You shut the hell up, Jackie Boy. You're dead. I'm just imagining this, so shut the hell up.

Dozens of them, armed to the teeth. I'm outnumbered, outgunned... but the alley is crooked, dark, and very narrow. They can't surround me. Sometimes you can beat the odds by a careful choice of where to fight...Where to fight counts for a lot, but there's nothing like having your friends show up with lots of guns.

Most people think Marv is crazy. He just had the rotten luck of being born in the wrong century. He'd be right at home on some ancient battlefield swinging an axe into somebody's face. Or in a Roman arena, taking his sword to other gladiators like him. They would've tossed him girls like Nancy back then.

I'm Shellie's new boyfriend, and I'm out of my mind. If you so much as talk to her or even think her name, I'll cut you in ways that'll make you useless to a woman.

You made a big mistake yourself...you didn't flush.

A hardtop with a decent engine. And make sure it's got a big trunk.

It's time to prove to your friends that you're worth a damn. Sometimes that means dying, sometimes it means killing a whole lot of people.

I let him know I'm not fooling around.

She doesn't quite chop his head off. She makes a PEZ|Pez dispenser out of him.

Sure, he's an asshole. Sure he's dead. Sure, I'm just imagining that he's talking. That doesn't stop the bastard from being absolutely right.