On the Invention of Golf

"Here's my idea for a fucking sport. I knock a ball in a gopher hole.

"Like pool?"

"Fuck off pool, not with a straight stick, with a little fucked up stick. I whack a ball its goes in a gopher hole."

"Oh you mean like croquet?"

"Fuck croquet. I put the hole hundreds of yards away. Oh fuck of ya"

"Oh like a bowling thing?"

"Fuck no, Not straight I put shit in the way. Like trees and bushes and high grass. So you can lose you fucking ball. And go whacking away with a fucking tire iron. Whacking away, and each time you miss you feel like you'll have a stroke. Fuck that's what we'll call it, a stroke, cause each time you miss you feel like you're gonna fuckin die. Oh great, oh and here's the better part oh fuck this is brilliant. Right near the end I'll put a little flat piece with a little flag to give you fucking hope. But then I'll put a little pool and a sand box to fuck with your ball again. Ay, you'll be there cracking you ass, jacking away in the sand."

"Oh and you do this one time?"

"Fuck no. 18 fucking times!"

by Robin Williams

40 Years Ago

John Cleese, Michael Palin, Terry Jones and Rowan Atkinson

Atkins: You can’t beat a good glass of château le chasselet.

Jones: Ah you’re right there Obadiah.

Cleese: Who’d a thought 40 years ago we’d be sitting here, drinking Chateau…

Palin: In them days we’d be glad to have a cup of tea.

Atkins: Aye, a cup of cold tea.

Cleese: Without milk. Or sugar.

Atkins: Or tea!

Palin: Aye, in a cracked cup as well.

Cleese: We never had a cup. We used to drink out of a rolled up newspaper.

Atkins: The best we could do was to suck on a piece of damp cloth.

Jones: But you know we were happy in those days, although we were poor.

Palin: Because we were poor. My old dad used to say to me, “money doesn’t buy happiness son”.

Cleese: He was right. I was happier then we had nothing. We used to live in a tiny old tumbled down house with great holes in roof.

Atkins: A house. You were lucky to have a house. We used to live in one room, 26 of us no furniture and half the floor was missing, huddles in one corner for fear of falling.

Jones: Well you were lucky to have a room. We used to have to live in a corridor.

Palin: We used to dream of living in a corridor. It would have been a palace to us. We used to live in an old water tank on a rubbish tip. Got woke up every morning by having a load of rotten fish dumped all over us. House ha!

Cleese: Well when I say house it was only a hole in the ground covered with a couple of feet of torn canvas, but it was house to us.

Atkins: We were evicted from our hole in the ground. We had to go and live in lake.

Jones: You were lucky to have a lake. There were 150 of us living in shoe box in middle of motorway.

Palin: Cardboard box? (Jones: Aye) You were lucky. We lived for three months in a rolled up newspaper in a septic tank. We used to have to get up at 6 every morning, clean the newspaper, eat a crust of stale bread, go to work down the mill 14 hours a day, week in, week out, for two pence a week and when we got home our dad would trash us to sleep with his belt.

Atkins: Luxury. We used to have to get out the lake at 3 am, clean the lake, eat a hand full of hot gravel, work 20 hours a day at mill for two pence a month, come home and dad would beat us about the head with a broken bottle, if we were lucky.

Jones: Well of course we had it tough. We used to have to get up out of shoe box in middle of night and lick the road clean with our tongues, eat half a hand full of cold gravel, work 24 hours a day for two pence every 6 years and when we got home our dad would slice into us with bread knife.

Cleese: Right! I used to get up in the morning at half past ten at night, half an hour before I went to bed, eat a lump of freezing cold poison, work 28 hours a day at mill and pay the mill owner to let us work there. And when I got home my dad used to murder me in cold blood each night and dance about on our graves, singing hallelujah.

Palin: Aye, you try and tell the young people of today that. They won’t believe you!

V for Vendetta

"Evey Hammond: [Voiceover] Remember, remember, the Fifth of November, the Gunpowder Treason and Plot. I know of no reason why the Gunpowder Treason should ever be forgot... But what of the man? I know his name was Guy Fawkes and I know, in 1605, he attempted to blow up the Houses of Parliament. But who was he really? What was he like? We are told to remember the idea, not the man, because a man can fail. He can be caught, he can be killed and forgotten, but 400 years later, an idea can still change the world. I've witnessed first hand the power of ideas, I've seen people kill in the name of them, and die defending them... but you cannot kiss an idea, cannot touch it, or hold it... ideas do not bleed, they do not feel pain, they do not love... And it is not an idea that I miss, it is a man... A man that made me remember the Fifth of November. A man that I will never forget."

"V: People should not be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of their people."

