization! Look at yourself, and the way your wife and her strumpet of a mother push you through the hoop! As far as I can see, American men have been totally emasculated. They're like slaves! They die like flies from coronary thrombosis, while their women sit under hairdryers, eating chocolates and arranging for every second Tuesday to be some sort of Mother's Day! And this positively infantile preoccupation with bosoms. In all my time in this wretched, godforsaken country, the one thing that has appalled me most of all is this preposterous preoccupation with bosoms. Don't you realize they have become the dominant theme in American culture: in literature, advertising and all fields of entertainment and everything. I'll wager you anything you like: if American women stopped wearing brassieres, your whole national economy would collapse overnight."

 

 

"You want me to tell you something? As far as I'm concerned the whole British race is practically finished. If it hadn't been for lend-lease. If we hadn't have kept your whole country afloat by giving you billions that you never even said "Thank you" for, the whole phony outfit would be sunk right under the Atlantic years ago.

What are you stopping for?"

"Get out of this machine."

"Get out? You can't..."

"It's my machine, I will do as I bloody well please. Out!"

"I'm awfully sorry. I've been very edgy today and if I said anything about England, I apologize."

"Glad to hear you say so."

 

 

"They're up to something funny, you hear what I'm telling you? Now, did you see the blonde I brought? All covered with paint and her dressed ripped. Now what was that all about?"

"Yeah. And what about the picks and shovels?"

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    On 3/24/2019 at 10:29 PM, GeorgeStGeorge said:

    It seems oddly familiar, but I can't place it.

    George

    If you think about the last quote, and think some more, you may either work out which plot this is, or remember one of the actors.

    I had wanted to use "Scavenger Hunt" this round, but I know that's neither a recent movie nor well-known, so I didn't think it was fair to use.

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    4 hours ago, GeorgeStGeorge said:

    This has nothing to do with picks and shovels, but perhaps about the America/Britain thing:

    A Fish Called Wanda?

    George

    Not even close.

    (You might want to proceed westward to get there.   No, no thanks, I think this thicket in the east is where I'll find the answer....)

    I've never seen anyone intentionally blow off a hint, then go in the opposite direction before....

    George, I don't think you're the right person to try "following your nose."

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    Well, I thought I'd give him a shot.

    "You've got two things:  balls.  I like that in my women!"

     

    "You know what you are. You're a human Swiss army knife."

    "I don't know --  what's that mean?"

    "It's a little things, and you keep pulling out things, and just when you think there couldn't be any more cool things, a new cool thing comes out, and that's you! You are even dressed like one. You should have a little plus on your chest."

     

    "You are blowing this guy completely out of proportion."

    "I will blow this guy in any proportion I want!"

     

    George

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    Strike one.

    "You shot yourself in the face by mistake."

    "How long was I out? What time is it?"

    "Two o'clock."

    "Oh, that's not so bad."

    "On Thursday."

    "It's Thursday? Are you ki... It's not Monday right now?"

    "No. I'm sorry."

    "Did you put this diaper on me?"

     

    "I'm only thirty six."

    "Thirty six? Holy sh-t, I had no idea. I thought you were 31, tops. I don't even know if I can hire a thirty six year old. We'll have to build a ramp, huh?

     

    "You've got two things:  balls.  I like that in my women!"

     

    "You know what you are. You're a human Swiss army knife."

    "I don't know --  what's that mean?"

    "It's a little things, and you keep pulling out things, and just when you think there couldn't be any more cool things, a new cool thing comes out, and that's you! You are even dressed like one. You should have a little plus on your chest."

     

    "You are blowing this guy completely out of proportion."

    "I will blow this guy in any proportion I want!"

     

    George

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