Steve Buscemi forgets his ID at the Club:
You, you can't be serious right? This guy can't be serious. I've been
standing in this line for...no no let me finish guy. Do you fucking
believe this guy? Okay, okay, I'm sorry. You flatter me, you really
do. I just can't believe that in THIS age...that a gentleman my
age....you know what? I understand completely. You're just doing your
job. I can respect that, you know? It's not like I haven't been in
your shoes before, friend, working long hours for some no-good
cocksucking employer who is maybe skimming a little from the top, you
know what I mean, heheh? You seem like a good guy to, maybe got a wife
and kids back home, eh? I bet she gives you a hard time, right? Sees
through you big-bad-guy shtick, bet she loved you even when you were
just the line-backer with the blown-out knee at U. State. But big
dreams, right? Hehe, and then you get to this city and what does it
do? What does it fucking do? It chews you up and spits you back out,
THAT'S what it fucking does. Un-fucking-believable. I've seen it a
hundred times man. You know what? A THOUSAND times. That's how many
times I've.....
So yea, now you're pissed, your frustrated, because maybe its not like
you wanted to be a football player anyway, but you don't know what
else to do? Me, hell man, you think I know what kind of person I am?
One day I'm a villain, the next I'm the fucking voice in every one of
those damn Pixar movies your brats ever seen, and the NEXT? The next
day a loveable pedophile banging Chloe Sevigny fer christ sakes....
you ever heard of her? Honestly, I think the girl's got the face of a
horse but you know *waves hands vaguely* the "public". You know what
I say man? You know what I honestly say? FUCK the public. Fuck the
public perception of WHO we are. What if I wanted to own a gas
station, huh? What if I wanted to be something than that weird little
rat faced guy in every indie movie? What if after that fucking finale,
I dont WANT to be associated with that shit show and that SHIT song,
what's it called, you know...."strangers, dancing...." Aw come on man,
you know it? You know what, FUCK Hbo. Yea, I said it.
Sorry, no I'm sorry. I'm cool, man, I'm cool. I'll go home and get my I.D.
Just don't expect me to come back with like a fucking tip to commend
you for this AWESOMELY difficult job you're doing of turning away
forty-year old fucking men from your rinky-dink operation.
Cocksucker.
What? No nothing, I didn't say anything.Keep up the good work man. I salute you
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