"V: [Evey pulls out her mace] I can assure you I mean you no harm.
Evey Hammond: Who are you?
V: Who? Who is but the form following the function of what and what I am is a man in a mask.
Evey Hammond: Well I can see that.
V: Of course you can. I’m not questioning your powers of observation I’m merely remarking upon the paradox of asking a masked man who he is.
Evey Hammond: Oh. Right.
V: But on this most auspicious of nights, permit me then, in lieu of the more commonplace sobriquet, to suggest the character of this dramatis persona.
V: Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin van-guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. [carves V into poster on wall]
V: The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. [giggles]
V: Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it’s my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V.
Evey Hammond: Are you like a crazy person?
V: I am quite sure they will say so."

"[after a hail of gunfire doesn’t stop V]
Creedy: Die! Die! Why won’t you die?… Why won’t you die?
V: Beneath this mask there is more than flesh. Beneath this mask there is an idea, Mr. Creedy, and ideas are bulletproof."

"Evey Hammond: Where did you get all this stuff?
V: Oh, here and there, mostly from the Ministry of Objectionable Materials.
Evey Hammond: You stole them?
V: Oh, heavens, no. Stealing imples ownership. You can’t steal from the censor; I merely reclaimed them.
Evey Hammond: God, if they ever find this place…
V: I suspect if they do find this place, a few bits of art will be the least of my worries."

Good Will Hunting

"Will: Why shouldn't I work for the N.S.A.? That's a tough one, but I'll give it a shot. Say I'm working at N.S.A. Somebody puts a code on my desk, something nobody else can break. So I take a shot at it and maybe I break it. And I'm real happy with myself, 'cause I did my job well. But maybe that code was the location of some rebel army in North Africa or the Middle East. Once they have that location, they bomb the village where the rebels were hiding and fifteen hundred people I never had a problem with get killed. Now the politicians are sayin', "Send in the marines to secure the area" 'cause they don't give a shit. It won't be their kid over there, gettin' shot. Just like it wasn't them when their number was called, 'cause they were pullin' a tour in the National Guard. It'll be some guy from Southie takin' shrapnel in the ass. And he comes home to find that the plant he used to work at got exported to the country he just got back from. And the guy who put the shrapnel in his ass got his old job, 'cause he'll work for fifteen cents a day and no bathroom breaks. Meanwhile my buddy from Southie realizes the only reason he was over there was so we could install a government that would sell us oil at a good price. And of course the oil companies used the skirmish to scare up oil prices so they could turn a quick buck. A cute little ancillary benefit for them but it ain't helping my buddy at two-fifty a gallon. And naturally they're takin' their sweet time bringin' the oil back, and maybe even took the liberty of hiring an alcoholic skipper who likes to drink martinis and play slalom with the icebergs, and it ain't too long 'til he hits one, spills the oil and kills all the sea life in the North Atlantic. So my buddy's out of work and he can't afford to drive, so he's got to walk to the job interviews, which sucks 'cause the shrapnel in his ass is givin' him chronic hemorrhoids. And meanwhile he's starvin' 'cause every time he tries to get a bite to eat the only blue plate special they're servin' is North Atlantic scrod with Quaker State. So what do I think? I'm holdin' out for somethin' better. Why not just shoot my buddy, take his job and give it to his sworn enemy, hike up gas prices, bomb a village, club a baby seal, hit the hash pipe and join the National Guard? I could be elected president."

...

"Sean: Thought about what you said to me the other day, about my painting. Stayed up half the night thinking about it. Something occurred to me... fell into a deep peaceful sleep, and haven't thought about you since. Do you know what occurred to me?
Will: No.
Sean: You're just a kid, you don't have the faintest idea what you're talkin' about.
Will: Why thank you.
Sean: It's all right. You've never been out of Boston.
Will: Nope.
Sean: So if I asked you about art, you'd probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life's work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientations, the whole works, right? But I'll bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling; seen that. If I ask you about women, you'd probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can't tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You're a tough kid. And I'd ask you about war, you'd probably throw Shakespeare at me, right, "once more unto the breach dear friends." But you've never been near one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap, watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help. I'd ask you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes, that the terms "visiting hours" don't apply to you. You don't know about real loss, 'cause it only occurs when you've loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much. And look at you... I don't see an intelligent, confident man... I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you're a genius Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine, and you ripped my fucking life apart. You're an orphan right?
[Will nods]
Sean: You think I know the first thing about how hard your life has been, how you feel, who you are, because I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you? Personally... I don't give a shit about all that, because you know what, I can't learn anything from you, I can't read in some fuckin' book. Unless you want to talk about you, who you are. Then I'm fascinated. I'm in. But you don't want to do that do you sport? You're terrified of what you might say. Your move, chief."

...

