When you're dealing with a store like this, they're insured up the ass. They're not supposed to give you any resistance whatsoever. If you get a customer, or an employee, who thinks he's Charles Bronson, take the butt of your gun and smash their nose in. Everybody jumps. He falls down screaming, blood squirts out of his nose, nobody says fucking shit after that. You might get some bitch talk shit to you, but give her a look like you're gonna smash her in the face next, watch her shut the fuck up. Now if it's a manager, that's a different story. Managers know better than to fuck around, so if you get one that's giving you static, he probably thinks he's a real cowboy, so you gotta break that son of a bitch in two. If you wanna know something and he won't tell you, cut off one of his fingers. The little one. Then tell him his thumb's next. After that he'll tell you if he wears ladies underwear. I'm hungry. Let's get a taco.

STOP POINTING THAT GUN AT MY DAD!!

For the past 15 minutes now you've been droning on about names. Toby... Toby... Toby... Toby Wong... Toby Wong, Toby Wong... Toby Chung, fuckin' Charlie Chan. I got Madonna's big dick coming outta my left ear, and Toby the Jap - I dunno what - coming outta my right.

The words too fucking busy shouldn't be in a waitress' vocabulary.

Are you gonna bark all day little doggie, or are you gonna bite?

Learn to fuckin' type.

Give me my dollar back.