Listen, I think we got started off on the wrong foot. Stan Goodspeed, FBl. Uh – Let’s talk music. Do you like the Elton John song, “Rocket Man”?
Oh, you – Oh, oh. Oh. Well, I only bring it up because, uh, it’s you. You’re the Rocket Man.
Look, I’m just a biochemist. Most of the time, I work in a little glass jar and lead a very uneventful life. I drive a Volvo, a beige one. But what I’m dealing with here is one of the most deadly substances the earth has ever known, so what say you cut me some FRIGGIN’ SLACK?
Well, I’m one of those fortunate people who like my job, sir. Got my first chemistry set when I was seven, blew my eyebrows off, we never saw the cat again, been into it ever since.
You broke out, let me see if I can get this straight, down the incinerator chute, on the mine car, through the tunnels to the power plant, under the steam engine – that was really cool by the way – and into the cistern through the intake pipe. But how, in the name of Zeus’ BUTTHOLE!… did you get out of your cell? I only ask because in our current situation, well, it could prove to be useful information. Maybe!
It’s a cholinesterase inhibitor. Stops the brain from sending nerve messages down the spinal cord within thirty seconds. Any epidermal exposure or inhalation and you’ll know. A twinge at the small of your back as the poison seizes your nervous system…
DO NOT MOVE THAT! Your muscles freeze, you can’t breathe, you spasm so hard you break your own back and spit your guts out. But that’s after your skin melts off.
Why didn’t you just tell them where the microfilm was and create a solution?
Oh, just some terrorists decided to send a little care package. Box of goodies. Which had to be neutralized before blowing up the office…
So I took the rest of the day off. Glass of wine, little guitar… Just relax.
I mean it, honey, the world is being Fed-exed to hell in a hand cart. I really believe anyone thinking even thinking of bringing a child into the world is coldly considering an act of cruelty.
I know, I’m rambling, I’m complaining, I’m sorry. What’s your news, baby?
Liquid; failed pesticide; discovered by mistake in 1952. Uhh, actually, it’s kind of like champagne that way. The Franciscan monks thought they were making white wine. Somehow the bottle carbonated. Voila, champagne, and uhh, then the whole thing…
It’s very, very horrible sir. It’s one of those things we wish we could disinvent. This isn’t a training exercise, is it?
I love pressure. I eat it for breakfast.
“I’d take pleasure in guttin’ you, boy. I’d take pleasure in guttin’ you… boy.” What is wrong with these people, huh? Mason? Don’t you think there’s a lot of, uh, a lot of anger flowing around this island? Kind of a pubescent volatility? Don’t you think? A lotta angst, a lot of “I’m sixteen, I’m angry at my father” syndrome? I mean grow up! We’re stuck on an island with a bunch of violence-for-pleasure-seeking psycophatic marines, SHAME-ON-THEM!
You know, I like history too, and maybe when this is all over you and I can stop by the souvenir shop together but right now I just… I just wanna find some rockets!
All right, I’ll do it myself. I’ve had three weeks weapons training, I’ll kick the… out of a platoon full of marines. No problem.
I love you, I will marry you I just didn’t plan on this that’s all, come to San Francisco with me
I’m sure it’s just a training exercise, we’ll check into the hotel order some champagne…
