Heartbreak Ridge (1986)
Judge Zane: Thank you for your testimony, Officer Reese. Sergeant Highway, drunk and disorderly. Fighting in a public establishment. Urinating on a police vehicle?
Highway: Well, it seemed like the thing to do, sir.
Judge Zane: Just because there’s no war going on does not give you the right to start one every time you get drunk. Now I’m taking into account your excellent military record and your commitment to the security of this great nation. But this is your last chance. One hundred dollar fine. Next!
Highway: [as he’s leaving the courtroom] Your nightstick file for divorce, Reese?
Reese: [outside the courtroom] Who the hell do you think you are? Pissin’ on my squad car. You think you can break our rules and then just walk away? Or are we supposed to wet our pants over your dress blues and your Goddamn colored ribbons. Take a look at that file of yours sometime, hero. Check the dates. It’s ancient fucking history. You know, one of these Saturday nights you’re going to be puking blood in some alley and you’re going to look up and see me standing there. Then we’ll see.
Highway: Keep dreaming, shit ball.
Reese: You’re gonna pay full price rummy. I don’t believe in no serviceman’s discounts.
Highway: Too bad, your old lady does.
Highway: My name’s Gunnery Sergeant Highway and I’ve drunk more beer and banged more quiff and pissed more blood and stomped more ass that all of you numbnuts put together. Now Major Powers has put me in charge of this reconisence platoon.
Lance Corporal Fragatti: We take care of ourselves.
Highway: You couldn’t take care of a wet dream. God loves you.
Collins: I know that!
Highway: You men do not impress me!
Profile: Recon platoon kicks butt.
Highway: [grabs Profile by the nose] If you ladies think that you can slip and slide just because your last sergeant was a pussy, well queer bait, you’re going to start acting like Marines right now!
Lance Corporal Fragatti: Who invited ya!
Highway: I’m not doing this because I want to take long showers with you assholes and I don’t want to get my head shot off in some far away land because you don’t habla, comprende?
Quinones: Yes, Gunney.
Corporal ‘Stitch’ Jones: [singing] And you really look so fine and you’ve got that big behind.
Highway: [sees Jones] Well, well, well, well. I’m here to tell you that life as you knew it has ended. You all may as well go into town tonight. You may as well laugh and make fools out of yourselves. Rub your pathetic little peckers against your honies or stick it in a knothole in the fence but whatever it is, get rid of it. Because at 0600 tomorrow your ass is mine.
Highway: Where’s your bunk.
Highway: [walking toward the barracks holding Jones by the ear] Where is it?
Corporal ‘Stitch’ Jones: Where’s what, man?
Highway: The money for my ticket.
Corporal ‘Stitch’ Jones: Hey, no need to resort to unnecessary violence. I was a little down on the money, you know, but I got a little money for you right here. But that’s all I got.
[hands Highway some cash]
Highway: And the meal.
Corporal ‘Stitch’ Jones: The meal.
Highway: Yeah, the meal.
Corporal ‘Stitch’ Jones: Ok, I got a little more for you here but that’s definitely all I got.
Highway: And the tip.
Corporal ‘Stitch’ Jones: No, man, that’s really it that’s all I got.
Highway: You owe me.
[rips Jones’ earring off]
Highway: Now it’s my will against yours and you will lose. So don’t forget, 0600. That’s six o’clock in the morning for those of you who don’t habla.
Highway: I been pumping pussy since Christ was a corporal. I can tell you, the best damned poontang I ever paid for was in Da Nang. The girls were checked out daily. And we got ourself laid in a safe, orderly, proficient, military manner. That is until some suckhead writes home mama and says he dipped his wick in the Republic of South Vietnam. Then the shit hits the fan. A committee of congressmen who asshole to asshole who couldn’t make a beer fart in a whirlwind, start telling your basic-ass-in-the-grass, Marine ” No more short time “. We responded in true Marine Corps fashion. We salute, do an about face, double time back to the boom-boom garbage dump where we get the clap, and the drip, and the crabs and a generally poor attitude towards the female of the species. War is hell, boy. That’s a fact!
Jail Binger: I don’t like soldier boys.
Highway: Say what?
Jail Binger: If you wanna pop that puppy’s can you don’t have to grease him so hard, jarhead.
Highway: Well, it sounds like you’re a man of experience.
Jail Binger: What the hell’s that supposed to mean, grunge shit.
Highway: It means: Be advised. I’m mean, nasty and tired. I eat concertina wire and piss napalm and I can put a round in a flea’s ass at 200 meters. So why don’t you go hump somebody else’s leg, mutt face, before I push yours in.
Jail Binger: Ain’t gonna be so smart with your balls stuffed in your mouth, jarhead!
Highway: [hands cigar to the young man] Hang on to this, boy. I think war’s just been declared.
Swede Johanson: Gunny, I’m afraid of heights.