Heartbreak Ridge

- Here's that four-ten.

- Right.

I been pumping p*ssy

since Christ was a corporal.

I can tell you, the best damned poontang

I ever paid for was in Da Nang.

The girls were checked out daily.

And we got ourselves laid in a safe,

orderly, proficient, military manner.

That is until some suckhead

writes home to mama...

...and says he dipped his wick

in the Republic of South Vietnam.

Then the sh*t hits the fan.

A committee of congressmen who,

a**hole-to-a**hole...

...couldn't make a beer fart

in a whirlwind...

...start telling your basic ass-in-the-grass

Marine, "No more shore time."

We respond in true Marine Corps fashion.

We salute, do an about face, double-time

back to the boom-boom garbage dump...

...where we get the clap,

and the drip, and the crabs...

...and a generally poor attitude

towards the female of the species.

War is hell, boy. That's a fact.

I don't like soldier boys.

Say what?

You want to pop that puppy's can, you

don't have to grease him so hard, jarhead.

Sounds like you're a man of experience.

What the f***'s that mean, grunt-sh*t?

It means be advised

that I'm mean, nasty and tired.

I eat concertina wire and piss napalm...

...and I can put a round through a flea's ass

at two hundred meters.

So go hump somebody else's leg,

mutt face, before I push yours in.

You aren't going to be so smart with

your balls stuffed in your mouth, jarhead.

Hang onto this, boy.

I think war's just been declared.

Just sit there and bleed for a while

before you taste some real pain.

Maybe first I carve me some f*ggot wings.

Kill him.

Then again,

there was this dusky gal in Bangkok...

...a real crossway breezer, I swear.

Thank you for your testimony,

Officer Reese.

Sergeant Highway.

Drunk and disorderly...

...fighting in a public establishment...

...urinating on a police vehicle.

It seemed like the thing to do, sir.

Just because there's no war going on...

...it doesn't give you the right

to start one every time you get drunk.

I'm taking into account

your excellent military record...

...and your commitment

to the security of this great nation...

...but this is your last chance.

$100 fine. Next.

Your nightstick file for divorce, Reese?

Who do you think you are,

pissing on my squad car?

You think you can break our rules

and just walk away?

We're supposed to wet our pants over

your goddamned colored ribbons?

Read that file of yours sometime, hero.

Check the dates.

It's ancient f***ing history.

One night you're going to be

puking blood in some alley...

...and you'll see me standing there.

Then we'll see.

Keep dreaming, shitball.

You'll pay full price.

I don't give any serviceman's discount.

Too bad. Your old lady does.

Just about cleaned you out.

Sure makes you feel good, doesn't it?

Helping Uncle Sam battle dirty drawers?

Just pump the neighbor's dog, Jake?

Or are you always that slack-eyed and silly?

Looks like you need a lift, Highway.

Suck on one of these, smooth as a prom

queen's thighs only not quite so risky.

Havana cured.

Got a pal over in Guantanamo in Supply.

We do each other favors.

I've got lots of friends. Of course,

I could always use another friend.

- So we can do each other favors?

- Yes, sure.

If your pencil wasn't quite so sharp, and

your eyesight not so clear around here...

...I could make your military life a lot

comfier and more rewarding.

Sergeant, you get that contraband stogie

out of my face...

...before I shove it so far up your ass, you'll

have to set fire to your nose to light it.

Gunney Highway,

Major Devin wants to see you, ASAP.

- At ease. That'll be all, Sergeant Major.

- Aye, aye, sir.

Highway, relax.

Stop being so gung-ho.

That's what I am, sir.

What do you got now, about 24?

And then some, sir.

Some men in your position

would look forward to retirement.

Take their wives on

an around-the-world cruise.

But that's not your way. Is it?

You choose to harangue my staff

with a request for transfer to...

...a Fleet Marine Force Unit.

The very unit you got busted out of for

insubordination, conduct unbecoming.

That's true, Major. I have had

my differences with some limp d*cks...

Highway!

I don't know whether to admire you...

...or resent the living hell out of you.

Either way, I guess it doesn't matter.

You're out of here, effective immediately.

Where to, sir?

2nd Recon Battalion, 2nd Marine Division.

You're going home.

Aye, aye, sir.

Gunney Highway?

Sir?

Be careful what you wish for.

You might just get it.

Halt!

About face!

We're going to bring up

tonight's last victim.

He's a true blood, born in New Jersey.

He's the President of Punk.

The Earl of Funk.

The next king of rock and roll himself.

Ladies and gentlemen, Stitch Jones.

Do I bother you while you're

playing romance the sheep?

Why not bag the geeks

and keep America beautiful?

Put a 10-gallon bag

over their 10-gallon heads.

Shall we take care of this?

You look like

the Twin Towers turned to cellulite.

I can play country-western.

Give me another chance.

Oh yeah?

I know Merle Haggard, Hoss Cartwright,

The Beverly Hillbillies.

Give me another chance.

I need the money!

- How far?

- About two stops.

- Are you the maid?

- No.

I want the seat,

but it's not worth dying over.

Liz and Dick, Lennon and McCartney,

even Ali and Frazier...

...they worked it out. So can we, right?

Stitch Jones is the name.

Rocking and rapping is the game.

Pleased to meet you, too.

I banged up my Corvette,

but I figure, what the hell...

...gives me a chance to get out

and meet the regular people.

People like yourself. People like my fans.

I'm a singer. You heard of me.

Stitch Jones:
Earl of Funk, Duke of Cool,

Ayatollah of Rock-and-Roll-a.

Shut your face, hippie.

Did you say "hippie"?

Haven't been hippies

around here for centuries.

You been freeze-dried or doing hard time?

One of those would sure go down nice.

I'd buy one from you,

but I don't have my plastic.

Usually I get one of my lackeys

to do my business.

You can have one for free

if it will shut that hole under your nose.

Thank you, my man.

Jones.

This doesn't mean you can blow in my ear.

Tom Highway.

These aren't your magazines.

No. Somebody must've left them there.

The Sexual Politics of Living Alone.

The Big Commitment and You.

Island Erotics:

How To Stay Tan, Tickly and Tantalized

in the Cool Waters of Jamaica.

Not bad, man.

Sunday Sex With a Wednesday Lover.

That sounds like a song.

"I met her on a Wednesday

She was the best

"Come Sunday morning,

I needed rest

"Because she didn't shave,

She didn't use Neet

"She tried to use my face as a bicycle seat"

Word, am I fresh?

She's got some angry titties.

Hostile projectiles.

Put your sh*t in there, get frostbite.

She isn't so bad.

You want to talk tonight, I'll listen.

Don't try to sell me on making love or

making music because I'm an authority.

Born to screw and bred to sing. That's me.

I must cut a few Z's myself.

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