Consider Yourself Born Again Hard Full Metal Jacket
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: I bet you're the kind of guy that would fuck a person in the ass and not even have the goddamn common courtesy to give him a reach-around. I'll exist watching you.
[first lines]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: I am Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, your senior drill teacher. From now on you volition speak only when spoken to, and the start and last words out of your filthy sewers will be "Sir". Practice you maggots sympathise that?
Recruits: [In unison in a normal speaking tone] Sir, yeah Sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Bullshit, I can't hear you. Sound off like you got a pair!
Recruits: [In unison, much louder] SIR, YES SIR!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: If you ladies get out my island, if you survive recruit training, y'all will exist a weapon. You will be a government minister of death praying for war. But until that solar day, you are pukes. You lot are the everyman form of life on Globe. You are non even man fucking beings. You are zilch but unorganized catch-asstic pieces of amphibian shit! Because I am hard, you will not like me. Only the more you detest me, the more yous will learn. I am hard just I am fair. There is no racial bigotry here. I do not look downwards on niggers, kikes, wops or greasers. Here you are all equally worthless. And my orders are to weed out all non-hackers who do not pack the gear to serve in my beloved Corps. Do yous maggots empathize that?
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Did your parents have any children that lived?
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, yeah, sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: I bet they regret that. You lot're and so ugly you lot could be a modernistic art masterpiece! What's your name fat torso?
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, Leonard Lawrence, sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Lawrence? Lawrence what... of Arabia?
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, no, sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: That name sounds like royalty. Are y'all royalty?
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, no, sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Do you suck dicks?
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, no, sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Bullshit. I bet you could suck a golf ball through a garden hose.
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, no, sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: I don't similar the name Lawrence, only faggots and sailors are chosen Lawrence. From now on yous're Gomer Pyle.
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, yes, sir.
Door Gunner: Git some! Git some! Git some, yeah, yeah, yep! Anyone who runs, is a VC. Anyone who stands still, is a well-disciplined VC! You guys oughta do a story about me erstwhile!
Private Joker: Why should we exercise a story well-nigh you?
Door Gunner: 'Cuz I'm so fuckin' proficient! I washed got me 157 expressionless gooks killed. Plus 50 h2o buffalo, too! Them'southward all confirmed!
Individual Joker: Any women or children?
Door Gunner: Sometimes!
Private Joker: How can you lot shoot women or children?
Door Gunner: Easy! Ya just don't atomic number 82 'em and so much! Ain't war hell?
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: What is this Mickey Mouse shit? What in the proper noun of Jesus H. Christ are yous animals doing in my head? Why is Private Pyle out of his bunk after lights-out? Why is Private Pyle holding that weapon? Why aren't you stomping Private Pyle'south guts out?
Private Joker: Sir, it is the private's duty to inform the senior drill instructor that Private Pyle has a full mag that is locked and loaded, Sir!
[pause]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [slowly and strictly] At present, y'all heed to me, Private Pyle. And you mind good. I want that weapon, and I want it now. You lot will place that rifle on the deck at your anxiety, and step back away from it.
[Private Pyle grins and aims the rifle at Hartman]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [raising his voice] What is your major malfunction, numbnuts? Didn't Mommy and Daddy show you enough attention when you lot were a child?
[Private Pyle shoots Hartman, killing him]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Where the hell are you from anyway, private?
Private Cowboy: Sir, Texas, sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Holy dog shit! Texas? Just steers and queers come from Texas, Private Cowboy, and you don't look much like a steer to me, so that kinda narrows it downwardly. Exercise you suck dicks?
Private Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Are you a peter puffer?
Private Cowboy: Sir, no, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: I bet you're the kind of guy who would fuck a person in the donkey and non even have the goddamn mutual courtesy to give him a reach-around. I'll be watching yous!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Individual Joker, do yous believe in the Virgin Mary?
Private Joker: Sir, no, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Well, well, Private Joker, I don't believe I heard you correctly!
Private Joker: Sir, the private said "no, sir," sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Why you little maggot, you make me want to vomit!
