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.
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: 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.
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.
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.
Mr. White: You can't leave this guy with them.
Nice Guy Eddie: Why not?
Mr. White: Because he's a fucking psycho. And if you think Joe's pissed off, that ain't nothing compared to how pissed off I am at him, for putting me in the same room as that bastard!
Mr. Blonde: See what I've been putting up with, Eddie? I fucking walked in here, I told these guys about staying put. Mr. White whips out his gun, he's sticking it in my face, calling me a motherfucker, saying he's gonna blow me away and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.