& Diplomat: My secretary gave me the broad strokes of your story, but...
Woody: It’s not a story.
Baxter: No, it actually happened.
& Diplomat: So why don’t you tell me, in your own words, from the beginning, exactly what happened to you...
Ω Terror in the Embassy!
& Baxter: I reckon the guys in the Consultate got in touch with the American Embassy and he would have called Langley.
Rick: Who’s Langley?
Baxter: The CIA HQ.
Rick: Fucking hell. Jason Bourne here.
& Mercedes: Can’t believe you lot are still hanging out together. What is it, some sort of bromance?
& Woody: We’re, um, we’re just deciding whether to... cross the entire country to find an ex-CIA spook... in the hope that he can cancel the kill contract that’s on us all.
Mercedes: Oh, you guys lead such boring lives.
& Mercedes: Keep it moving, boys. In case you hadn’t noticed, we don’t exactly fit in.
& Driver: Do not want trouble in my taxi.
Quinn: What makes you think we’re gonna cause trouble?
Driver: White people... In a taxi...
& Driver: Don’t you get it? This journey is cursed.
Rick: Whoa, hang on. Hey! Oi! Oi! Let’s, uh... let’s see if we can uncurse it, shall we?
& Woody: Anybody got any idea where we are?
Rick: Yeah, there’s a sign over here. It says: “Shit Creek. No paddle.”
& Mercedes: Screw you, office jobs! Up yours, nine to five! Kiss my ass, fascists of the world!
& Woody: Hey, hang on a second. We’re paying you to help us.
Mercedes: Jesus, why don’t you stand on your own eight feet for once?
& Rick: You don’t get it, do you? There is no going back. There are no more pretend lives. This is game over, boys. We are dead.
--
On the IMDb
Woody: It’s not a story.
Baxter: No, it actually happened.
& Diplomat: So why don’t you tell me, in your own words, from the beginning, exactly what happened to you...
Ω Terror in the Embassy!
& Baxter: I reckon the guys in the Consultate got in touch with the American Embassy and he would have called Langley.
Rick: Who’s Langley?
Baxter: The CIA HQ.
Rick: Fucking hell. Jason Bourne here.
& Mercedes: Can’t believe you lot are still hanging out together. What is it, some sort of bromance?
& Woody: We’re, um, we’re just deciding whether to... cross the entire country to find an ex-CIA spook... in the hope that he can cancel the kill contract that’s on us all.
Mercedes: Oh, you guys lead such boring lives.
& Mercedes: Keep it moving, boys. In case you hadn’t noticed, we don’t exactly fit in.
& Driver: Do not want trouble in my taxi.
Quinn: What makes you think we’re gonna cause trouble?
Driver: White people... In a taxi...
& Driver: Don’t you get it? This journey is cursed.
Rick: Whoa, hang on. Hey! Oi! Oi! Let’s, uh... let’s see if we can uncurse it, shall we?
& Woody: Anybody got any idea where we are?
Rick: Yeah, there’s a sign over here. It says: “Shit Creek. No paddle.”
& Mercedes: Screw you, office jobs! Up yours, nine to five! Kiss my ass, fascists of the world!
& Woody: Hey, hang on a second. We’re paying you to help us.
Mercedes: Jesus, why don’t you stand on your own eight feet for once?
& Rick: You don’t get it, do you? There is no going back. There are no more pretend lives. This is game over, boys. We are dead.
--
On the IMDb
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