[slaps Joker]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: You Goddamn communist heathen, you had best audio off that you honey the Virgin Mary, or I'm gonna stomp your guts out! Now you lot Exercise love the Virgin Mary, don't ya?
Private Joker: Sir, NEGATIVE, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Private Joker, are y'all trying to offend me?
Private Joker: Sir, NEGATIVE, sir! Sir, the private believes any answer he gives volition exist incorrect and the Senior Drill Teacher will only beat him harder if he reverses himself, SIR!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Who'southward your squad leader, scumbag?
Private Joker: Sir, the squad leader is Individual Snowball, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Private Snowball!
Private Snowball: Sir, Private Snowball reporting equally ordered, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Private Snowball, yous're fired. Private Joker'southward promoted to team leader.
Private Snowball: Sir, aye-aye, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Disappear, scumbag!
Private Snowball: Sir, yeah-aye, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Private Pyle!
Individual Gomer Pyle: Private Pyle reporting equally ordered, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Private Pyle, Private Joker is your new squad leader, and you volition bunk with him! He'll teach yous everything, he'll teach you how to pee!
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Individual Joker is silly and he'southward ignorant, but he'southward got guts, and guts is enough in my love Corps! Now, yous ladies carry on.
Private Joker,Private Gomer Pyle: [together] Sir, aye-aye, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Today... is Christmas! There volition exist a magic testify at nix-nine-thirty! Chaplain Charlie volition tell yous near how the costless globe will conquer Communism with the assistance of God and a few Marines! God has a difficult-on for Marines because we kill everything nosotros see! He plays His games, we play ours! To show our appreciation for so much ability, we keep heaven packed with fresh souls! God was here before the Marine Corps! And so you lot can give your heart to Jesus, but your ass belongs to the Corps! Practise you ladies sympathize?
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [Hartman gives a voice communication to the graduating recruits] Today, you people are no longer maggots. Today, you are Marines. Y'all're role of a alliance. From now on until the day you die, wherever you are, every Marine is your brother. Most of you will go to Vietnam. Some of you will not come up back. But always retrieve this: Marines die. That's what we're here for. Merely the Marine Corps lives forever. And that ways Yous live forever.
[last lines]
Private Joker: [voice-over] My thoughts drift back to cock nipple wet dreams virtually Mary Jane Rottencrotch and the Groovy Homecoming Fuck Fantasy. I am and so happy that I am alive, in one piece and brusque. I'chiliad in a globe of shit... yes. Simply I am alive. And I am not afraid.
Private Joker: The expressionless know just 1 thing: it is improve to be alive.
Private Joker: I wanted to see exotic Vietnam... the crown precious stone of Southeast Asia. I wanted to see interesting and stimulating people of an ancient culture... and kill them. I wanted to exist the first child on my block to become a confirmed kill!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Tonight, you pukes volition slumber with your rifles. You volition give your rifle a girl's proper name considering this is the only pussy yous people are going to get. Your days of finger-banging ol' Mary-Jane Rottencrotch through her pretty pink panties are over! You're married to this slice. This weapon of atomic number 26 and forest. And yous volition be faithful. Port, hut!
[Recruits grabs their rifles]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Prepare to mount!
[Recruits step back towards their bunks]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Mount!
[Recruits rapidly hop onto their bunks]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Port, hut!
[Recruits grabs their rifles and holds them upwards]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Pray!
Recruits: [chanting] This is my rifle. In that location are many others like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my rifle is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my burglarize true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy, who is trying to impale me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will. Before God I swear this creed: my rifle and myself are defenders of my country, nosotros are the masters of our enemy, we are the saviors of my life. And then be it, until there is no enemy, but peace. Amen.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Club, hut!
[Recruits puts the guns at their sides]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: At ease! Good night, ladies.
Recruits: Good night, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [to the watchman] Hit information technology, sweetheart.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: The deadliest weapon in the earth is a Marine and his burglarize. Information technology is your killer instinct which must be harnessed if you await to survive in combat. Your burglarize is simply a tool. It is a hard eye that kills. If your killer instincts are not clean and potent y'all will hesitate at the moment of truth. You will not impale. You will get expressionless marines and then you will be in a earth of shit considering marines are not allowed to dice without permission. Do you maggots sympathise?
