The Big Lebowski

DUDE: Sure Allan, I'll be there.

ALLAN: Dude, uh, tomorrow is already the tenth.

DUDE: Yeah, yeah I know. Okay.

ALLAN: Just, uh, just slip the rent under my door.

DUDE: Yeah, okay.

DUDE: Hiya Allan.

ALLAN: Dude, I finally got the venue I wanted. I'm Performing my dance quintet--you know, my cycle--at Crane Jackson's Fountain Street Theatre on Tuesday night, and I'd love it if you came and gave me notes.

WOO: Pin your diapers on, Lebowski. Jackie Treehorn wants to see you.

BLOND MAN: And we know which Lebowski you are, Lebowski.

WOO: Yeah. Jackie Treehorn wants to talk to the deadbeat Lebowski.

BLOND MAN: You're not dealing with morons here.

WOO: Fuck.

BLOND MAN: What do you think?

WOO: He looks like a fuckin' loser.

WOO: Yeah?

BLOND MAN: Wasn't this guy supposed to be a millionaire?

WOO: Uh?

DUDE: Where'd she been?

BRANDT: Visiting friends of hers in Palm Springs. Just picked up and left, never bothered to tell us.

DUDE: But I guess she told Dieter.

BRANDT: That had not occurred to us, Dude.

DUDE: Well, okay, you're not privy to all the new shit, so uh, you know, but that's what you pay me for. Speaking of which, would it be possible for me to get my twenty grand in cash? I gotta check this with my accountant of course, but my concern is that, you know, it could bump me into a higher tax--

BRANDT: This is our concern, Dude.

DUDE: No, man, nothing is fucked here--

BRANDT: Here's the money, and the phone. Please, Dude, follow whatever instructions they give.

DUDE: Uh-huh.

BRANDT: Her life is in your hands.

DUDE: Oh, man, don't say that..

BRANDT: Mr. Lebowski asked me to repeat that: Her life is in your hands.

DUDE: Shit.

BRANDT: Her life is in your hands, Dude. And report back to us as soon as it's done.

BRANDT: They called about eighty minutes ago. They want you to take the money and drive north on the 4 5. They'll call you on the portable phone with instructions in about forty minutes. One person only or I'd go with you. They were very clear on that: one person only. What happened to your jaw?

DUDE: Oh, nothin', you know.

BRANDT: Mr. Lebowski is prepared to make a generous offer to you to act as courier once we get instructions for the money.

DUDE: Why me, man?

BRANDT: He suspects that the culprits might be the very people who, uh, soiled your rug, and you're in a unique position to confirm or, uh, disconfirm that suspicion.

DUDE: So he thinks it's the carpet-pissers, huh?

BRANDT: Well Dude, we just don't know.

BRANDT: We've had some terrible news. Mr. Lebowski is in seclusion in the West Wing.

DUDE: Huh.

BRANDT: Well, enjoy, and perhaps we'll see you again some time, Dude.

DUDE: Yeah sure, if I'm ever in the neighborhood, need to use the john.

BRANDT: Manolo will load it into your car for you, uh, Dude.

DUDE: It's the LeBaron.

DUDE: I know my rights.

CHIEF: You don't know shit, Lebowski.

DUDE: I want a fucking lawyer, man. I want Bill Kunstler.

CHIEF: What are you, some kind of sad-assed refugee from the fucking sixties?

DUDE: Uh-huh.

CHIEF: Mr. Treehorn tells us that he had to eject you from his garden party, that you were drunk and abusive.

DUDE: That guy treats women like objects, man.

CHIEF: Mr. Treehorn draws a lot of water in this town, Lebowski. You don't draw shit. We got a nice quiet beach community here, and I aim to keep it nice and quiet. So let me make something plain. I don't like you sucking around bothering our citizens, Lebowski. I don't like your jerk- off name, I don't like your jerk-off face, I don't like your jerk- off behavior, and I don't like you, jerk- off --do I make myself clear?

DA FINO: Fuck, man! That's terrible!

DUDE: Yeah, it sucks.

DA FINO: Well maybe you and me could pool our resources--trade information-- professional courtesy--compeers, you know--

DUDE: Jesus fucking Christ.

DA FINO: Crazy, huh? Ran away a year ago.

DA FINO: A dick, man! And let me tell you something: I dig your work. Playing one side against the other--in bed with everybody--fabulous stuff, man.

DUDE: I'm not a--ah, fuck it, just stay away from my fucking lady friend, man.

DA FINO: Hey hey, I'm not messing with your special lady--

DUDE: She's not my special lady, she's my fucking lady friend. I'm just helping her conceive, man!

DA FINO: Hey, man, I'm not--

DUDE: Who're you working for? Lebowski? Jackie Treehorn?

DA FINO: The Gundersons.

DUDE: The? Who the fff--

DA FINO: The Gundersons. It's a wandering daughter job. Bunny Lebowski, man. Her real name is Fawn Gunderson. Her parents want her back.

DIETER: NUSSING!

WALTER: ANTI-SEMITE!

DIETER: VEE FUCK YOU UP, MAN! VEE TAKE YOUR MONEY!

WALTER: Come and get it.

DIETER: VEE FUCK YOU UP, MAN!

WALTER: Come and get it. Fucking nihilist.

DIETER: I FUCK YOU! I FUCK YOU!

WALTER: Show me what you got. Nihilist. Dipshit with a nine-toed woman.

DIETER: Okay. Vee take ze money you haf on you und vee call it eefen.

WALTER: Fuck you.

WALTER: There's no ransom if you don't have a fucking hostage. That's what ransom is. Those are the fucking rules.

DIETER: Zere ARE no ROOLZ!

WALTER: NO RULES! YOU CABBAGE-EATING SONS- OF- BITCHES--

DONNELLY: Sir, please lower your voice--

DUDE: Hey man, don't you have something else you could put it in?

DONNELLY: That is our most modestly priced receptacle.

DUDE: Can we just rent it from you?

DONNELLY: Sir, this is a mortuary, not a rental house.

DONNELLY: Excuse me?

DUDE: Nothing.

DONNELLY: Yes. I understand you're taking away the remains.

DONNELLY: They range up to three thousand.

WALTER: Yeah, but we're--

WALTER: What's this?

DONNELLY: That is for the urn.

WALTER: Don't need it. We're scattering the ashes.

DONNELLY: Yes, so we were informed. However, we must of course transmit the remains to you in a receptacle.

WALTER: This is a hundred and eighty dollars.

DONNELLY: Yes sir. It is our most modestly priced receptacle.

WALTER: Yeah.

DONNELLY: We have the urn.

DUDE: Almost five!

DONNY: I got eighteen dollars, Dude.

DONNY: Where you going, Dude?

DUDE: I'm going home, Donny.

DONNY: Your phone's ringing, Dude.

DUDE: Thank you, Donny.

DONNY: Sheesh.

DUDE: Walter, how--

DUDE: Yeah, well, what do you care, Walter?

DONNY: Yeah Dude, why is Walter so pissed off?

