Brooklyn Rules

Now we're reading

from the letter of St. Paul

to the Philippians.

Brothers and sisters,

as long as in every way,

whether in pretense or in truth,

Christ is being proclaimed...

In catholic school,

they taught us that Jesus died

for our sins.

With his blood,

he made the ultimate sacrifice:

Giving his life.

In Brooklyn...

we learned of another sacrifice...

Heads.

Taking a life.

I guess you can call this my confession,

Except I'm not asking for forgiveness.

That's Bobby,

one of my two best friends,

the sweetest guy in the world

but a legendary cheapskate.

This is Carmine:
great guy

but incredibly vain, even as a kid.

This, of course, is me.

Okay, I know what you're thinking.

How could I steal

from a church collection plate?

Well, I knew stealing

was supposed to be a sin,

but I learned to live

by a different set of rules.

Whoa.

Get up!

Get up. You hear me?

And god f***in' help you, Donny,

if I find out you lied to me!

Boo!

What's your name?

Carmine Mancuso.

Your mother Italian?

Yes, sir.

I gotta go take a leak, all right?

All right.

Don't get lost.

Man, these uniforms suck.

They should let us wear

bell-bottoms.

What, like Keith Partridge?

Nah, that guy's a queer-

Him and that redheaded kid.

Oh, man.

Guys! Come here!

Carmine! Michael!

Hurry up!

Oh, f***.

Whoa.

Whoa.

Let me see.

No way, man.

It's mine.

Hey, puppy.

Aw, look.

You okay?

He's cute.

Ooh, sharp teeth.

what should we do with him?

Nothin'.

I'm keepin' him.

Well, you're a spunky one, aren't you?

This is creepy, guys.

Let's get out of here.

Bobby did end up keeping the dog,

and Carmine kept the lighter.

As for me, you can bet your ass

I kept that gun.

By 1985, we were all grown up

and still close as ever.

Carmine had fallen in love

with himself.

I mean, if you told the guy

to go f*** himself,

he'd actually consider it.

Bobby was still a sweetheart,

Living at home and cheap as ever,

throwing quarters around

like they were manhole covers.

Come on, Sparky.

As for me, despite the fact

that I was basically

a neighborhood f***-up,

I had somehow managed

to scam my way into Columbia-

Me, a jerk-off from Brooklyn,

in the Ivy League.

And don't get me wrong.

I'm not saying I was stupid.

I loved to read and was

a pretty good writer too.

For me, school was a way out

of the neighborhood,

a chance to be something.

I figured, with my natural

ability to bullshit

and near-total lack of conscience,

I should be a lawyer.

My plan was to buy a big house

in Westchester,

where I'd play tennis and water polo

and sh*t like that.

Hey! What are you, f***in' blind?

But in my neighborhood,

it was better to keep ambitions

like water polo to yourself.

What the f*** already?

Just valet it.

You cheap cocksucker.

I'm not cheap.

Please, if you saw a sign that

said "free slaps in the face, "

you'd be the first on line.

Oh, my god.

Oh, my god. Whoa.

We gotta park.

Park? They got valet right here!

I'm not valeting. It's a rip-off.

Look at that ass over there.

That's a guy, Bobby.

Come on.

Ha, ha, ha, ha.

That's not a guy.

Pretty good, Bobby,

we're like 19 miles away.

So we'll get some exercise.

I don't need exercise.

I did 200 push-ups today.

- Oh, was he happy?

- Was who happy?

The guy underneath you,

was he happy?

What are you laughing at

with those f***ing shoes?

What?

They're penny loafers.

Yeah, I know what they are.

My grandfather has the same ones.

It's called a classic look, a**hole.

Classic?

Meaning, it never goes out of style

like that sweater's gonna do

in about 20 minutes.

Cardigans are back, my friend.

Please, you look like

the Italian Fred MacMurray.

You know, before my three sons,

Fred MacMurray

used to be in movies.

Who gives a sh*t?

Nah, double indemnity,

it's a good movie.

You should see it.

F*** Fred MacMurray, okay?

Mike, you got a 20

you could lend me, please?

Till Tuesday, come on.

I'll give you another excuse till Wednesday.

Come on, please?

Bobby never passed a church

without saying a prayer,

a habit beaten into him

by overzealous nuns.

F***in' hump.

Apparently, they hadn't beaten

Carmine hard enough.

In the name of the father,

the son, and the holy ghost,

Hail mary, mother of god.

I know this is asking a lot, but please,

do you think

you could help these two losers

get laid tonight or what?

That's really f***ed, Carmine.

Yeah, you're praying

to a virgin to get us laid.

You know you're both going to hell?

Both of yous, hell.

Father Canzoneri.

In our neighborhood,

Pastels was the place to hang.

Jesus Christ, look at all these broads.

It is like the museum of p*ssy in here.

Petey.

Hey, Carmine.

What's up?

Is your sister here?

Yeah, she's down there.

Hey, nice sweater.

You know, Fred MacMurray

used to be in the movies.

Don't listen to him.

I thought you were going to call me.

I was, and I lost your phone number.

But I'm going to call you; I promise.

Right.

"Come on, man, " what?

Huh?

What, huh?

Hey, hey, get off him!

Get your f***ing hands off me.

You know who I'm with?

I don't give a f*** who you're with.

- Yeah, you don't care?

- No.

What the f*** are you looking at, huh?

What the f*** are you looking at,

you f***in' douche bag?

Come here.

The back of the club was the vip section,

Vip being a euphemism for wise guy.

By the mid-'80s,

Caesar was a captain

in the Gambino family

and the man who controlled

our neighborhood.

It was common knowledge

he was a ruthless motherf***er.

Look at that suit.

Look at that f***in' suit he's wearing.

It's a $2,000 suit.

Brioni, it's nice.

Legend had it

that Caesar once killed a guy

for giving him a bad haircut.

For me, that always explained

why Carmine worshipped him.

He's calling me over.

Mike, he's calling me over.

He's calling me over.

How's my hair look?

How's your hair?

It ain't enough you kiss his ass?

You're going to go f*** him too?

F*** you.

Hey, look who it is.

Sit down over here.

How's your mother?

Oh, she's really good.

Thank you for asking.

You know Philly Cabrese?

Hey.

Carmine Mancuso.

I heard some good things about you.

This kid, back in the f***ing little league

over there at St. Columbus,

caught a piece of the ball,

Look the f*** out.

Good with a bat, huh?

That's a good skill to have.

You two should get to know each other.

Yo, we gotta talk to him.

- Who?

- Who? Carmine.

This wise-guy sh*t,

He's getting too involved with these guys.

He's a big boy.

Mike, I'm serious.

All right, we'll talk to him.

Hey, what do you think

of the one in pink?

The fat one?

She's not that fat.

All right, she's a little fat.

But you wouldn't f*** her?

I don't know, Mike. I don't know.

Eh, f*** you.

You're half a fag anyway.

Mm, oh, yeah.

Unh, yeah.

Ah, don't stop. Ah.

Ah, don't f***in' stop.

Mike!

What was that?

Don't worry about it.

They said your name.

There's a lot of Mikes around.

Don't stop.

Ah.

Jesus!

Hurry up and come already!

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