The Attention Deficit Disorder Thread

He flipped open his sat phone and dialled in a twenty-seven-digit number. Marie noticed the long number with widening eyes.
"What kind of number is that?" Michael pondered that for a second before replying.
“Really long distance.”

 

Hey. You look in the mirror, you don't like what you see, don't believe it. Look in my eyes, I am the only mirror you're ever gonna need. You look in my eyes, Natalie.

 

"Well, hopefully, they'll find something, and Eddie the Eagle here will get us there in one piece, we roll in like the thunder of God, kill the bad guys, neutralise the bomb, save the day, steal the bomb, run like hell, fly home for debriefing and cocktails AND all live happily ever after."

 

Andrew, ever the dramatic, brought the Yukon to a screaming stop against the kerb.
"What, not straight through the doors?" Barry asked as they ran for the entrance.

 

What? You mean that Disneyland mookfest out there? Huh? Come on, you know what that is? Huh? That's a fucking violation is what that is. Something that used to be beautiful, used to have class, like a gorgeous high-priced hooker with an exclusive clientele. Then along comes that Steve Wynn cocksucker and knocks her up and puts her in a fucking family way. Now she's nothing but a cheap, fat whore hiding behind too much fucking make-up. I look at her and see all her fucking stretch marks, it makes me want to cry - because I remember the way she used to be.

 

Shoo! Go do something productive, preferably something that won’t eventually involve a paternity suit.

 

Don't get me wrong. Nostalgia is great. We love nostalgia. But nostalgia belongs in a museum. I think there comes a time to decide whether you're running a museum or you're running a casino.

 

New Terra?
Not very original is it? But then, how original was the Earth and the Moon?

 

I can't leave you alone for five minutes without someone trying to cave your skull in.
That's me; I'm a real people person.

 

`Beware! Eccentric Beastie Within`
-Huh?
-There are some Scots on the research team. They're a little...peculiar.

 

A lot of people enjoy being dead. But they are not dead, really. They're just backing away from life. *Reach* out. Take a *chance*. Get *hurt* even. But play as well as you can.

 

Do you... enjoy... knives?

 

Well, if some people get upset because they feel they have a hold on some things, I'm merely acting as a gentle reminder: here today, gone tomorrow, so don't get attached to things.

 

You lot are fond of your traditions
Makes life simpler if you know it's supposed to go this way or you're supposed to do that.

 

Do your ribs still hurt?
Only when I breathe.

 

Psychiatrist: That's very interesting, Harold, and I think, very illuminating. There seems to be a definite pattern emerging. And, of course, this pattern, once isolated, can be coped with. Recognize the problem, and you are halfway on the road to its, uh, its solution. Uh, tell me, Harold, what do you do for fun? What activity gives you a different sense of enjoyment from the others? Uh, what do you find fulfilling? What gives you that... special satisfaction?

Harold: ...I go to funerals.

 

I would be remiss in my duty if I did not tell you that the idea of intercourse - the act of your firm, young body... comingling with... withered flesh... sagging breasts... and flabby b-b-buttocks... makes me want... to vomit.

 

They've lost a ship.
Lost or `lost`?
Unknown at time of transmission.

 

A set of pipes, and this’d be a fucking parade.
You could’nae go into battle without pipes, laddie. It’s less a tradition and more a sacrament.

 

-You're so full of shit
-(sighs) Yeah, I know. But if I say it just right, it sometimes sounds sage.