- What is that? - Blood brothers. - Don't... Why did you...? - Damn it. - Here. - Alan... - No. - No, I'm not doing that. ALAN: Go ahead, Stuart. - Make him stop. Alan, we're not gonna cut ourselves. Give me the knife. Slowly. Thank you. Okay. Thank you very much. PHIL: You all right? Are you okay? ALAN: Mm-hm. - Do you need a doctor? - He's good. PHIL: You sure? ALAN: I'm good. All right, good, because I need everybody to focus. I wanna take a moment, I wanna talk about some... I wanna talk about memory. No, better yet, I wanna talk about selective memory. You see, whatever happens here tonight may as well never have happened at all...
The Hangover
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STU: This is so illegal.
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...but the four of us will never forget.
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[PHONE LINE RINGING] [COUGHS] TRACY [OVER PHONE]: Hello? - Ahem, Tracy, it's Phil. Phil, where the hell are you guys? I'm freaking out. PHIL: Yeah, listen. We fucked up. Thanks for the lift back to town.
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- Give him the money, Stu. - Okay.
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But it wasn't ecstasy, Alan, it was roofies! ALAN: You think I knew that, Stu?
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...but a minor speed bump... ...in an otherwise very long and healthy marriage. - Cheers. - Cheers. Short and sweet.
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Tracy did mention that we shouldn't let him gamble. Or drink too much. Jesus, he's like a gremlin. Comes with instructions and shit. STU: And one water.
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[SINGING "CANDY SHOP"]
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That's all we got.
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Someone who has a lot of issues, obviously. I'm a sick man.
The guy I bought it from seemed like a real straight shooter. You mean the drug dealer at the liquor store wasn't a good guy? Let's just calm down. You fucking calm down! He drugged us. I lost a tooth. I married a whore. - How dare you! She's a nice lady. - You are such a fucking moron. - Your language is offensive. STU: Fuck you! All right, let's just take a deep breath, okay?
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- Whose are those? - I don't know. It's a men's size 6. - That's weird. - What is this, a snakeskin? Oh, come on! Ew! - That's a used condom, Alan. - Oh, God. Blech! - Get it out of the car. STU: Gross, it's wet. - I don't want the thing. - Hey! Come on. I got jizz on me. Jesus Christ, guys! STU: Get it out. PHIL: Fuck!
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You don't get it. Melissa checks my statements. We just need a credit card on file. We won't charge you until check out, so you can figure it out then. That's perfect. Thank you, Lisa. We'll deal with it tomorrow. Come on.