Seven Psychopaths Page #8

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The hooker, she studied Vietnamese at Yale.

I don't smell gas.

You will.

He drags her to the place

where the convention's being held.

She's got the dynamite tied to her.

He's got the gasoline he's just bought.

She backs away, petrified.

He pours the gas out onto the oor.

it reaches her feet.

A little of it has splashed over himself.

it doesn't matter.

He takes out a match. In perfect Vietnamese,

the hooker whispers...

Desist, brother.

You know this will not help us.

He shuts his eyes.

Then he opens them again.

He ain't in Phoenix anymore.

He's sitting in the middle of a street

in Saigon circa 1963

in the orange robes of his Buddhist order,

and he's drenched himself in gasoline.

As he finally manages to push

the thoughts of anger and hate

out of his gentle mind,

a fellow monk pleads with him one final time.

Desist, brother.

You know this will not help us.

And all angry thoughts finally dispelled.

The first monk ever to burn himself to death

to protest the war whispers,

"n might."

It might.

"It might." And he lights the match.

So, you know, your Vietcong psycho story

becomes the final thoughts of a man

who chose not the darkness,

but the light.

The light being, you know,

suicide by self-immolation.

But I think that's the best we're gonna get.

And, you know...

I know you said

dream sequences are for fags,

but I think it could work, don't you?

We all gotta dream,

don't we?

Not just fags.

Oh, by the way, I don't think

they like being called "fags" anymore.

I think nowadays they prefer "homos."

- Hello?

-Is this Martin?

- Yeah, who's this?

-It's Zachariah Rigby.

The guy you promised you'd put his number

up at the end of your movie.

Well, I went to see your movie yesterday.

Guess what?

- Sh*t.

-Now how's she ever gonna f***ing find me?

- I didn't think you were...

-Serious?

You didn't think I was serious

just because I carry a rabbit around?

Listen, I'll get them to change the credits.

I'll get them to put your number up.

No, no, no.

You're miles too late, you know that, Martin.

And you promised on your life.

You know what that means, don't you?

I said,

"You know what that means, don't you?"

I'm gonna be over to kill you on Tuesday.

That's good.

I'm not doing anything Tuesday.

You sound different.

You sound like

you've been through a wringer.

A little.

Tuesday doesn't really work for me.

Can I get back to you?

Sure.

I'll be right here.

I know.

Come on, Carrie.

Let's go home, baby.

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