[referring to Lee Harvey Oswald and mass murderer Charles Whitman]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Do whatever of you people know where these individuals learned how to shoot?... Private Joker.
Private Joker: Sir. In the Marines, Sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: In the Marines. Outstanding. Those individuals showed what ane motivated Marine and his rifle can do. And before you ladies leave my Island, y'all volition all exist able to exercise the same matter.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Holy Jesus! What is that? What the fuck is that? WHAT IS THAT, Private PYLE?
Individual Gomer Pyle: Sir, a jelly doughnut, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: A jelly doughnut?
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: How did information technology get hither?
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, I took it from the mess hall, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Is grub allowed in the billet, Individual Pyle?
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, no, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Are y'all allowed to eat jelly doughnuts, Individual Pyle?
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, no, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: And why not, Private Pyle?
Individual Gomer Pyle: Sir, considering I'thou too heavy, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Because yous are a icky fatty body, Individual Pyle!
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, yep, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Then why did you endeavor to sneak a jelly doughnut in your footlocker, Individual Pyle?
Individual Gomer Pyle: Sir, because I was hungry, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Because you lot were hungry...
[turns and addresses rest of platoon]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Private Pyle has dishonored himself and dishonored the platoon. I take tried to help him. But I have failed. I take failed because Y'all take not helped me. YOU people have not given Private Pyle the proper motivation! And then, from now on, whenever Private Pyle fucks up, I will non punish him! I will punish all of You! And the way I see it ladies, you owe me for ONE JELLY DOUGHNUT! At present Go ON YOUR FACES!
[remainder of recruits go far forepart-leaning-residuum position, Hartman turns to Pyle]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Open your oral fissure!
[shoves jelly doughnut into PYLE's rima oris]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: They're payin' for information technology; YOU eat information technology! Ready! Exercise!
Pogue Colonel: Marine, what is that button on your trunk armor?
Private Joker: A peace symbol, sir.
Pogue Colonel: Where'd y'all get information technology?
Private Joker: I don't remember, sir.
Pogue Colonel: What is that you've got written on your helmet?
Individual Joker: "Born to Impale", sir.
Pogue Colonel: You write "Born to Impale" on your helmet and y'all habiliment a peace button. What'southward that supposed to be, some kind of sick joke?
Private Joker: No, sir.
Pogue Colonel: You'd improve get your head and your donkey wired together, or I will take a behemothic shit on you.
Private Joker: Aye, sir.
Pogue Colonel: Now answer my question or you'll be standing tall before the man.
Private Joker: I retrieve I was trying to suggest something nearly the duality of man, sir.
Pogue Colonel: The what?
Private Joker: The duality of man. The Jungian affair, sir.
Pogue Colonel: Whose side are yous on, son?
Individual Joker: Our side, sir.
Pogue Colonel: Don't yous dear your country?
Private Joker: Yes, sir.
Pogue Colonel: Then how about getting with the programme? Why don't you jump on the squad and come on in for the big win?
Individual Joker: Yes, sir.
Pogue Colonel: Son, all I've always asked of my marines is that they obey my orders as they would the word of God. We are here to help the Vietnamese, considering inside every gook in that location is an American trying to get out. It'due south a hardball world, son. We've gotta proceed our heads until this peace craze blows over.
Private Joker: Aye-aye, sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Were you born a fat, slimy, scumbag puke slice o' shit, Private Pyle, or did you have to piece of work on it?
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Oh that's right, Private Pyle, don't make whatsoever fucking effort to become to the tiptop of the fucking obstacle. If God would take wanted you up at that place he would take miracled your donkey upward there by at present, wouldn't he?
Crazy Earl: These are cracking days we're living, bros. We are jolly green giants, walking the Earth with guns. These people we wasted hither today are the finest homo beings we will e'er know. After we rotate back to the world, we're gonna miss not having anyone around that's worth shooting.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [as Joker checks and and so holds up his rifle for inspection, Hartman takes the rifle and proceeds to audit information technology] What's your sixth general order?
