Bad Santa and Trainspotting

In recent weeks I re-watched two great movies that have two of my favourite scripts ever, it's worth an entire post just for my favourite lines from these.

Bad Santa

(opening monologue)
Santa: I've been to prison once. I've been married, twice. I was once drafted by Lyndon Johnson and had to live in shit-ass Mexico for two and a half years for no reason. I've had my eye socket punched in, a kidney taken out and I got a bone-chip in my ankle that's never gonna heal. I've seen some pretty shitty situations in my life, but nothing has ever sucked more ass than this!

Santa: (talking to a Pakistani guy) My brother lost a goddamn arm fighting you fuckers in Vietnam!

Sue: I've always had a thing for Santa Claus, in case you didn't notice. It's like some deep-seeded childhood thing.
Santa: So is my thing for tits.

Kid: You are really Santa, right?
Santa: No, I'm an accountant. I wear this fucking thing as a fashion statement, alright?

Marcus: Sketch it up, you fucking moron. Fucking Leonardo da Vinci.
Gin: What'd you call me thigh-high?
Marcus: I called you a fucking guinea homo from the 15th-fucking-century, you dickhead!
Gin: I could stick you up my ass, small fry.
Marcus: Yeah? You sure it ain't too sore from last night?
Gin: You got some lip on you midget.
Marcus: Yeah? Well these lips were on your wife's pussy last night. Why don't you dust that thing off once in a while? Asshole!

Santa: Why don't you wish in one hand and shit in the other. See which one fills up first.

Security Guard: Your pants are awful baggy, you got something in there?
Santa: Yeah, my dick, you wanna see it?

Bob: Forgive me for prying, but did one of you, um, fornicate...
Santa: Fornicate?
Bob: Yes. With a heavy-set woman in the big-and-tall dressing room?
Santa: Look, I've boned a lot of fat chicks in my time, sure. But, as far back as I can remember, I've never fornicated anybody.

Santa: I beat the shit out of some kids today. But it was for a purpose. It made me feel good about myself. It was like I did something constructive with my life or something, I dunno, like I accomplished something.
Marcus: You need many years of therapy. Many, many fuckin' years of therapy.

Marcus: You're an emotional fucking cripple. Your soul is dog shit. Every single fucking thing about you is ugly!

Marcus: Every year you get worse, more booze, more bullshit, more butt-fucking.
Santa: Sure, the 3 Bs.

Marcus: You are by far the dumbest, most pathetic piece of maggot eatin' shit that has every slid from a human being's hairy ass.

Santa: They say he can get into anything. Anything. They say he's been in Margaret Thatcher's pussy.
Marcus: And that's a good thing? So what the fuck are you getting at?

Police Chief: All three of you are in so much shit it's almost unbelievable!

---

Trainspotting

(That famous opening monologue)
Renton: Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you've spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life. But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?

Begbie: (while smoking and drinking) No way would I poison my body with that shite, all those fucking chemicals, no fucking way!

(after Renton shoots a dog with a pellet gun)
Sick Boy: For a vegetarian, Rent, you're a fuckin' evil shot!

Renton: The downside of coming off junk was I knew I would need to mix with my friends again in a state of full consciousness. It was awful. They reminded me so much of myself, I could hardly bear to look at them.

Tommy: Doesn't it make you proud to be Scottish?
Renton: It's shite being Scottish! We're the lowest of the low. The scum of the fucking earth! The most wretched, miserable, servile, pathetic trash that was ever shat into civilization. Some people hate the English. I don't. They're just wankers. We, on the other hand, were colonized by wankers. Can't even find a decent culture to be colonized by. We're ruled by effete assholes. It's a shite state of affairs to be in, Tommy, and all the fresh air in the world won't make any fucking difference!

Renton: It wasn't just the baby that died that day. Something inside Sick Boy was lost and never returned. It seemed that he had no theory with which to explain a moment like this... nor did I. Our only response was to keep on going and 'fuck everything'. Pile misery upon misery, heap it up on a spoon and dissolve it with a drop of bile, then squirt it into a stinking, puerile vein and do it all over again. Keep on going, getting up, going out, robbing, stealing, fucking people over. Propelling ourselves with longing towards the day that it would all go wrong, because no matter how much you stash, or how much you steal you never have enough. No matter how often you go out and rob and fuck people over, you always need to get up and do it all over again.