DUDE: Yeah.

DONNY: I am the Walrus.

DONNY: What do you mean, Dude?

DUDE: Rug-peers did not do this. I mean look at it. Young trophy wife. Marries a guy for money but figures he isn't giving her enough. She owes money all over town--

DONNY: His name is Lebowski? That's your name, Dude!

DUDE: Yeah, this is the guy, this guy should compensate me for the fucking rug. I mean his wife goes out and owes money and they pee on my rug.

DUDE: Fuckin' A.

DONNY: And this guy peed on it.

DONNY: What the fuck is he talking about?

DUDE: My rug.

DONNY: Are they gonna hurt us, Walter?

WALTER: They won't hurt us, Donny. These men are cowards.

DONNY: Who's in pyjamas, Walter?

WALTER: Shut the fuck up, Donny. Not a bunch of fig-eaters with towels on their heads tryin' to find reverse on a Soviet tank. This is not a worthy--

WALTER: What have you. We'll, uh--

DONNY: We'll be near the In-and-Out Burger.

WALTER: Shut the fuck up, Donny. We'll, uh, brace the kid--he'll be a pushover. We'll get that fucking money, if he hasn't spent it already. Million fucking clams. And yes, we'll be near the, uh--some burgers, some beers, a few laughs. Our fucking troubles are over, Dude.

DONNY: Those are good burgers, Walter.

WALTER: Shut the fuck up, Donny. This kid is in the ninth grade, Dude, and his father is--are you ready for this?-- Arthur Digby Sellers.

DONNY: What do you need that for, Dude?

WALTER: You gotta buck up, man, you can't go into the tournament with this negative attitude--

WALTER: Fucking Germans. Nothing changes. Fucking Nazis.

DONNY: They were Nazis, Dude?

WALTER: Come on, Donny, they were threatening castration!

DONNY: Uh-huh.

WALTER: Are you gonna split hairs?

DONNY: No--

WALTER: Am I wrong?

DONNY: Well--

DONNY: And then they're gonna stamp on it?!

WALTER: Oh for Christ--will you shut the fuck up, Donny.

DONNY: Who has your undies, Walter?

WALTER: Where's your car, Dude?

WALTER: Kill that poor woman.

DONNY: Walter, if you can't ride in a car, how d'you get around on Shammas--

WALTER: Really, Dude, you surprise me. They're not gonna kill shit. They're not gonna do shit. What can they do? Fuckin' amateurs. And meanwhile, look at the bottom line. Who's sitting on a million fucking dollars? Am I wrong?

DONNY: Oh yeah, how'd it go?

WALTER: Went alright. Dude's car got a little dinged up--

DONNY: How come you don't roll on Saturday, Walter?

WALTER: I'm shomer shabbas.

DONNY: What's that, Walter?

DONNY: Burkhalter.

WALTER: I told that kraut a fucking thousand times I don't roll on shabbas.

DONNY: It's already posted.

WALTER: WELL THEY CAN FUCKING UN-POST IT!

DONNY: They posted the next round of the tournament--

WALTER: Donny, shut the f--when do we play?

DONNY: This Saturday. Quintana and--

WALTER: Saturday! Well they'll have to reschedule.

WALTER: Shut the fuck up, Donny! V.I. Lenin! Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov!

DONNY: What the fuck is he talking about?

WALTER: That's fucking exactly what happened, Dude! That makes me fucking SICK!

DONNY: I am the Walrus.

WALTER: That fucking bitch!

DONNY: If what's during league play?

WALTER: Life does not stop and start at your convenience, you miserable piece of shit.

DONNY: What's wrong with Walter, Dude?

DONNY: What's a pederast, Walter?

WALTER: Shut the fuck up, Donny.

DONNY: He peed on the Dude's rug--

WALTER: YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR ELEMENT! This Chinaman is not the issue, Dude.

DONNY: Yeah Walter, what's your point?

WALTER: Huh?

DONNY: What tied the room together, Dude?

WALTER: Were you listening to the story, Donny?

DONNY: What--

WALTER: Were you listening to the Dude's story?

DONNY: I was bowling--

WALTER: So you have no frame of reference, Donny. You're like a child who wanders in in the middle of a movie and wants to know--

DUDE: Jesus, man, can you change the station?

DRIVER: Fuck you man! You don't like my fucking music, get your own fucking cab!

DUDE: I've had a--

DRIVER: I pull over and kick your ass out, man!

DUDE: --had a rough night, and I hate the fucking Eagles, man--

DRIVER: That's it! Outta this fucking cab!

DRIVER: --So he says, "My son can't hold a job, my daughter's married to a fuckin' loser, and I got a rash on my ass so bad I can't hardly siddown. But you know me. I can't complain."

DUDE: Fuckin' A, man. I got a rash. Fuckin' A, man. I gotta tell ya Tony.

YOUNG MAN: That's the key to the city of Pasadena, which Mr. Lebowski was given two years ago in recognition of his various civic, uh.

DUDE: Uh-huh.

YOUNG MAN: That's a Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce Business Achiever award, which is given--not necessarily given every year! Given only when there's a worthy, somebody especially--

DUDE: Hey, is this him with Nancy?

YOUNG MAN: That is indeed Mr. Lebowski with the first lady, yes, taken when--

DUDE: Lebowski on the right?

YOUNG MAN: Of course, Mr. Lebowski on the right, Mrs. Reagan on the left, taken when--

DUDE: He's handicapped, huh?

YOUNG MAN: Mr. Lebowski is disabled, yes. And this picture was taken when Mrs. Reagan was first lady of the nation, yes, yes? Not of California.

DUDE: Far out.

YOUNG MAN: And in fact he met privately with the President, though unfortunately there wasn't time for a photo opportunity.

DUDE: Nancy's pretty good.

YOUNG MAN: Wonderful woman. We were very--

DUDE: Are these.

YOUNG MAN: These are Mr. Lebowski's children, so to speak--

DUDE: Different mothers, huh?

YOUNG MAN: No, they--

DUDE: I guess he's pretty, uh, racially pretty cool--

YOUNG MAN: They're not his, heh-heh, they're not literally his children; they're the Little Lebowski Urban Achievers, inner-city children of promise but without the--

DUDE: I see.

YOUNG MAN: --without the means for higher education, so Mr. Lebowski has committed to sending all of them to college.

DUDE: Jeez. Think he's got room for one more?

YOUNG MAN: One--oh! Heh-heh. You never went to college?

DUDE: Well, yeah I did, but I spent most of my time occupying various, um, administration buildings--

YOUNG MAN: Heh-heh--

DUDE: --smoking thai-stick, breaking into the ROTC--

YOUNG MAN: Yes, heh--

DUDE: --and bowling. I'll tell you the truth, Brandt, I don't remember most of it.--Jeez! Fuck me!

YOUNG MAN: And this is the study. You can see the various commendations, honorary degrees, et cetera.

DUDE: Yes, uh, very impressive.

YOUNG MAN: Please, feel free to inspect them.

