Marty:
[pointing a gun at a bottle]
Kiss my ass, Mr.Shaham, kiss my ass, Mr. Estes, kiss my ass, Miss Johnson, kiss my ass, Mr. Rosenthal
[fires and misses]
Marty:
Shit.
Kile:
What are you doing with my shooter, twerp-face?
Marty:
Target practice
Kile:
It's 11 a.m. in the morning, for Christ's sake.
Marty:
Most people are doing cartwheels by 11, Kile.
Kile:
Aren't you supposed to be in school?
Marty:
Fuck school, I don't see you in school, and besides... you're not Dad.
Kile:
Come here...
[shouts]
Kile:
Come here!
Kile:
[pushes Marty's face to the ground]
You're right, I'm not Dad, Dad didn't hit as hard as me, I don't really wanna hear about Dad, understand? You understand?
Marty:
Yes.
Kile:
Now hand me my gun you little stupid, if you ever take this without my permission again you'll be sorry, you understand?
Marty:
Yes.
Kile:
Get it?
Marty:
Yes.
Marty:
[grabs bat and smashes the glass bottle]
Kiss my ass, Kile!
Riportata da il
05/03/2025 alle ore 08:49
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