Private Joker: Sir! The private'due south 6th general order is to receive and to obey -- and to pass on to the watch who relieves me -- all orders from the CO, from the OD, from any and all other officers, and from NCOs of the baby-sit! Sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [Cutting-ROOM FLOOR-LINE] What'southward this weapon's proper name, Individual Joker?
Private Joker: [Cutting-ROOM FLOOR-LINE] Sir! The individual'southward weapon's proper noun is the Bowwow, sir!
[Hartman angrily passes back the burglarize]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [Cutting-ROOM FLOOR-LINE] You slimy slice of shit, that's no way to talk to your burglarize! Now get on your face and give me 25!
Private Joker: Twenty-v! Yep, sir!
[while Joker executes the push-ups, Hartman approaches Pyle who holds up his ain rifle]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: How many counts in that movement yous just executed?
Individual Gomer Pyle: [difficult and firm tone] Sir! Four counts, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: What'southward the idea of looking down in the bedroom?
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir! That is to guarantee that the private is non giving the inspecting officer a loaded weapon, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: What's your fifth full general order?
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir! The private's fifth general order is to quit my postal service only when properly relieved, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: What's this weapon'due south name, Private Pyle?
Individual Gomer Pyle: Sir! The private's weapon'south name is Charlene, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Private Pyle, you are definitely born again difficult! Hell, I may fifty-fifty let you to serve as a rifleman in my honey Corps.
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir! Yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Practise you think I'm cute, Individual Pyle? Do yous call up I'yard funny?
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, no, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Then wipe that disgusting grin off your face.
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, yes, sir.
[tries to stop smiling]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Well, any fucking fourth dimension, sweetheart!
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, I'one thousand trying, sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Private Pyle I'm gonna give y'all three seconds; exactly three-fucking-seconds to wipe that stupid looking grinning off your face or I will gouge out your eyeballs and skull-fuck y'all! One! 2! Iii!
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, I can't assist information technology, sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Bullshit! Get on your knees scumbag!
[Pyle drops down to his knees]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Now choke yourself.
[Pyle wraps his ain hands around his throat]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Goddamn it, with MY hand, numb-nuts!
[Pyle reaches for Hartman's hand]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Don't pull my fucking hand over at that place! I said choke yourself; now lean frontward and choke yourself!
[Pyle does and so]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Are you through grinning?
Private Gomer Pyle: [gagging] Sir, yes, sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Bullshit, I tin can't hear you!
Private Gomer Pyle: [louder] Sir, yes, sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Bullshit, I STILL can't hear you! Sound off like you've got a pair!
Private Gomer Pyle: SIR, Yeah, SIR!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: That'due south enough! Get on your feet. Private Pyle you had all-time square your ass away and get-go shitting me Tiffany cufflinks or I volition definitely fuck you up!
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, yep, sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Are you quitting on me? Well, are you? Then quit, y'all slimy fucking walrus-looking slice of shit! Go the fuck off of my obstruction! Get the fuck down off of my obstacle! At present! MOVE It! Or I'thousand going to rip your assurance off, so yous cannot contaminate the rest of the world! I will motivate you lot, Private Pyle, IF IT Short-DICKS EVERY Carnivorous ON THE CONGO!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [calling out to platoon] Left shoulder, hut!
[Pyle accidentally puts his rifle on his correct shoulder, then corrects quickly, but not before Hartman sees it. He walks upwardly on him]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Private Pyle, what are y'all trying to do to my dearest Corps?
Individual Gomer Pyle: Sir, I don't know, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Y'all are dumb, Private Pyle, just do you lot expect me to believe that you don't know left from right?
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, no, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Then you did that on purpose! You wanna be different!
Individual Gomer Pyle: Sir, no, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [slaps Pyle hard on the left hand side of his face] What side was that, Private Pyle?
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, left side, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [shouts] Are you sure, Private Pyle?
Individual Gomer Pyle: Sir, yeah, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [slaps him hard again, this time on correct side of his face, knocking his hat off; shouts] What side was that, Private Pyle?
Private Gomer Pyle: [nearly in tears] Sir, right side, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Don't fuck with me again, Pyle! Pick up your fuckin' cover!
