Kevin Smith

This job would be great if it wasn't for the fucking customers.

Uh, yeah, hi, this is RST Video calling. Customer #4352. I'd like to place an order. Okay, I need one each of the following tapes: "Whispers in the Wind", "To Each His Own", "Put It Where It Doesn't Belong", "My Pipes Need Cleaning", "All Tit-Fucking, Volume 8", "I Need Your Cock", "Ass-Worshipping Rimjobbers", "My Cunt and Eight Shafts", "Cum Clean", "Cum-Gargling Naked Sluts", "Cum Buns 3", "Cumming in Socks", "Cum on Eileen", "Huge Black Cocks with Pearly White Cum", "Girls Who Crave Cock", "Girls Who Crave Cunt", "Men Alone 2: The K-Y Connection", "Pink Pussy Lips", oh yeah, and, uh, "All Holes Filled with Hard Cock".

Yup. Oh, wait a minute.

Oh, fuck you! Fuck you, pal! Jesus, there you go again trying to pass the buck. I'm the source of all your misery. Who closed the store to play hockey? Who closed the store to go to a wake? Who tried to win back his ex girlfriend without even discussing how he felt with his present one? You wanna blame somebody? Blame yourself. "I'm not even supposed to be here today."

You sound like an asshole! Jesus, nobody twisted your arm to be here today. You're here of your own volition. You like to think the weight of the world rests on your shoulders. Like this place would fall apart if Dante wasn't here. Jesus, you overcompensate for having what's basically a monkey's job. You push fucking buttons. Anybody can waltz in here and do our jobs. You... You're so obsessed with making it seem so much more epic, so much more important than it really is. Christ, you work in a convenience store, Dante! And badly, I might add! I work in a shitty video store, badly as well.

You know, that guy Jay's got it right, man. He has no delusions about what he does. Us... we like to make ourselves seem so much more important than the people that come in here to buy a paper, or, God forbid... cigarettes. We look down on them as if we're so advanced. Well, if we're so fucking advanced, what are we doing working here?

My mom's been fuckin' a dead guy for 30 years. I call him dad.

If title dictated my behavior, as a clerk serving the public, I wouldn't be allowed to spit water at that guy. But I did. So, my point is that people dictate their own behavior. Even though I work in a video store, I choose to go rent movies at Big Choice. Agreed?

I like to think I'm a master of my own destiny.

You know I'm your hero.

A construction job of that magnitude would require a helluva lot more manpower than the Imperial army had to offer. I'll bet there were independent contractors working on that thing: plumbers, aluminum siders, roofers.

Exactly. In order to get it built quickly and quietly they'd hire anybody who could do the job. Do you think the average storm trooper knows how to install a toilet main? All they know is killing and white uniforms.

All those innocent contractors hired to do a job were killed - casualties of a war they had nothing to do with.

All right, look-you're a roofer, and some juicy government contract comes your way; you got the wife and kids and the two-story in suburbia - this is a government contract, which means all sorts of benefits. All of a sudden these left-wing militants blast you with lasers and wipe out everyone within a three-mile radius. You didn't ask for that. You have no personal politics. You're just trying to scrape out a living.

People say crazy shit during sex. One time I called this girl "Mom."

In light of this lurid tale, I don't even see how you can romanticize your relationship with Caitlin. She broke your heart and inadvertently drove men to deviant lifestyles.

Duh duh… duh duh… duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh… Salsa shark! We're gonna need a bigger boat! Man goes into cage, cage goes into salsa. Shark's in the salsa. Our shark.

Melodrama coming from you seems about as natural as an oral bowel movement.

Some guy just came in refusing to pay late fees. Said the video store was closed for two hours yesterday. So, I tore up his membership.

Hey, I'm a firm believer in the philosophy of a ruling class. Especially since I rule.

Oh man, it's great. You go into this booth and there's this glass between you and these chicks, and they put on a show for you for like 10 bucks.

Think of the weirdest, craziest shit you'd like to see chicks do. I mean, these chicks do it all. They insert things into any opening on their body - any opening.

The jizz-mopper's job is to clean it up after each guy shoots a load, 'cause practically everybody does it right on the window. I don't know if you know this or not, but cum leaves streaks if you don't clean it right away.