"Will: So, when did you know, like, that she was the one for you?
Sean: October 21st, 1975.
Will: Jesus Christ. You know the fuckin' date?
Sean: Oh yeah. Cus' it was game six of the World Series. Biggest game in Red Sox history.
Will: Yeah, sure.
Sean: My friends and I had, you know, slept out on the sidewalk all night to get tickets.
Will: You got tickets?
Sean: Yep. Day of the game. I was sittin' in a bar, waitin' for the game to start, and in walks this girl. Oh it was an amazing game, though. You know, bottom of the 8th Carbo ties it up at a 6-6. It went to 12. Bottom of the 12th, in stepped Carlton Fisk. Old Pudge. Steps up to the plate, you know, and he's got that weird stance.
Will: Yeah, yeah.
Sean: And BAM! He clocks it. High fly ball down the left field line! Thirty-five thousand people, on their feet, yellin' at the ball, but that's not because of Fisk. He's wavin' at the ball like a madman.
Will: Yeah, I've seen...
Sean: He's going, "Get over! Get over! Get OVER!" And then it HITS the foul pole. OH, he goes apeshit, and 35,000 fans, you know, they charge the field, you know?
Will: Yeah, and he's fuckin' bowlin' police out of the way!
Sean: Goin', "God! Get out of the way! Get 'em away!" Banging people...
Will: I can't fuckin' believe you had tickets to that fuckin' game!
Sean: Yeah!
Will: Did you rush the field?
Sean: No, I didn't rush the fuckin' field, I wasn't there.
Will: What?
Sean: No - I was in a bar havin' a drink with my future wife.
Will: You missed Pudge Fisk's homerun?
Sean: Oh yeah.
Will: To have a fuckin' drink with some lady you never met?
Sean: Yeah, but you shoulda seen her. She was a stunner.
Will: I don't care if Helen of Troy walks in the room, that's game six!
Sean: Oh, Helen of Troy...
Will: Oh my God, and who are these fuckin' friends of yours they let you get away with that?
Sean: Oh... They had to.
Will: W-w-w-what'd you say to them?
Sean: I just slid my ticket across the table and I said, "Sorry guys, I gotta see about a girl."
Will: I gotta go see about a girl?
Sean: Yeah.
Will: That's what you said? And they let you get away with that?
Sean: Oh yeah. They saw in my eyes that I meant it.
Will: You're kiddin' me.
Sean: No, I'm not kiddin' you, Will. That's why I'm not talkin' right now about some girl I saw at a bar twenty years ago and how I always regretted not going over and talking to her. I don't regret the 18 years I was married to Nancy. I don't regret the six years I had to give up counseling when she got sick. And I don't regret the last years when she got really sick. And I sure as hell don't regret missin' the damn game. That's regret.
[pause]
Will: Wow... Woulda been nice to catch that game, though.
Sean: I didn't know Pudge was gonna hit a homer."

...

"Sean: My wife used to fart when she was nervous. She had all sorts of wonderful little idiosyncrasies. She used to fart in her sleep. I thought I’d share that with you. One night it was so loud it woke the dog up. She woke up and went ‘ah was that you?’ And I didn’t have the heart to tell her. Oh!
Will: She woke herself up?
Sean: Ah...! But Will, she’s been dead for 2 years, and that's the shit I remember: wonderful stuff you know? Little things like that. Those are the things I miss the most. The little idiosyncrasies that only I know about: that's what made her my wife. Oh she had the goods on me too, she knew all my little peccadilloes. People call these things imperfections, but there not. Ah, that's the good stuff."

Never Scared - Chris Rock

"A black C student can't do shit with his life. A black C student can't be a manager at Burger King, meanwhile a white C student just happens to be the President of the United States."

"You can be married and bored, or single and lonely. Ain't no happiness nowhere."

"Women HATE women. You get any two girlfriends in this room, been girlfriends for 25 years, you put a man in between them, "Fuck that bitch, " "Fuck that bitch." Guys are not like that. Guys actually think that there are other fish in the sea, and if a guy introduces his boy to his new girlfriend, and when they walk away, his boy goes, "Aww man, shes nice, I gotta get me a girl LIKE that." If a woman introduces her new man to here girlfriend, and they walk away, her girlfriend goes "I gotta get HIM, and I will slit that bitches throat to do it." Every girl in here got a girlfriend they don't trust around their man."

"Marriage is so hard Nelson Mandela got divorced. Nelson Mandela spent 27 years in a Southafrican prison. He got tortured every day, beaten up hard and he did it with no fuckin' problem. He worked on 100 degrees of African heat and did it with no fuckin' problem. Nelson Mandela got out of the jail after 27 years of torture, spent 6 months with his wife and said: I CAN'T TAKE THIS SHIT NO MORE!!!"