Mr. White: If you shoot me in a dream you better wake up and apologise.
Mr. Pink: Hey, why am I Mr. Pink?
Joe: Because you're a faggot.
Mr. Pink: Why can't we pick our own colors?
Joe: No way, no way. Tried it once, doesn't work. You got four guys all fighting over who's gonna be Mr. Black, but they don't know each other, so nobody wants to back down. No way. I pick. You're Mr. Pink. Be thankful you're not Mr. Yellow.
Mr. Brown: Yeah, but Mr. Brown is a little too close to Mr. Shit.
Mr. Pink: Mr. Pink sounds like Mr. Pussy. How 'bout if I'm Mr. Purple? That sounds good to me. I'll be Mr. Purple.
Joe: You're not Mr. Purple. Some guy on some other job is Mr. Purple. You're Mr. PINK.
Mr. White: Who cares what your name is?
Mr. Pink: Yeah, that's easy for you to say, you're Mr. White. You have a cool-sounding name. All right look, if it's no big deal to be Mr. Pink, you wanna trade?
Joe: Hey! NOBODY'S trading with ANYBODY. This ain't a goddamn fucking city council meeting, you know. Now listen up, Mr. Pink. There's two ways you can go on this job: my way or the highway. Now what's it gonna be, Mr. Pink?
Mr. Pink: Jesus Christ, Joe, fucking forget about it. It's beneath me. I'm Mr. Pink. Let's move on.
Joe: I'll move on when I feel like it... All you guys got the goddamn message?. I'm so goddamn mad, hollering at you guys I can hardly talk. Pssh. Let's go to work.
Mr. Blonde: Listen kid, I'm not gonna bullshit you, all right? I don't give a good fuck what you know, or don't know, but I'm gonna torture you anyway, regardless. Not to get information. It's amusing, to me, to torture a cop. You can say anything you want cause I've heard it all before. All you can do is pray for a quick death, which you ain't gonna get.
Mr. Blonde: Eddie, if you don't stop talking like a bitch, I'm gonna slap you like a bitch.
Joe: Hey, I've changed my mind. Shoot this piece of shit, will ya?
Mr. Blonde: You kids shouldn't play so rough. Somebody's gonna start cryin'.
Mr. White: If you shoot this man, you die next. I repeat. If you shoot this man, you die next.
Nice Guy Eddie: The chick got tired of him beating her, so one night she walks in the guy's bedroom and took some wacko glue and glues his dick to his belly. I'm serious, I'm dead serious. They had to call the paramedics to cut the prick loose, literally.
Mr. White: Was he all pissed off?
Nice Guy Eddie: How would you feel if every time you had to take a piss you had to do a fuckin' handstand?
Mr. Pink: I can say I definitely didn't do it because I know what I did or didn't do. But I cannot definitely say that about anybody else, 'cause I don't definitely know.
Mr. Brown: I'm blind, man. I'm fucking blind.
Mr. Orange: You're not blind, you've just got blood in your eyes.
Mr. Pink: Do you know what this is? It's the world's smallest violin playing just for the waitresses.
Marvin: I already told you I don't know anything about any fucking setup; you can torture me all you want.
Mr. Blonde: Torture you? That's a good idea. I like that.
Nice Guy Eddie: C'mon, throw in a buck!
Mr. Pink: Uh-uh, I don't tip.
Nice Guy Eddie: You don't tip?
Mr. Pink: Nah, I don't believe in it.
Nice Guy Eddie: You don't believe in tipping?
Mr. Blue: You know what these chicks make? They make shit.
Mr. Pink: Don't give me that. She don't make enough money that she can quit.
Nice Guy Eddie: I don't even know a fucking Jew who'd have the balls to say that. Let me get this straight: you don't ever tip?
Mr. Pink: I don't tip because society says I have to. All right, if someone deserves a tip, if they really put forth an effort, I'll give them something a little something extra. But this tipping automatically, it's for the birds. As far as I'm concerned, they're just doing their job.
Mr. Blue: Hey, our girl was nice.
Mr. Pink: She was okay. She wasn't anything special.
Mr. Blue: What's special? Take you in the back and suck your dick?
Nice Guy Eddie: I'd go over twelve percent for that.
Mr. Pink: We still gotta get outta here.
Mr. Blonde: We're gonna sit here and wait.
Mr. White: For what, the cops?
Mr. Blonde: Nice Guy Eddie.
Mr. Pink: Nice Guy Eddie? What makes you think he isn't on a plane half way to Costa Rica?
Mr. Blonde: 'Cause I talked to him and he said he was on his way down here.
Mr. White: You talked to Nice Guy Eddie? Why the fuck didn't you say that in the first place?
Mr. Blonde: You didn't ask.
Mr. White: Hardy fuckin' har.
Joe: So, you guys like to tell jokes, huh? Gigglin' and laughin' like a bunch of young broads sittin' in a schoolyard. Well, let me tell a joke. Five guys, sittin' in a bullpen, in San Quentin. All wondering how the fuck they got there. What should we have done, what didn't we do, who's fault is it, is it my fault, your fault, his fault, all that bullshit. Then one of them says hey. Wait a minute. When we were planning this caper, all we did was sit around tellin' fuckin' jokes! Get the message? Boys, I don't mean to holler at ya. When this caper's over - and I'm sure it'll be a successful one - we'll get down to the Hawaiian Islands, hell, I'll roll and laugh with all of ya. You'll find me a different character down there. Right now, it's a matter of business.
Nice Guy Eddie: Okay, first things fuckin' last!
Mr. Pink: Where's the commode in this dungeon? I gotta take a squirt.