DUDE: I'm not really, uh.

YOUNG MAN: Please! Please!

DUDE: Uh-huh.

YOUNGER COP: Sometimes. I wouldn't hold out much hope for the tape deck though. Or the Creedence tapes.

DUDE: And the, uh, the briefcase?

DUDE: No. Here.

YOUNGER COP: Separate incidents?

DUDE: ...Me, I don't drink coffee. But it's nice when they offer.

DUDE: ...Also, my rug was stolen.

YOUNGER COP: Your rug was in the car.

DUDE: 1972 Pontiac LeBaron.

YOUNGER COP: Color?

DUDE: Green. Some brown, or, uh, rust, coloration.

YOUNGER COP: And was there anything of value in the car?

DUDE: Huh? Oh. Yeah. Tape deck. Couple of Creedence tapes. And there was a, uh. . . my briefcase.

YOUNGER COP: In the briefcase?

DUDE: Papers. Just papers. You know, my papers. Business papers.

YOUNGER COP: And what do you do, sir?

DUDE: I'm unemployed.

DUDE: Thanks, Gary...Take care, man, I gotta get back.

THE STRANGER: Sure. Take it easy, Dude--I know that you will.

DUDE: Yeah man. Well, you know, the Dude abides.

THE STRANGER: Howdy do, Dude.

DUDE: Oh, hey man, how are ya? I wondered if I'd see you again.

THE STRANGER: Wouldn't miss the semis. How things been goin'?

DUDE: Ahh, you know. Strikes and gutters, ups and downs.

THE STRANGER: Take it easy, Dude.

DUDE: Yeah. Thanks man.

THE STRANGER: I like your style, Dude.

DUDE: Well I like your style too, man. Got a whole cowboy thing goin'.

THE STRANGER: Thankie. . . Just one thing, Dude. D'ya have to use s'many cuss words?

DUDE: Ahh, not so good, man.

THE STRANGER: One a those days, huh. Wal, a wiser fella than m'self once said, sometimes you eat the bar and sometimes the bar, wal, he eats you.

DUDE: Uh-huh. That some kind of Eastern thing?

THE STRANGER: Far from it.

DUDE: Mm.

TREEHORN: I've heard the kidnapping story, so save it. I know you're mixed up in all this, Dude, and I don't care what you're trying to take off her husband. That's your business. All I'm saying is, I want mine.

DUDE: Yeah, well, right man, there are many facets to this, uh, you know, many interested parties. If I can find your money, man-- what's in it for the Dude?

TREEHORN: Of course, there's that to discuss. Refill?

DUDE: Does the Pope shit in the woods?

TREEHORN: Let's say a 10% finder's fee?

DUDE: Okay, Jackie, done. I like the way you do business. Your money is being held by a kid named Larry Sellers. He lives in North Hollywood, on Radford, near the In-and-Out Burger. A real fuckin' brat, but I'm sure your goons'll be able to get it off him, mean he's only fifteen and he's flunking social studies. So if you'll just write me a check for my ten per cent. . . of half a million. . . fifty grand.

TREEHORN: Of course, you do get the good with the bad. The new technology permits us to do exciting things with interactive erotic software. Wave of the future, Dude. 100% electronic.

DUDE: Uh-huh. Well, I still jerk off manually.

TREEHORN: Of course you do. I can see you're anxious for me to get to the point. Well Dude, here it is. Where's Bunny?

DUDE: I thought you might know, man.

TREEHORN: Me? How would I know? The only reason she ran off was to get away from her rather sizable debt to me.

DUDE: But she hasn't run off, she's been--

TREEHORN: People forget that the brain is the biggest erogenous zone--

DUDE: On you, maybe.

DUDE: This is quite a pad you got here, man. Completely unspoiled.

TREEHORN: What's your drink, Dude?

DUDE: White Russian, thanks. How's the smut business, Jackie?

TREEHORN: I wouldn't know, Dude. I deal in publishing, entertainment, political advocacy, and--

DUDE: Which one was Logjammin'?

TREEHORN: Regrettably, it's true, standards have fallen in adult entertainment. It's video, Dude. Now that we're competing with the amateurs, we can't afford to invest that little extra in story, production value, feeling.

MAN: Hello, gentlemen. You are the bereaved?

DUDE: Yeah man.

MAN: Francis Donnelly. Pleased to meet you.

DUDE: Jeffrey Lebowski.

DUDE: Brother Shamus? Like an Irish monk?

MAN: Irish m--What the fuck are you talking about? My name's Da Fino! I'm a private snoop! Like you, man!

DUDE: Huh?

DUDE: Who the fuck are you, man! Come on, man!

MAN: Relax, man! No physical harm intended!

DUDE: Who the fuck are you? Why've you been following me? Come on, fuckhead!

MAN: Hey, relax man, I'm a brother shamus.

DUDE: No! No! NO! THAT'S NOT--

MAN: I FUCKEEN KILL JOR FUCKEEN CAR!

DUDE: No, the, uh, police chief of Malibu. A real reactionary. . . So your father. . . Oh man, I get it!

MAUDE: What?

DUDE: So...that doctor.

MAUDE: Exactly. What happened to your face? Did Jackie Treehorn do that as well?

DUDE: Increases?

MAUDE: Well yes, what did you think this was all about? Fun and games?

DUDE: Well...no, of course not--

MAUDE: I want a child.

DUDE: Yeah, okay, but see, the Dude--

MAUDE: Look, Jeffrey, I don't want a partner. In fact I don't want the father to be someone I have to see socially, or who'll have any interest in rearing the child himself.

DUDE: Huh...

MAUDE: Jeffrey--

DUDE: It's a complicated case, Maude. Lotta ins, lotta outs. Fortunately I've been adhering to a pretty strict, uh, drug regimen to keep my mind, you know, limber. I'm real fucking close to your father's money, real fucking close. It's just--

MAUDE: I keep telling you, it's the Foundation's money. Father doesn't have any.

DUDE: Huh? He's fucking loaded.

MAUDE: No no, the wealth was all Mother's.

DUDE: But your father--he runs stuff, he--

MAUDE: We did let Father run one of the companies, briefly, but he didn't do very well at it.

DUDE: But he's--

MAUDE: He helps administer the charities now, and I give him a reasonable allowance. He has no money of his own. I know how he likes to present himself; Father's weakness is vanity. Hence the slut.

DUDE: Huh. Jeez. Well, so, did he--is that yoga?

MAUDE: What happened to your house?

DUDE: Jackie Treehorn trashed the place. Wanted to save the finder's fee.

MAUDE: Finder's fee?

DUDE: He thought I had your father's money, so he got me out of the way while he looked for it.

MAUDE: It's not my father's money, it's the Foundation's. Why did he think you had it? And who does?

DUDE: Larry Sellers, a high-school kid. Real fucking brat.

DUDE: And then. . . let's see, I uh--music business briefly.

MAUDE: Oh?

DUDE: Yeah. Roadie for Metallica. Speed of Sound Tour.

MAUDE: Uh-huh.