Individual Gomer Pyle: Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Do whatsoever of y'all people know who Charles Whitman was? None of you dumbasses knows? Private Cowboy?
Private Cowboy: Sir, he was that guy who shot all those people from that tower in Austin, Texas, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: That'south affirmative. Charles Whitman killed twelve people from a twenty-8-story observation tower at the Academy of Texas from distances up to iv hundred yards. Anybody know who Lee Harvey Oswald was? Private Snowball?
Private Snowball: Sir, he shot Kennedy, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: That'south right, and do you know how far away he was?
Individual Snowball: Sir, it was pretty far! From that book suppository building, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: All right, knock it off! 2 hundred and fifty feet! He was 2 hundred and fifty feet away and shooting at a moving target. Oswald got off three rounds with an old Italian bolt action burglarize in only six seconds and scored ii hits, including a head shot! Do whatever of you people know where these individuals learned to shoot? Individual Joker?
Private Joker: Sir, in the Marines, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: In the Marines! Outstanding! Those individuals showed what 1 motivated marine and his rifle can do! And before y'all ladies leave my isle, you will be able to practise the same thing!
Animal Mother: Freedom?
[scoffs]
Animal Female parent: You'd better flush out your caput, new guy. This isn't about freedom; this is a slaughter. If I'k gonna get my assurance blown off for a give-and-take, my word is "poontang".
Private Joker: [narrating] Graduation is only a few days abroad, and the recruits of Platoon 3092 are salty. They are gear up to eat their own guts and ask for seconds. The drill instructors are proud to run into that we are growing across their command. The Marine Corps does not desire robots. The Marine Corps wants killers. The Marine Corps wants to build indestructible men, men without fear.
Lt. Lockhart: [reading] ... we have a new directive from M.A.F. on this. In the future, in place of "search and destroy," substitute the phrase "sweep and clear." Got it?
Private Joker: Got it. Very catchy.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Pickett!
Pickett: Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: 0300. Infantry. Toe Jam!
Toe Jam: Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: 0300. Infantry. Adams!
Adams: Sir, yeah, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: 1800. Engineers. Y'all go out and find mines. Cowboy!
Private Cowboy: Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: 0300. Infantry. Taylor!
Taylor: Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: 0300. Infantry. Joker!
Private Joker: Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: 4212. Basic Military machine Journalism. You gotta exist shittin' me, Joker. Yous think you're Mickey Spillane? Y'all think y'all're some kind of a fuckin' writer?
Private Joker: Sir, I wrote for my high schoolhouse paper, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Jesus H. Christ! You're not a writer. You lot're a killer!
Private Joker: A killer, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Gomer Pyle. GOMER PYLE!
Private Gomer Pyle: [staring into infinite] Sir, yes, sir!
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Yous forget your fuckin' name? 0300. Infantry. You lot made it.
Individual Cowboy: Tough break for Hand Job. He was all set up to go shipped out on a medical.
Private Joker: What was the matter with him?
Private Cowboy: He was jerkin' off 10 times a day.
Individual Eightball: No shit. At least x times a mean solar day.
Private Cowboy: Last calendar week he was sent downwards to Da Nang to see the Navy head shrinker, and the crazy fucker starts jerking off in the waiting room. Instant Section Eight. He was just waiting for his papers to articulate sectionalisation.
Private Eightball: Personally, I think, uh... they don't really want to be involved in this war. You know, I mean... they sort of took away our liberty and gave it to the, to the gookers, you know. But they don't want it. They'd rather be alive than gratuitous, I approximate. Poor impaired bastards.
Individual Cowboy: I think what she'southward trying to say is that you black boys pack too much meat.
Lt. Lockhart: Charlie has hit every major armed forces target in Vietnam, and hitting 'em difficult. In Saigon, the The states Embassy has been overrun by suicide squads. Khe Sahn is standing by to be overrun. We also have reports that a division of N.5.A. has occupied all of the city of Hue south of the Perfume River. In strategic terms, Charlie's cut the land in one-half... the civilian press are virtually to moisture their pants and nosotros've heard fifty-fifty Cronkite'southward going to say the war is at present unwinnable. In other words, it's a huge shit sandwich, and we're all gonna have to take a bite.