One time my cousin Walter got this cat stuck up his ass. True story. He bought it at our local mall, so the whole fiasco wound up on the news. It was embarrassing for my relatives and all, but next week, he did it again. Different cat, same results, complete with another trip to the emergency room. So, I run into him a week later in the mall and he's buying another cat. And I says to him, "Jesus, Walt! What are you doing? You know you're just gonna get this cat stuck up your ass too. Why don't you knock it off?" And he said to me, "Brodie, how the hell else am I supposed to get the gerbil out?" My cousin was a weird guy.

It's impossible. Lois could never have Superman's baby. Do you think her fallopian tubes could handle his sperm? I guarantee he blows a load like a shotgun right through her back. What about her womb? Do you think it's strong enough to carry his child?

He's an alien, for Christ sake. His Kyrptonian biological makeup is enhanced by Earth's yellow sun. If Lois gets a tan, the kid could kick right through her stomach. Only someone like Wonder Woman has a strong enough uterus to carry his kid. The only way he could bang regular chicks is with a Kryptonite condom, but that would kill him.

But my cousin Walter jerked off in public once. True story. He was on a plane to New Mexico when all of the sudden the hydraulics went. The plane started spinning around, going out of control, so he decides it's all over and whips it out and starts beating it right there. So all the other passengers take a cue from him and they start whipping it out and beating like mad. So all the passengers are beating off, plummeting to their certain doom, when all of the sudden, snap! The hydraulics kick back in. The plane rights itself and it land safely and everyone puts their pieces or, whatever, you know, away and deboard. No one mentions the phenomenon to anyone else.

Listen, not a year goes by, not a year, that I don't hear about some escalator accident involving some bastard kid which could have easily been avoided had some parent - I don't care which one - but some parent conditioned him to fear and respect that escalator.

Ladies and gentlemen, this tall drink of water headed my way is a pillar of the shopping community who informed me earlier today of a nefarious plan of his to screw my girlfriend in an extremely uncomfortable place.

I love you. And not, not in a friendly way, although I think we're great friends. And not in a misplaced affection, puppy-dog way, although I'm sure that's what you'll call it. I love you. Very, very simple, very truly. You are the-the epitome of everything I have ever looked for in another human being. And I know that you think of me as just a friend, and crossing that line is-is-is the furthest thing from an option you would ever consider. But I had to say it. I just, I can't take this anymore. I can't stand next to you without wanting to hold you. I can't-I can't look into your eyes without feeling that-that longing you only read about in trashy romance novels. I can't talk to you without wanting to express my love for everything you are. And I know this will probably queer our friendship - no pun intended - but I had to say it, 'cause I've never felt this way before, and I-I don't care. I like who I am because of it. And if bringing this to light means we can't hang out anymore, then that hurts me. But God, I just, I couldn't allow another day to go by without just getting it out there, regardless of the outcome, which by the look on your face is to be the inevitable shoot-down. And, you know, I'll accept that. But I know, I know that some part of you is hesitating for a moment, and if there's a moment of hesitation, then that means you feel something too. And all I ask, please, is that you just - you just not dismiss that, and try to dwell in it for just ten seconds. Alyssa, there isn't another soul on this fucking planet who has ever made me half the person I am when I'm with you, and I would risk this friendship for the chance to take it to the next plateau. Because it is there between you and me. You can't deny that. Even if, you know, even if we never talk again after tonight, please know that I am forever changed because of who you are and what you've meant to me, which - while I do appreciate it - I'd never need a painting of birds bought at a diner to remind me of.

For years in this industry, whenever an African American character, hero or villain, was introduced - usually by white artists and writers - they got slapped with racist names that singled them out as Negroes. Now, my book, "White-Hatin' Coon," don't have none of that bullshit. The hero's name is Maleekwa, and he's a descendant from the black tribe that established the first society on the planet, while all you European motherfuckers were still hiding in caves and shit, all terrified of the sun. He's a strong role model that a young black reader can look up to. 'Cause I'm here to tell you, the chickens is coming home to roost, y'all. The black man's no longer gonna play the minstrel in the medium of comics and sci-fi fantasy. We keepin' it real, and we gonna get respect by any means necessary.