DUDE: Bunch of assholes. And then, you know, little of this, little of that. My career's, uh, slowed down a bit lately.

MAUDE: What do you do for fun?

DUDE: Oh, you know, the usual. Bowl. Drive around. The occasional acid flashback.

DUDE: I was, uh, one of the authors of the Port Huron Statement.--The original Port Huron Statement.

MAUDE: Uh-huh.

DUDE: Not the compromised second draft. And then I, uh. . . Ever hear of the Seattle Seven?

MAUDE: Mmnun.

MAUDE: Tell me a little about yourself, Jeffrey.

DUDE: Well, uh. . . Not much to tell.

MAUDE: Jeffrey.

DUDE: Maude?

MAUDE: Please Jeffrey. I don't want to be responsible for any delayed after- effects.

DUDE: Delayed after-eff--

MAUDE: I want you to see him immediately.

DUDE: Jeez. I miss vinyl.

MAUDE: Is he pretending to be the abductor?

DUDE: Well...yeah--

MAUDE: Look, Jeffrey, you don't really kidnap someone that you're acquainted with. You can't get away with it if the hostage knows who you are.

DUDE: Well yeah...I know that.

MAUDE: So Dieter has the money?

DUDE: Well, no, not exactly. It's a complicated case, Maude. Lotta ins. Lotta outs. And a lotta strands to keep in my head, man. Lotta strands in old Duder's--

MAUDE: Do you still have that doctor's number?

DUDE: Huh? No, really, I don't even have the bruise any more, I--

DUDE: Roy Orbison. . . Pink Floyd.

MAUDE: Huh? Autobahn. A-u-t-o. Their music is a sort of--ugh--techno-pop.

MAUDE: Jeffrey, you haven't gone to the doctor.

DUDE: No it's fine, really, uh--

MAUDE: Do you have any news regarding my father's money?

DUDE: I, uh... money, yeah, I gotta respecfully, 69 you know, tender my resignation on that matter, 'cause it looks like your mother really was kidnapped after all.

MAUDE: She most certainly was not!

DUDE: Hey man, why don't you fucking listen occasionally? You might learn something. Now I got--

MAUDE: And please don't call her my mother.

DUDE: Now I got--

MAUDE: She is most definitely the perpetrator and not the victim.

DUDE: I'm telling you, I got definitive evidence--

MAUDE: From who?

DUDE: The main guy, Dieter--

MAUDE: Dieter Hauff?

DUDE: Well--yeah, I guess--

MAUDE: Her "co-star" in the beaver picture?

DUDE: Beaver? You mean vagina?--I mean, you know him?

MAUDE: Dieter has been on the fringes of-- well, of everything in L.A., for about twenty years. Look at my LP's. Under 'Autobahn.'

DUDE: Oh that's okay, I hardly even--

MAUDE: Here's the name and number of a doctor who will look at it for you. You will receive no bill. He's a good man, and thorough.

DUDE: That's really thoughtful but I--

MAUDE: Please see him, Jeffrey. He's a good man, and thorough.

DUDE: Yeah, but my-

MAUDE: I'm getting to your rug. My father and I don't get along; he doesn't approve of my lifestyle and, needless to say, I don't approve of his. Still, I hardly wish to make my father's embezzlement a police matter, so I'm proposing that you try to recover the money from the people you delivered it to.

DUDE: Well--sure, I could do that--

MAUDE: If you successfully do so, I will compensate you to the tune of 1% of the recovered sum.

DUDE: A hundred.

MAUDE: Thousand, yes, bones or clams or whatever you call them.

DUDE: Yeah, but what about--

MAUDE: --your rug, yes, well with that money you can buy any number of rugs that don't have sentimental value for me. And I am sorry about that crack on the jaw.

DUDE: Shit yeah, the achievers.

MAUDE: Little Lebowski Urban Achievers, yes, and proud we are of all of them. I asked my father about his withdrawal of a million dollars from the Foundation account and he told me about this "abduction", but I tell you it is preposterous. This compulsive

MAUDE: Lord. You can imagine where it goes from here.

DUDE: He fixes the cable?

MAUDE: Don't be fatuous, Jeffrey. Little matter to me that this woman chose to pursue a career

DUDE: Huh?

MAUDE: Yes, I know about it. And I know that you acted as courier. And let me tell you something: the whole thing stinks to high heaven.

DUDE: Right, but let me explain something about that rug--

MAUDE: Do you like sex, Mr. Lebowski?

DUDE: Excuse me?

MAUDE: Sex. The physical act of love. Coitus. Do you like it?

DUDE: I was talking about my rug.

MAUDE: You're not interested in sex?

DUDE: You mean coitus?

MAUDE: I like it too. It's a male myth about feminists that we hate sex. It can be a natural, zesty enterprise. But unfortunately there are some people--it is called satyriasis in men, nymphomania in women--who engage in it compulsively and without joy.

DUDE: Oh, no.

MAUDE: Yes Mr. Lebowski, these unfortunate souls cannot love in the true sense of the word. Our mutual acquaintance Bunny is one of these.

DUDE: Listen, Maude, I'm sorry if your stepmother is a nympho, but I don't see what it has to do with--do you have any kalhua?

MAUDE: Take a look at this, sir.

DUDE: Is that what that's a picture of?

MAUDE: In a sense, yes. Elfranco, my robe. My art has been commended as being strongly vaginal. Which bothers some men. The word itself makes some men uncomfortable. Vagina.

DUDE: Oh yeah?

MAUDE: Yes, they don't like hearing it and find it difficult to say. Whereas without batting an eye a man will refer to his "dick" or his "rod" or his "Johnson".

DUDE: "Johnson"?

MAUDE: Thank you.

WALTER: Shit Dude, I'm sorry--

DUDE: You're a fuck, Walter!

DUDE: What about that shit about Vietnam!

WALTER: Dude, I'm sorry--

DUDE: What the fuck does Vietnam have to do with anything! What the fuck were you talking about?!

DUDE: You make everything a fucking travesty!

WALTER: Dude, I'm--it was an accident!

DUDE: Goddamnit Walter! You fucking asshole!

WALTER: Dude! Dude, I'm sorry!

WALTER: We're scattering the fucking ashes!

DUDE: Walter--

WALTER: JUST BECAUSE WE'RE BEREAVED DOESN'T MEAN WE'RE SAPS!

DUDE: Well can we--

WALTER: A hundred and eighty dollars?!

WALTER: Walter Sobchak.

DUDE: The Dude, actually. Is what, uh.

WALTER: There weren't any shots.

DUDE: Then what's...

WALTER: It's a heart attack.

DUDE: Wha.

WALTER: Call the medics, Dude.

DUDE: Wha. . . Donny--

WALTER: Hurry Dude. I'd go but I'm pumping blood. Might pass out.

DUDE: Hy God! They shot him, Walter!

WALTER: No Dude.

DUDE: They shot Donny!

WALTER: What's mine is mine.

DUDE: Come on, Walter!.