Individual Joker: Sir... does this hateful that Ann-Margret's not coming?
Lt. Lockhart: Joker... I want you lot to go straight up to Phu Bai. Helm January volition need all his people.
Private Joker: Yes, sir.
Lt. Lockhart: And Joker, y'all volition accept off that damn button. How'southward it gonna look if you go killed wearing a peace symbol?
Private Rafterman: Sir? Permission to get with Joker?
Lt. Lockhart: Permission granted.
Private Rafterman: Thank you, sir.
Individual Joker: Sir, permission not to have Rafterman with me?
Lt. Lockhart: You still here? Vanish, Joker, nigh ricky-tick, and take Rafterman with you. You're responsible for him.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: [after discovering Private Pyle'south unlocked footlocker] Jesus H Christ. Individual Pyle, why is your footlocker unlocked?
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, I don't know, sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Individual Pyle, if in that location is i affair in this world that I hate, it is an unlocked footlocker! You know that don't yous?
Individual Gomer Pyle: Sir, yes, sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: If it wasn't for dickheads like y'all, in that location wouldn't be any thievery in this world, would in that location?
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, no, sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: GET Down!
[when Private Pyle is on the obstacle course]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Get your fat donkey up there! I'll bet if at that place was some pussy up there you would get upwardly there, wouldn't y'all?
Individual Pyle: Sir, yes sir!
[Pvt. Joker is doing pull-ups. Hartman counts them off]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Ane for the Commandant! One for the Corps! Come on Joker, pull! Pull!
[Pvt. Joker can't complete another pull-upwards]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: I guess the Corps don't get theirs!
[Pvt. Joker moves on. Pvt. Pyle steps up to the bar]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Get upward there, fatty male child!
[Pvt. Pyle tries with all his might, merely cannot do a single pull-up]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Come on, Pyle! Pull! Pull! You mean to tell me you tin can't practice one unmarried pull upward Pyle? You lot are a worthless piece of shit, Pyle! Become outta my face!
Individual Eightball: Now yous might not believe it, but under burn down Animate being Mother is i of the... finest human beings in the world. All he needs is somebody to throw paw grenades at him the rest of his life.
Private Payback: Joker ain't never been in the shit. He thinks "The Bad Bush-league" is between old mama-san'southward legs.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Every bit soon as your bunks are done, I want you two turds to clean the head.
Joker and Cowboy: Sir, yes, sir.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: I want that head and so sanitary and squared-away that the Virgin Mary herself would be proud to get in and take a dump.
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Bullshit. It looks to me like the best office of y'all ran down the crack of your mama's ass and concluded upward as a brown stain on the mattress.
Private Cowboy: I hate Vietnam. There's non one horse in this whole country. At that place's not ane horse in Vietnam. There's somethin' basically wrong with that.
[the recruits have administered a "sock party" beating on Private Pyle]
Private Cowboy: Retrieve, this was all just a bad dream, fat boy!
Lt. Lockhart: Joker, maybe you'd like our guys to read the paper and experience bad? In example you didn't know it, this is not a particularly popular war, and it's our task to report the news that the why-are-nosotros-here civilian newsmen ignore.
Animal Mother: [as the squad discusses on what to do with the wounded sniper] Hey asshole... Cowboy's wasted. Y'all're fresh out of friends. I'm running the squad at present, and I say we exit the gook for the motherlovin' rats.
Private Joker: I'm not trying to run the team. I'm just saying we can't leave her like this.
[at the Firing Range, Pvt. Pyle is shooting at the targets, doing an impressive job while Hartman watches]
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Outstanding, Private Pyle. I retrieve we finally found something that you practice well.
Private Gomer Pyle: Sir, yep, sir!
Private Eightball: What we have here, picayune xanthous sister, is a magnificent specimen of pure Alabama Blacksnake. But it ain't also goddamned beaucoup.
Private Joker: A day without blood is like a day without sunshine.
