Daisy o you rent downstairs?
Brian: You mean am I gay?
Daisy: WHAT?
Brian: You mean am I gay?
Daisy: No, I meant "Do you rent the downstairs flat?"
Brian: Oh. Yep, sort of.
Tim: Are you gay?
Brian: Hmm?
Tim: Are you gay?
Brian: [in deep contemplation] No.

[On Daisy's party decorations]
Brian: I see at as a tribute to Christo, the artist.
Tim: I see it as a waste of Baco, the foil.

"Hello Brian, it's me"
"Hello me!"

"There'll be girls at the party..."
"Really?"
"Yes"
"Mmm"

"What do you mean her real names Ian?"
"She's no gender specific"
"What you mean she's a tranny?"
"Much more than that"
"What, a big fat tranny?"

Vulva: Oh Brian, you came!
Brian: No, I just spilt my drink.

Daisy: "... we ate our bodyweight in Twiglets and you punched an artist in the face."
Tim: "Shit!" *looks worried. A moment passes* "I'm not supposed to have Twiglets."
Daisy: "Why not?"
Tim: "They make me violent."

Daisy: You're up early.
Tim: Oh, I haven't been to bed. Me and Mike met up with these two Scottish guys in the pub and they gave us all this cheap speed.
Daisy: Oh Tim, that's so tacky.
Tim: Yeah I know, but y'know they were so nice. I think if we'd said no they'd have got offended and beaten us to death with a pool cue.

Brian - What's that?
Tim - Tomb Raider 3
Brian - She's drowning. Is that the point of the game?
Tim - Depends how you're feeling really

Daisy: I knew I should've bought 'Big Fat Cocks'...

DAISY : I feel very Zen, I feel really different, I don't know where to start.
TIM : Near the end?

Brian: I'll pop back later if you change your... shoes.

Daisy: So somewhere out there in the vastness of the unknown there's an... equation for predicting the future?
Brian: An equation so complex as to utterly defy possibility of comprehension by even the most brilliant human mind, but an equation nonetheless.
Tim: [in dawning realization] Oh my god...
Brian: What?
Daisy: What?
Tim: I've got some fucking Jaffa Cakes in my coat pocket.

[Tim and Duane are facing off with paintball guns]
Duane: See Tim, that's the difference between you and I. Organization. Careful thinking. Forward planning. And that is why I sleep in the arms of a beautiful woman and you spend your evenings alone in your bedsit. With cheap porn.
Tim: It's not a bedsit. It's a flat.
[Shoots Duane in the groin]

Tim: No hard feelings.
Duane: You shot me in the bollocks.
Tim: Like I said, no hard feelings.

Bilbo Bagshot: What about the Ewoks eh? They were rubbish. You don't complain about them.
Tim: Yeah but Jar Jar Binks makes the Ewoks look like... fuckin'... Shaft.

Tim: You can't dangle the bogus carrot of possible reconciliation in front of my face whilst riding some other .....donkey.

Daisy: Right, I'm going to the shops. D'you want anything?
Tim: Porn.
Daisy: Tim, I'm not going to buy you porn. You can get it from railway sidings like everybody else.
Tim: I can't, I'm an adult. I'm supposed to leave it there.


Daisy Steiner: Do you really watch porn in the flat?
Tim Bisley: Uh... only when you're out. Sometimes while you're asleep in the bean bag.
Daisy Steiner: Can I borrow some?
Tim Bisley: Uh... Yeah

Bilbo Bagshot: I used to know this guy, Minty. He had a dog who he'd train to attack rich people. He was into the whole class-war thing. He called the dog Gramsci after an Italian Marxist. Rumor has it, it could smell wealth from up to 20 feet. The thing is, it all backfired. Minty won 100 grand on a scratchcard and Gramsci bit his knees off.
Tim: That's terrible.
Bilbo Bagshot: Not really. He used the money to buy new knees.

Daisy: So who was this girl then?
Tim: Her name was Cassandra, she was a psychic, she gave me her phone number...
[hands Daisy a piece of paper]
Daisy: That's OUR phone number.
Tim: Man, she's good.

Mike: They're not in the jungle. They ARE the jungle.


Brian: I see my ex girlfriends.

I don't know what to say really.
Three minutes
to the biggest battle of our professional lives
all comes down to today.
Either
we heal
as a team
or we are going to crumble.
Inch by inch
play by play
till we're finished.
We are in hell right now, gentlemen
believe me
and
we can stay here
and get the shit kicked out of us
or
we can fight our way
back into the light.
We can climb out of hell.
One inch, at a time.

Now I can't do it for you.
I'm too old.
I look around and I see these young faces
and I think
I mean
I made every wrong choice a middle age man could make.
I uh....
I pissed away all my money
believe it or not.
I chased off
anyone who has ever loved me.
And lately,
I can't even stand the face I see in the mirror.

You know when you get old in life
things get taken from you.
That's, that's part of life.
But,
you only learn that when you start losing stuff.
You find out that life is just a game of inches.
So is football.
Because in either game
life or football
the margin for error is so small.
I mean
one half step too late or to early
you don't quite make it.
One half second too slow or too fast
and you don't quite catch it.
The inches we need are everywhere around us.
They are in ever break of the game
every minute, every second.

On this team, we fight for that inch
On this team, we tear ourselves, and everyone around us
to pieces for that inch.
We CLAW with our finger nails for that inch.
Cause we know
when we add up all those inches
that's going to make the fucking difference
between WINNING and LOSING
between LIVING and DYING.

I'll tell you this
in any fight
it is the guy who is willing to die
who is going to win that inch.
And I know
if I am going to have any life anymore
it is because, I am still willing to fight, and die for that inch
because that is what LIVING is.
The six inches in front of your face.

Now I can't make you do it.
You gotta look at the guy next to you.
Look into his eyes.
Now I think you are going to see a guy who will go that inch with you.
You are going to see a guy
who will sacrifice himself for this team
because he knows when it comes down to it,
you are gonna do the same thing for him.

That's a team, gentlemen
and either we heal now, as a team,
or we will die as individuals.
That's football guys.
That's all it is.
Now, whattaya gonna do?

The stars of freedom light the skies,
Uncrowned queens of yesteryear,
They were born \\\'mid shades of royal hue\\\',
From mystic wombs they did appear.

Silver gems that pierce the dark.
Heavenly virgins in disguise,
That stir the heart with love and flame,
And light great flames in all men\\\'s eyes.

Oh! star of beauty in nightly hue,
You have inspired bondsmen to kings,
And lit the ways of despairing folk,
From dreams to living things.

In the seas of time you float serene,
Oh! silver stars of nations born,
And you draw a tear to free men\\\'s eyes,
Through dungeon bars forlorn.

Oh! star of Erin, queen of tears,
Black clouds have beset thy birth,
And your people die like morning stars,
That your light may grace the earth.

But this Celtic star will be born,
And ne\\\'er by mystic means,
But by a nation sired in freedom\\\'s light,
And not in ancient dreams.