DUDE: Hey, cool it Walter. Listen, pal, there never was any money. The big Lebowski gave me an empty briefcase, man, so take it up with him.

WALTER: AND I'D LIKE MY UNDIES BACK!

WALTER: Fuck you. Fuck the three of you.

DUDE: Hey, cool it Walter.

WALTER: Sure you'll see some tank battles. But fighting in desert is very different from fighting in canopy jungle.

DUDE: Uh-huh.

WALTER: I mean 'Nam was a foot soldier's war whereas, uh, this thing should be a fucking cakewalk. I mean I had an M16, Jacko, not an Abrams fucking tank. Just me and Charlie, man, eyeball to eyeball.

DUDE: Yeah.

WALTER: That's fuckin' combat. The man in the black pyjamas, Dude. Worthy fuckin' adversary.

DUDE: Walter, you fuck!

WALTER: Shit, Dude, I didn't know. I wouldn't've done it if I knew he was a fucking crybaby.

DUDE: We're sorry, man. We're really sorry.

WALTER: Oh, shit.

DUDE: He can't walk, Walter!

WALTER: Yeah, I can see that, Dude.

WALTER: It's all over, man! We call your fucking bluff!

DUDE: WALTER, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! HE'S CRIPPLED! PUT HIM DOWN!

WALTER: Sure, I'll put him down, Dude. RAUSS! ACHTUNG, BABY!!

WALTER: AS IF WE WOULD EVER DREAM OF TAKING YOUR BULLSHIT MONEY!

DUDE: You thought Bunny'd been kidnapped and you could use it as a pretext to make some money disappear. All you needed was a sap to pin it on, and you'd just met me. You thought, hey, a deadbeat, a loser, someone the square community won't give a shit about.

DUDE: I mean we totally fucked it up, man. We fucked up his pay-off. And got the kidnappers all pissed off, and the big Lebowski yelled at me a lot, but he didn't do anything. Huh?

WALTER: Well it's, sometimes the cathartic, uh.

DUDE: I'm saying if he knows I'm a fuck- up, then why does he still leave me in charge of getting back his wife? Because he fucking doesn't want her back, man! He's had enough! He no longer digs her! It's all a show! But then, why didn't he give a shit about his million bucks? I mean, he knew we didn't hand off his briefcase, but he never asked for it back.

WALTER: What's your point, Dude?

DUDE: His million bucks was never in it, man! There was no money in that briefcase! He was hoping they'd kill her! You throw out a ringer for a ringer!

WALTER: Yeah?

DUDE: Shit yeah!

WALTER: Okay, but how does all this add up to an emergency?

DUDE: Huh?

WALTER: I'm saying, I see what you're getting at, Dude, he kept the money, but my point is, here we are, it's shabbas, the sabbath, which I'm allowed to break only if it's a matter of life and death--

DUDE: Walter, come off it. You're not even fucking Jewish, you're--

WALTER: What the fuck are you talking about?

DUDE: You're fucking Polish Catholic--

WALTER: What the fuck are you talking about? I converted when I married Cynthia! Come on, Dude!

DUDE: Yeah, and you were--

WALTER: You know this!

DUDE: And you were divorced five fucking years ago.

WALTER: Yeah? What do you think happens when you get divorced? You turn in your library card? Get a new driver's license? Stop being Jewish?

DUDE: This driveway.

WALTER: I'm as Jewish as fucking Tevye

DUDE: It's just part of your whole sick Cynthia thing. Taking care of her fucking dog. Going to her fucking synagogue. You're living in the fucking past.

WALTER: Three thousand years of beautiful tradition, from Moses to Sandy Koufax-- YOU'RE GODDAMN RIGHT I LIVE IN THE PAST! I--Jesus. What the hell happened?

DUDE: Walter, if you're there, pick up the fucking phone. Pick it up, Walter, this is an emergency. I'm not--

WALTER: Dude?

DUDE: Walter, listen, I'm at my place, I need you to come pick me up--

WALTER: I can't drive, Dude, it's erev shabbas.

DUDE: Huh?

WALTER: Erev shabbas. I can't drive. I'm not even supposed to pick up the phone, unless it's an emergency.

DUDE: It is a fucking emergency.

WALTER: I understand. That's why I picked up the phone.

DUDE: THEN WHY CAN'T YOU--fuck, never mind, just call Donny then, and ask him to--

WALTER: Dude, I'm not supposed to make calls--

DUDE: WALTER, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, WE GOTTA GO TO PASADENA! COME PICK ME UP OR I'M OFF THE FUCKING BOWLING TEAM!

WALTER: Look, Larry. . . Have you ever heard of Vietnam?

DUDE: Oh, for Christ's sake, Walter!

WALTER: You're going to enter a world of pain, son. We know that this is your homework. We know you stole a car--

DUDE: And the fucking money!

WALTER: And the fucking money. And we know that this is your homework, Larry.

WALTER: Is this yours, Larry? Is this your homework, Larry?

DUDE: Is the car out front yours?

WALTER: Is this your homework, Larry?

DUDE: We know it's his fucking homework, Walter! Where's the fucking money, you little brat?

WALTER: Is this your homework, Larry?

DUDE: Look, man, did you--

WALTER: Dude, please!. . . Is this your homework, Larry?

DUDE: Just ask him if he--ask him about the car, man!

DUDE: Fuck me, man! That kid's already spent all the money!

WALTER: Hardly Dude, a new 'vette? The kid's still got, oh, 96 to 97 thousand, depending on the options. Wait in the car, Donny.

DUDE: Who the fuck is that?

WALTER: Huh?

DUDE: Who the fuck is Arthur Digby Sellers?

WALTER: Who the f--have you ever heard of a little show called Branded, Dude?

DUDE: Yeah.

WALTER: All but one man died? There at Bitter Creek?

DUDE: Yeah yeah, I know the fucking show Walter, so what?

WALTER: Fucking Arthur Digby Sellers wrote 156 episodes, Dude.

DUDE: Uh-huh.

WALTER: The bulk of the series.

DUDE: Uh-huh.

WALTER: Not exactly a lightweight.

DUDE: No.

WALTER: And yet his son is a fucking dunce.

DUDE: Uh.

WALTER: Yeah, go figure. Well we'll go out there after the, uh, the.

WALTER: He lives in North Hollywood on Radford, near the In-and-Out Burger--

DUDE: The In-and-Out Burger is on Camrose.

WALTER: Near the In-and-Out Burger--

DUDE: Yeah.

WALTER: And let's also not forget--let's not forget, Dude--that keeping wildlife, an amphibious rodent, for uh, domestic, you know, within the city-- that isn't legal either.

DUDE: What're you, a fucking park ranger now?

WALTER: No, I'm--

DUDE: Who gives a shit about the fucking marmot!

WALTER: --We're sympathizing here, Dude--

DUDE: Fuck your sympathy! I don't need your sympathy, man, I need my fucking Johnson!

DUDE: They're nihilists.

WALTER: Huh?

DUDE: They kept saying they believe in nothing.

