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Highway Page #5
- R
- Year:
- 2002
- 97 min
- 511 Views
I don't know, Pilot.
But maybe we can
ask the old lady...
when we go
and say good-bye.
What? You don't want
to say good-bye?
I didn't say that.
Yes you did, dude!
I heard you.
Cassandra, did you hear?
I did. 'When we go
and say good-bye,'
like it was the stupidest
f***ing thing you ever heard.
And it was my idea.
I did not say that.
But it was the
stupidest f***ing thing...
I ever heard,
by the way.
Why?
Are you guys, by any
chance, in love?
Why? Bro, why do we have to go
and say good-bye tomorrow?
I mean, couldn't
we just have...
said good-bye today?
I'm gonna go
take a shower.
I'll meet you
all at the bar.
We gotta stop for
the night anyhow.
I mean, we've been
traveling for two days.
And plus, you know, I got some
What things?
I might lay
some cash on her.
Why?
Come on, man.
The whole scenario
is pretty pathetic.
Granted, but who
the f*** are you...
Donald Trump?
You didn't even
want to go see...
the Alligator Boy in
the first place, Pilot.
Yeah, but I'm glad
that you made us go.
Although, I don't think
your girlfriend dug it.
Bro, easy, easy.
What?
-Bro, easy. -What?
Easy with that.
My girlfriend.
She is witchy
though, isn't she?
If you say so.
Come on, give it-
hey, bro, give it up.
Just get the bags!
You may-maybe you
shouldn't do that.
Yikes!
Just up
the hill is a house...
overlooking Lake Washington...
where he pulled a chair
up to a window...
pressed the barrel of a
20-gauge shotgun to his head...
and pulled the trigger.
Imagine, though.
I mean, not to be
a total buzz kill, but...
imagine how many d*cks
have been inside her.
What?
That pervert at
the Dan D. Fine...
said the girl who
stole those shoes...
worked there for 1 1 months.
1 1 months, Jack.
That's like-it's
like 4 d*cks a day.
And, you know, I'm
being conservative.
All right, and they must've
worked, like, 6-day weeks.
6 times 4 is 24,
1 1 months is 44 weeks,
so, 44 times 24...
is 1,056.
1,056 d*cks!
1,056 d*cks, Jack!
Pop quiz.
No.
Come on, it's a quick one.
No.
-Come on. -No.
Go.
What is 1,056 d*cks?
A lot of d*cks.
Beep! Perfect score.
Gold star.
We haven't even begun
calculating blow jobs.
Obviously, the kid doesn't like
being stared at and made fun of,
charging people to look at him.
Maybe then he could
have a peaceful life.
What?
Nothing.
Oh, god!
Two...three...four...
Oh, sh*t!
When worlds collide.
I worship the concept.
-Hey!
-What's up, Jack?
What are you
doing here?
Tony Gomez
was a no-show!
I'm now officially
hitchhiking to Seattle.
Dude, what are you going
up there for anyways?
A friend of mine died.
A f***ed up freak
named Jimmy DeAngelo.
And he left me
his business.
Got insane in
the brain one night...
and suicide-pacted
with this other kid.
Way too much Jack Daniels,
mescaline, and Ozzy Osbourne.
Backward masking,
suicide is good.
Blah, blah, blah.
Blah, blah.
Boom !
Shotgun to the face
in the playground.
The other kid died...
but Jim hung on.
Oh, they had to do
some major surgery...
on account that most
of his face was gone.
of his ass up to his face.
But Jim had a really
hairy ass...
so he has had to
shave his forehead.
It was a bad scene.
And he drooled like
a motherf***er.
And that's what
eventually did him in.
Cause, check it out,
Jim didn't mind being ugly...
and having the hairy
forehead and no teeth.
But goddamn it, he couldn't
take the drooling.
So one night he gobbled
too many sleeping pills...
and he did the job right.
Anyway!
How come they call
you Pilot, anyways?
My mother f***ed
an airline pilot...
only she never
knew his name.
So she called
me Pilot.
Good thing he
a wasn't bulimic.
Otherwise, your
name would be Puke.
A field!
We need a field!
A field
in which to frolic!
How's your head?
Good.
Good.
What?
OK.
We found the shoes.
You went
through my sh*t?
No.
The bag,
it was open...
a little bit.
So what's your
point, exactly?
We were there,
at the Dan D. Fine.
We heard about
the shoes.
A girlfriend and I went
to Los Angeles...
to become actresses.
Yeah, it didn't
work out.
I don't think
I had any talent.
So, after a few years,
I said, 'F*** it,'
and was heading back home.
But I stopped in Vegas...
where a pit boss comped
me a meal and a room...
and asked if I'd...
escort some friend of his,
some Texas high roller...
you know, and sit at
the tables with him...
let him rub my thigh
for good luck.
So, uh...
I did it.
The next morning,
I woke up alone...
with an envelope
on the nightstand...
filled with hundreds.
Within a couple of weeks,
I was at the Dan D. Fine.
But what about
the shoes?
I don't know.
Just some symbolic gesture
that, at the time, seemed epic,
but now only seems stupid.
So, what are you
going to do next?
I don't know.
What do you think
I should do?
Got any ideas?
Anything but home.
All right.
The 'so what' factor is...
huge.
The unlove...
at the end of the day...
sh*t, you can see the merit in
actually fellating the pistol,
because no matter what...
no matter how much
money you make...
no matter
how many gowns you bone...
no matter how many times
you groove...
like nobody
ever grooved before...
you're dust.
Crumbling soot in a pine box...
that our loved ones went
all out for...
so that you could be...
crumbling soot
in a pine box...
in a J.C. Penney suit no less.
And why?
Because we never wore
them in life...
so they just figure,
'what the f***?'
and they stick us
in the cheapo one.
Better than the concert t-shirts
and the ripped-up jeans...
you wore in life...
and what the f*** would he know
about Giorgio Armani, anyway?
Johnny the Fox!
You're one daffy
in-vi-di-dual.
In-vi-di-dual?
Yes, sir.
J.C. Penney!
Even a freak don't deserve
to go down in some J.C. Penney!
Even a goddamn freak!
Slower.
Slower.
Like this?
Hey, you want to give
me a ride back to the Murrays'?
I don't think
I can drive.
So, clearly,
you hit that last night.
Yeah.
What was it like?
It was, uh,
it was good.
You tell her you knew?
Yeah, she was cool.
You came, didn't you?
Mrs. Murray,
what's going on?
Police won't come.
Had trouble before.
They say you want to charge
folks money to see your oddity,
then you got
to expect trouble.
What kind
of trouble?
So they won't make
the trip anymore.
You just got to wait
for the trouble to go away.
Dude, drink it.
Alligator Boy!
What's going on, guys?
Hey, meet Desmond,
the Alligator Boy.
Desmond's learning
to party.
Beer?
No, thanks.
Maybe you guys should
leave him alone.
How's that?
I said maybe you should
leave him alone.
Who are you, his mama?
No, no, it can't be
his mama.
His mama's in the house...
crying into her Bible.
Maybe this is
the boyfriend.
You the boyfriend?
You like
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"Highway" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 29 Aug. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/highway_9979>.
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