[beingness interviewed]
Animal Mother: What do I think nearly the U.Southward. interest in the war? I remember we should win it.
Individual Cowboy: Nosotros're the Lusthog Squad. We're lifetakers and heartbreakers. We shoot 'em full of holes and fill up 'em full of lead.
Lt. Lockhart: Joker, I've told you lot we run two basic stories hither. Grunts who give half their pay to purchase gooks toothbrushes and deodorants - Winning Of Hearts and Minds. Okay? And combat action which outcome in a impale - Winning the War. I don't ask much of you people simply I do await you to adhere to my editorial policy.
Lt. Lockhart: You must have seen blood trails, elevate marks?
Individual Joker: It was raining, sir.
Lt. Lockhart: Well that's why God passed the law of probability. Re-write it and give it a happy ending. One killed. Make it a sapper. Or an officer. Which?
Private Joker: Whichever you say.
Lt. Lockhart: Grunts like reading about expressionless officers.
Private Joker: Okay - an officer. How about a general?
Private Joker: [narrating] Parris Island, Southward Carolina. The Marine Corps Preparation Depot. An eight-week college for the phony tough and the crazy dauntless.
[an ARVN pimp and his hooker drive towards the Marines]
ARVN pimp: Do you want number ane fuckee?
Gny. Sgt. Hartman: Ho Chi Minh is a son-of-a-bitch!
Recruits: Ho Chi Minh is a son-of-a-bitch!
Gny. Sgt. Hartman: Got the blueish balls, crabs and the vii-yr-itch!
Recruits: Got the blueish balls, crabs and the seven-year-itch!
Gny. Sgt. Hartman: Well, no shit. What have nosotros got here, a fucking comedian? Private Joker? I admire your honesty. Hell, I like you. You can come up over to my business firm and fuck my sister.
Gny. Sgt. Hartman: Who said that? Who the fuck said that? Who'due south the slimy little communist shit twinkle-toed cocksucker downwards here, who just signed his own death warrant? Nobody, huh? The fairy fucking godmother said it! Out-fuckingstanding! I will P.T. you all until you fucking die! I'll P.T. you until your assholes are sucking buttermilk.
Lt. Lockhart: The Tet holiday's similar the Quaternary of July, Christmas and New Year all rolled into ane. Every zipperhead in Nam, North and Southward, volition be banging gongs, barking at the moon and visiting his dead relatives.
Lt. Lockhart: All right, Ann-Margret and entourage are due here side by side week. I want someone to be in that location on the airfield and stick with her for a couple of days. Uh, Rafterman, y'all take information technology.
Rafterman: Aye-yep, sir.
Lt. Lockhart: And get me some good low-angle stuff. Don't make it likewise obvious, merely I want to see fur - and early morning dew.
[Cowboy is sending Eightball to investigate an area for enemies]
Private Cowboy: Eightball, allow's dance.
Individual Eightball: Put a nigger behind the trigger!
Dr. Jay: Cowboy!
Individual Cowboy: What?
Doc Jay: We tin can't get out him out there!
Private Cowboy: We're not leaving. We'll become him when the tank comes up.
Md Jay: He's hit three fuckin' times, he can't wait that long!
Private Cowboy: I've seen this earlier, that sniper is merely trying to suck u.s.a. in ane at a fourth dimension.
Private Cowboy: [Eightball is shot a fourth time by the sniper and screams] No!
[Fauna Mother opens fire]
Private Cowboy: Goddam information technology! No! Goddamit end burn down! You tin't meet the sniper!
Doc Jay: Man, fuck this! Fuck this shit! I'grand going in to bring him out.
Private Cowboy: No, y'all sit the fuck down!
Doc Jay: Cover me!
[Runs out in the open to relieve Eightball]
Individual Cowboy: Goddamit! Fuck!
[the Lusthog Squad opens fire]
Individual Joker: Ya know, one-half of these gook whores are serving officers in the Viet Cong; the other half take got T.B. Exist certain you merely fuck the ones that cough.
[afterward Joker kills the sniper]
Individual Rafterman: [laughs] Hey Joker, we ought to put you up for the congressional medal of... ugly! Ha-ha!