WALTER: Nihilists! Jesus.

DUDE: I figure my only hope is that the big Lebowski kills me before the Germans can cut my dick off.

WALTER: Now that is ridiculous, Dude. No one is going to cut your dick off.

DUDE: Thanks Walter.

WALTER: Not if I have anything to say about it.

DUDE: Yeah, thanks Walter. That gives me a very secure feeling.

WALTER: Dude--

DUDE: That makes me feel all warm inside.

WALTER: Now Dude--

DUDE: This whole fucking thing--I could be sitting here with just pee-stains on my rug.

WALTER: Lady, I got buddies who died face- down in the muck so you and I could enjoy this family restaurant!

DUDE: All right, I'm leaving. I'm sorry ma'am.

WALTER: Don't run away from this, Dude! Goddamnit, this affects all of us!

WALTER: That wasn't her toe.

DUDE: Whose toe was it, Walter?

WALTER: How the fuck should I know? I do know that nothing about it indicates--

DUDE: The nail polish, Walter.

WALTER: Fine, Dude. As if it's impossible to get some nail polish, apply it to someone else's toe--

DUDE: Someone else's--where the fuck are they gonna--

WALTER: You want a toe? I can get you a toe, believe me. There are ways, Dude. You don't wanna know about it, believe me.

DUDE: But Walter--

WALTER: I'll get you a toe by this afternoon--with nail polish. These fucking amateurs. They send us a toe, we're supposed to shit our- selves with fear. Jesus Christ. My point is--

DUDE: They're gonna kill her, Walter, and then they're gonna kill me--

WALTER: Well that's just, that's the stress talking, Dude. So far we have what looks to me like a series of victimless crimes--

DUDE: What about the toe?

WALTER: FORGET ABOUT THE FUCKING TOE!

DUDE: You don't know, Walter? You seem to know the answer to everything else!

WALTER: Hmm. Well, we were in a handicapped spot. It, uh, it was probably towed.

DUDE: It's been stolen, Walter! You fucking know it's been stolen!

WALTER: Well, certainly that's a possibility, Dude--

DUDE: Aw, fuck it.

DUDE: Walter--

WALTER: Who's got a fucking million fucking dollars parked in the trunk of our car out here?

DUDE: "Our" car, Walter?

WALTER: And what do they got, Dude? My dirty undies. My fucking whites--Say, where is the car?

DUDE: But Walter, we didn't make the fucking hand- off! They didn't get, the fucking money and they're gonna-- they're gonna--

WALTER: Yeah yeah, "kill that poor woman."

DUDE: That's it. I'm out of here.

WALTER: For Christ's sake, Dude.

DUDE: Yeah, and in the meantime what do I tell Lebowski?

WALTER: Saturday is shabbas. Jewish day of rest. Means I don't work, I don't drive a car, I don't fucking ride in a car, I don't handle money, I don't turn on the oven, and I sure as shit don't fucking roll!

DUDE: Who gives a shit, Walter? What about that poor woman? What do we tell--

WALTER: C'mon Dude, eventually she'll get sick of her little game and, you know, wander back--

DUDE: Walter, what'm I gonna tell Lebowski?

WALTER: I told that fuck down at the league office-- who's in charge of scheduling?

DUDE: Walter--

DUDE: Huh? The problem is--what do you mean what's the--there's no--we didn't-- they're gonna kill that poor woman--

WALTER: What the fuck're you talking about? That poor woman--that poor slut-- kidnapped herself, Dude. You said so yourself--

DUDE: No, Walter! I said I thought she kidnapped herself! You're the one who's so fucking certain--

WALTER: That's right, Dude, 1 % certain--

WALTER: Aitz chaim he, Dude. As the ex used to say.

DUDE: What the fuck is that supposed to mean? What the fuck're we gonna tell Lebowski?

WALTER: Huh? Oh, him, yeah. Well I don't see, um-- what exactly is the problem?

WALTER: You didn't think I was rolling out of here naked!

DUDE: Walter, please--

DUDE: Walter!

WALTER: Your wheel, Dude! I'm rolling out!

DUDE: What the fuck?

WALTER: Your wheel! At fifteen em-pee-aitch I roll out! I double back, grab one of 'em and beat it out of him! The uzi!

DUDE: Uzi?

WALTER: We can't do that, Dude. That fucks up our plan.

DUDE: Well call them up and explain it to 'em, Walter! Your plan is so fucking simple, I'm sure they'd fucking understand it! That's the beauty of it Walter!

WALTER: Wooden bridge, huh?

DUDE: I'm throwing the money, Walter! We're not fucking around!

WALTER: The bridge is coming up! Gimme the ringer, Dude! Chop-chop!

DUDE: Fuck that! I love you, Walter, but sooner or later you're gonna have to face the fact that you're a goddamn moron.

WALTER: Okay, Dude. No time to argue. Here's the bridge--

DUDE: FUCK.

WALTER: What'd he say? Where's the hand- off?

DUDE: There is no fucking hand-off, Walter! At a wooden bridge we throw the money out of the car!

WALTER: Huh?

DUDE: We throw the money out of the moving car!

WALTER: ...Huh?

DUDE: Yeah. That's a great plan, Walter. That's fucking ingenious, if I understand it correctly. That's a Swiss fucking watch.

WALTER: Thaaat's right, Dude. The beauty of this is its simplicity. If the plan gets too complex something always goes wrong. If there's one thing I learned in Nam--

WALTER: Yeah. So as long as we get her back, nobody's in a position to complain. And we keep the baksheesh.

DUDE: Terrific, Walter. But you haven't told me how we get her back. Where is she?

WALTER: That's the simple part, Dude. When we make the handoff, I grab the guy and beat it out of him.

WALTER: Ya see? Nothing is fucked up here, Dude. Nothing is fucked. These guys are fucking amateurs--

DUDE: Shutup, Walter! Don't fucking say peep when I'm doing business here.

WALTER: Okay Dude. Have it your way.

DUDE: Oh shit. Walter.

WALTER: What the fuck is going on there?

DUDE: They hung up, Walter! You fucked it up! You fucked it up! Her life was in our hands!

WALTER: Easy, Dude.

DUDE: We're screwed now! We don't get shit and they're gonna kill her! We're fucked, Walter!

WALTER: Dude, nothing is fucked. Come on. You're being very unDude. They'll call back. Look, she kidnapped her--

DUDE: Walter, I'm sure there's a reason you brought your dirty undies--

WALTER: Thaaaat's right, Dude. The weight. The ringer can't look empty.

DUDE: Walter--what the fuck are you thinking?

WALTER: Well you're right, Dude, I got to thinking. I got to thinking why should we settle for a measly fucking twenty grand--

DUDE: We? What the fuck we? You said you just wanted to come along--

WALTER: My point, Dude, is why should we settle for twenty grand when we can keep the entire million. Am I wrong?

DUDE: Yes you're wrong. This isn't a fucking game, Walter--

WALTER: It is a fucking game. You said so yourself, Dude--she kidnapped herself--

DUDE: What the hell is this?

WALTER: My dirty undies. Laundry, Dude. The whites.

DUDE: Agh--

DUDE: The what?

WALTER: The ringer! The ringer, Dude! Have they called yet?

WALTER: Those rich fucks! This whole fucking thing-- I did not watch my buddies die face down in the muck so that this fucking strumpet--

DUDE: I don't see any connection to Vietnam, Walter.

WALTER: Well, there isn't a literal connection, Dude.

DUDE: Walter, face it, there isn't any connection. It's your roll.

WALTER: Have it your way. The point is--

DUDE: It's your roll--

WALTER: The fucking point is--

DUDE: It's your roll.

WALTER: That...fucking...bitch!

DUDE: It's all a goddamn fake. Like Lenin said, look for the person who will benefit. And you will, uh, you know, you'll, uh, you know what I'm trying to say--

DUDE: I figure it's easy money, it's all pretty harmless. I mean she probably kidnapped herself.

WALTER: Huh?

DUDE: ...They gave Dude a beeper, so whenever these guys call--

WALTER: What if it's during a game?

DUDE: I told him if it was during league play--

WALTER: Anyway. How much they offer you?

DUDE: Twenty grand. And of course I still keep the rug.

WALTER: Just for making the hand-off?

DUDE: Yeah.

DUDE: Huh.

WALTER: When he moved down to Venice he had to go door-to-door to tell everyone he's a pederast.

WALTER: Yeah, but he's a fucking pervert, Dude.

DUDE: Huh?

WALTER: The man is a sex offender. With a record. Spent six months in Chino for exposing himself to an eight- year-old.

WALTER: Okay then. We play Quintana and O'Brien next week. They'll be pushovers.

DUDE: Just, just take it easy, Walter.

WALTER: That's your answer to everything, Dude. And let me point out--pacifism is not--look at our current situation with that camelfucker in Iraq-- pacifism is not something to hide behind.

DUDE: Well, just take 't easy, man.

WALTER: I'm perfectly calm, Dude.

DUDE: Yeah? Wavin' a gun around?!

WALTER: Calmer than you are.

WALTER: Huh. I did not know that. Well, it's water under the bridge. And we do enter the next round-robin, am I wrong?

DUDE: No, you're not wrong--

WALTER: Am I wrong!

DUDE: You're not wrong, Walter, you're just an asshole.

DUDE: Walter, you can't do that. These guys're like me, they're pacificists. Smokey was a conscientious objector.

WALTER: You know Dude, I myself dabbled with pacifism at one point. Not in Nam, of course--

DUDE: And you know Smokey has emotional problems!

WALTER: You mean--beyond pacifism?

DUDE: He's fragile, man! He's very fragile!

DUDE: Walter, they're calling the cops, put the piece away.

WALTER: MARK IT ZERO!

WALTER: Smokey my friend, you're entering a world of pain.

DUDE: Hey Walter--

WALTER: Mark that frame an eight, you're entering a world of pain.

DUDE: Come on Walter, it's just--it's Smokey. So his toe slipped over a little, it's just a game.

WALTER: This is a league game. This determines who enters the next round- robin, am I wrong?

DUDE: Hey, man, if my fucking ex-wife asked me to take care of her fucking dog while she and her boyfriend went to Honolulu, I'd tell her to go fuck herself. Why can't she board it?

WALTER: First of all, Dude, you don't have an ex, secondly, it's a fucking show dog with fucking papers. You can't board it. It gets upset, its hair falls out.

DUDE: Hey man--

WALTER: Fucking dog has papers, Dude.--Over the line!

WALTER: Way to go, Dude. If you will it, it is no dream.

DUDE: You're fucking twenty minutes late. What the fuck is that?

WALTER: Theodore Herzel.

DUDE: Huh?

WALTER: State of Israel. If you will it, Dude, it is no--

DUDE: What the fuck're you talking about? The carrier. What's in the fucking carrier?

WALTER: Huh? Oh--Cynthia's Pomeranian. Can't leave him home alone or he eats the furniture.

DUDE: What the fuck are you--

WALTER: I'm saying, Cynthia's Pomeranian. I'm looking after it while Cynthia and Marty Ackerman are in Hawaii.

DUDE: You brought a fucking Pomeranian bowling?

WALTER: What do you mean "brought it bowling"? I didn't rent it shoes. I'm not buying it a fucking beer. He's not gonna take your fucking turn, Dude.

WALTER: Donny! Please!

DUDE: Yeah, I could find this Lebowski guy--

DUDE: So who--

WALTER: Jeff Lebowski. Come on. This other Jeffrey Lebowski. The millionaire. He's gonna be easier to find anyway than these two, uh. these two . . . And he has the wealth, uh, the resources obviously, and there is no reason, no FUCKING reason, why his wife should go out and owe money and they pee on your rug. Am I wrong?

DUDE: No, but--

WALTER: Am I wrong!

DUDE: Yeah, but--

WALTER: Okay. That, uh.

WALTER: Forget it, Donny. You're out of your element.

DUDE: This Chinaman who peed on my rug, I can't go give him a bill so what the fuck are you talking about?

WALTER: What the fuck are you talking about?! This Chinaman is not the issue! I'm talking about drawing a line in the sand, Dude. Across this line you do not, uh--and also, Dude, Chinaman is not the preferred, uh. . . Asian- American. Please.

DUDE: Walter, this is not a guy who built the rail- roads, here, this is a guy who peed on my--

WALTER: What the fuck are you--

DUDE: Walter, he peed on my rug--

DUDE: What's the point of--we all know who was at fault, so what the fuck are you talking about?

WALTER: Huh? No! What the fuck are you talking--I'm not--we're talking about unchecked aggression here--

DUDE: What's your point, Walter?

WALTER: There's no fucking reason--here's my point, Dude--there's no fucking reason--

WALTER: This was, uh--

DUDE: Yeah man, it really tied the room together--

WALTER: This was a valued, uh.

DUDE: Huh? No, she, she hit me right here.

VOICE: I understand sir. Could you slide your shorts down please?

DUDE: Another Caucasian, Gary.

VOICE: Right, Dude.

DUDE: Friends like these, huh Gary.

DUDE: Dude.

VOICE: You are approaching a vooden britch. When you cross it you srow ze bag from ze left vindow of ze moving kar. Do not slow down. Vee vatch you.

DUDE: Dude here.

VOICE: Okay, vee proceed. But only if there is no funny stuff.

DUDE: Yeah.

VOICE: So no funny stuff. Okay?

DUDE: Hey, just tell me where the fuck you want us to go.

VOICE: Shut the fuck up. Hello?

DUDE: Yeah?

VOICE: Okay, listen--

DUDE: Dude here.

VOICE: Who is this?

DUDE: Dude the Bagman. Where do you want us to go?

VOICE: ...Us? DUDE

VOICE: Dude, this is Smokey. Look, I don't wanna be a hard-on about this, and I know it wasn't your fault, but I just thought it was fair to tell you that Gene and I will be submitting this to the League and asking them to set aside the round. Or maybe forfeit it to us--

DUDE: Shit!