Donlon: Hard core human, fucking hard core.
T.H.East. Rock: [looking down at the mortally wounded VC sniper] No more boom-boom for this baby-san. In that location's null we can do for her. She's dead meat.
Gny. Sgt. Hartman: Move it up! Quickly! Hustle upwards! The fucking state of war will be over by the time nosotros get out in that location, won't it, Private Pyle? Move it!
Private Joker: Y'all know, half of these gook whores are sworn members of the Vietcong. The other half got TB. Brand sure you merely fuck the ones who cough.
Private Joker: [narrating] Our concluding nighttime on the island. I describe burn down spotter.
Animal Mother: Fucking son of a bowwow! YOU MOTHERFUCKER! WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Animal Mother: Well, if you lot inquire me, uh, we're shooting the wrong gooks.
Gny. Sgt. Hartman: Get up here, fatboy! Rapidly! Move it up! Motility information technology upwards, Pyle! Move it up! Y'all climb obstacles like former people fuck.
Gny. Sgt. Hartman: Quickly, move it out! There own't one swinging dick private in this platoon's gonna graduate until they tin can get this obstacle down to less than ten fucking seconds!
Rafterman: A loftier school daughter could do my job. I want to get out into the shit. I desire to get some trigger time.
Gny. Sgt. Hartman: Your ass looks like about a hundred and fifty pounds of chewed bubble gum, Pyle. Do you know that?
Pvt. Pyle: Sir, yes, sir!
Gny. Sgt. Hartman: Reveille! Reveille! Reveille! Driblet your cocks and grab your socks! Today is Lord's day! Divine worship at nil-eight-hundred!
Rafterman: Yous know what really pisses me off well-nigh these people?
Pvt. Joker: What?
Rafterman: Nosotros're supposed to exist helping them and they shit all over the states every risk they become. I simply can't feature that.
Pvt. Joker: Don't accept it as well hard, Rafterman. Information technology's just business.
Donlon: I mean, nosotros're getting killed for these people and they don't even capeesh information technology. They think it's a big joke.
Lt. Lockhart: I've had my ass in the grass. Can't say I liked it much. Lots of bugs and likewise dangerous. Equally information technology happens, my nowadays duties continue me where I belong. In the rear with the gear.
Animal Female parent: What do I retrieve about America'due south involvement in the war? Well, I recall we should win.
Lt. Touchdown: We got Condition Red and nosotros're definitely expecting pelting.
Stork: Hey, Payback. How do y'all finish five black dudes from raping a white chick?
Payback: Fuck you, Stork.
Stork: Throw'em a basketball.
ARVN Pimp: Suckee, fuckee, smoke cigarette in the pussy, she give you everything you want. Long time.
Rafterman: Well, I don't retrieve there's any question nearly it. I hateful we're the all-time. I mean all that bullshit about the Air Cav... When the shit really hits the fan, who do they call? They call Mother Green and her killing car!
Crazy Earl: I will never forget this day. The day I came to Hue Urban center and fought one million N.V.A. gooks. I love the little Commie bastards, man, I actually do! These enemy grunts are every bit hard as camber-eyed drill instructors. These are corking days we're living, bros! We are jolly green giants, walking the world with guns. These people we wasted here today - are the finest human beings nosotros will e'er know. Later we rotate back to the world, nosotros're gonna miss not having anyone around that'due south worth shootin'.
Private Joker: Is that you lot John Wayne? Is this me?
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Who said that? Who the fuck said that? Who'south the slimey, little communist, shit twinkle-towed cocksucker down here, who just signed his own decease warrant? Nobody huh? The fairy-fucking godmother said it! I'll fucking stab you lot! I'll fucking BT you all until you lot fucking die! I'll fucking BT your asshole for sucking buttermilk. Was it you lot you scrounging piddling fuck huh?
Chili: You weren't on Operation Hastings, Payback. You lot weren't even in country.
Individual Payback: Oh, eat shit and die, you fucking Spanish American. You fucking *pogue*! I was there man! I was in the shit with the grunts!
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Source: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0093058/quotes/qt1782317
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