VOICE: --so, like I say, just thought, you know, fair warning. Tell Walter.

VOICE: WHERE'S THE FUCKING MONEY, SHITHEAD!

DUDE: It's uh, it's down there somewhere. Lemme take another look.

LEBOWSKI: You monsters!

DUDE: Help me put him back in his chair.

LEBOWSKI: Put me down, you son of a bitch!

DUDE: Walter!

LEBOWSKI: Well? Aren't you?

DUDE: Well. . . yeah.

LEBOWSKI: All right, get out. Both of you.

DUDE: We know the briefcase was empty, man. We know you kept the million bucks yourself.

LEBOWSKI: Well, you have your story, I have mine. I say I entrusted the money to you, and you stole it.

LEBOWSKI: Well, she's back. No thanks to you.

DUDE: Where's the money, Lebowski?

LEBOWSKI: Brandt, give him the envelope.

DUDE: Well, okay, if you've already made out the check. Brandt is handing him a letter-sized envelope which is distended by something inside.

DUDE: Well sure, look at it! Young trophy wife, I mean, in the parlance of our times, owes money all over town, including to known pornographers-- and that's cool, that's cool-- but I'm saying, she needs money, and of course they're gonna say they didn't get it 'cause she wants more, man, she's gotta feed the monkey, I mean-- hasn't that ever occurred to you...? Sir?

LEBOWSKI: No. No Mr. Lebowski, that had not occurred to me.

DUDE: C'mon man, who're you gonna believe? Those guys are--we dropped off the damn money--

LEBOWSKI: WHAT?!

DUDE: I--the royal we, you know, the editorial--I dropped off the money, exactly as per--Look, I've got certain information, certain things have come to light, and uh, has it ever occurred to you, man, that given the nature of all this new shit, that, uh, instead of running around blaming me, that this whole thing might just be, not, you know, not just such a simple, but uh--you know?

LEBOWSKI: What in God's holy name are you blathering about?

DUDE: I'll tell you what I'm blathering about! I got information--new shit has come to light and--shit, man! She kidnapped herself!

LEBOWSKI: Where's my goddamn money, you bum?!

DUDE: Well we--I don't--

LEBOWSKI: They did not receive the money, you nitwit! They did not receive the goddamn money. HER LIFE WAS IN YOUR HANDS!

DUDE: 'Scuse me?

LEBOWSKI: Bunny Lebowski. . . She is the light of my life. Are you surprised at my tears, sir?

DUDE: Fuckin' A.

LEBOWSKI: Strong men also cry. . . Strong men also cry.

DUDE: Mind if I smoke a jay?

LEBOWSKI: Bunny.

LEBOWSKI: It's funny. I can look back on a life of achievement, on challenges met, competitors bested, obstacles overcome. I've accomplished more than most men, and without the use of my legs. What. . . What makes a man, Mr. Lebowski?

DUDE: Dude.

LEBOWSKI: Huh?

DUDE: I don't know, sir.

LEBOWSKI: Is it. . . is it, being prepared to do the right thing? Whatever the price? Isn't that what makes a man?

DUDE: Sure. That and a pair of testicles.

DUDE: Ah fuck it.

LEBOWSKI: Sure! Fuck it! That's your answer! Tattoo it on your forehead! Your answer to everything!

DUDE: Well sir, it's this rug I have, really tied the room together-

LEBOWSKI: You told Brandt on the phone, he told me. So where do I fit in?

DUDE: Well they were looking for you, these two guys, they were trying to--

LEBOWSKI: I'll say it again, all right? You told Brandt. He told me. I know what happened. Yes? Yes?

DUDE: So you know they were trying to piss on your rug--

LEBOWSKI: Did I urinate on your rug?

DUDE: You mean, did you personally come and pee on my--

LEBOWSKI: Hello! Do you speak English? Parla usted Inglese? I'll say it again. Did I urinate on your rug?

DUDE: Well no, like I said, Woo peed on the rug--

LEBOWSKI: Hello! Hello! So every time--I just want to understand this, sir-- every time a rug is micturated upon in this fair city, I have to compensate the--

DUDE: Come on, man, I'm not trying to scam anybody here, I'm just--

LEBOWSKI: You're just looking for a handout like every other--are you employed, Mr. Lebowski?

DUDE: Look, let me explain something. I'm not Mr. Lebowski; you're Mr. Lebowski. I'm the Dude. So that's what you call me. That, or Duder. His Dudeness. Or El Duderino, if, you know, you're not into the whole brevity thing--

LEBOWSKI: Are you employed, sir?

DUDE: Employed?

LEBOWSKI: You don't go out and make a living dressed like that in the middle of a weekday.

DUDE: Is this a--what day is this?

LEBOWSKI: But I do work, so if you don't mind--

DUDE: No, look. I do mind. The Dude minds. This will not stand, ya know, this will not stand, man. I mean, if your wife owes--

LEBOWSKI: My wife is not the issue here. I hope that my wife will someday learn to live on her allowance, which is ample, but if she doesn't, sir, that will be her problem, not mine, just as your rug is your problem, just as every bum's lot in life is his own responsibility regardless of whom he chooses to blame. I didn't blame anyone for the loss of my legs, some chinaman in Korea took them from me but I went out and achieved anyway. I can't solve your problems, sir, only you can.

WALTER: Shit, sorry man.

LEBOWSKI: Stay away from me! You bullies! You and these women! You won't leave a man his fucking balls!

WALTER: Oh, shit.

LEBOWSKI: You're bullies! Cowards, both of you!

WALTER: This guy fucking walks. I've never been more certain of anything in my life!

LEBOWSKI: Stay away from me, mister!

WALTER: Look at that fucking phony, Dude! Pretending to be a fucking millionaire!

LEBOWSKI: I said out. Now.

WALTER: Let me tell you something else. I've seen a lot of spinals, Dude, and this guy is a fake. A fucking goldbricker.

LEBOWSKI: Who the hell is he?

WALTER: I'll tell you who I am! I'm the guy who's gonna KICK YOUR PHONY GOLDBRICKING ASS!

SMOKEY: You happy, you crazy fuck?

WALTER: This is a league game, Smokey!

SMOKEY: Walter--

WALTER: YOU THINK I'M FUCKING AROUND HERE? MARK IT ZERO!!

SMOKEY: All right! There it is! It's fucking zero!

SMOKEY: I'm not--

WALTER: A world of pain.

SMOKEY: Yeah, but--

WALTER: Am I wrong!?

SMOKEY: Yeah, but I wasn't over. Gimme the marker, Dude, I'm marking it an eight.

WALTER: Smokey Huh?

WALTER: Over the line, Smokey! I'm sorry. That's a foul.

SMOKEY: Bullshit. Eight, Dude.

WALTER: Excuse me! Mark it zero. Next frame.

SMOKEY: Bullshit. Walter!

WALTER: This is not Nam. This is bowling. There are rules.