Reservoir Dogs Monologues

When a simple jewelry heist goes horribly wrong, the surviving criminals begin to suspect that one of them is a police informant.

Do you even doubt it, man? I don't THINK we got set up, I KNOW we got set up! I mean, really, seriously, where did all those cops come from, huh? One minute they're not there, the next minute they're there? I didn't hear any sirens. The alarm went off, okay. When an alarm goes off, you got an average of four minutes response time. Unless a patrol car is cruising that street, at that particular moment, you got four minutes before they can realistically respond. In one minute there were seventeen blue boys out there. All loaded for bear, all knowing exactly what the fuck they were doing, and they were all just there! Remember that second wave that showed up in the cars? Okay, those were the ones responding to the alarm, but those first motherfuckers, I'm telling you man, they were there and they were waiting for us. Haven't you fucking thought about this?

Fuck you, White! I didn't create the situation, I'm just dealin' with it! You're acting like a first year fucking theif - I'm acting like a professional! If they get him, they can get you. They get you, they get closer to me, and that can't happen! And you, motherfucker, are lookin' at me like it's MY fault. I didn't tell him my name. I didn't tell him where I was from. I didn't tell him what I knew better than NOT to tell him! Fuck, fifteen minutes ago you almost told me your name! You, buddy, are stuck in a situation YOU created. So, if you wanna throw bad looks somewhere, throw 'em at a mirror!

I'm very sorry the government taxes their tips, that's fucked up. That ain't my fault. It would seem to me that waitresses are one of the many groups the government fucks in the ass on a regular basis. Look, if you ask me to sign something that says the government shouldn't do that, I'll sign it, put it to a vote, I'll vote for it, but what I won't do is play ball. And as for this non-college bullshit I got two words for that: learn to fuckin' type, 'cause if you're expecting me to help out with the rent you're in for a big fuckin' surprise.

Hey, you two assholes knock it the fuck off and calm down! Cut the bullshit. We ain't on a fuckin' playground! I don't beleive this shit. Both of you guys got ten years on me and I'm the only one acting like a professional. You guys act like a bunch of fuckin' niggers. You wanna be niggers, huh? They're just like you two - always fightin' and always sayin' their gonna kill each other...

Assuming we can trust Joe, how we gonna get in touch with him, huh? He's supposed to be here, but he ain't, which is making me very nervous about being here. Even if Joe is on the up and up, he's probably not gonna be too happy with us. Joe planned a robbery, but he's got a blood bath on his hands now. Dead cops, dead robbers, dead civillians… Jesus Christ! I tend to doubt he's gonna have a lot of sympathy for our plight. If I was him, I'd try to put as much distance between me and this mess as humanly possible.

This is a very weird situation. 'Cause I don't know if you remember back in '86 there was a major fucking drought. Nobody had anything. People were living on resin... smoking the wood in their pipes for months. This chick had a bunch. And she's begging me to sell it. So I told her I wasn't going to be Joe the potman anymore, but I would take a little bit and sell it to my close, close, close friends. She agreed to that, said we'd keep the same arrangement as before; 10%, free pot for me, as long as I helped her out that weekend. She had a brick of weed she was selling, she didn't want to go to the buy alone. Her brother usually goes with her, but he's in county unexpectedly.

His traffic tickets. Got a warrant. They stopped him for something, found warrants on him, took him to county. Now she doesn't walk around alone with all that weed. I don't want to do this. I have a very bad feeling about it. But she keeps asking me, keeps asking me, keeps asking me, finally I said OK 'cause I'm sick of hearing it. Now, we're picking the guy up at the train station…

The guy needed it right away. Don't ask me why. Anyway, we're get to the station and we're waiting for the guy. I'm carrying the weed in one of those little carry-on bags. I got to take a piss. So I tell the connection I'll be right back, I'm going to the boys' room. So I walk in the mens' room, and who's standing there? Four Los Angeles county sheriffs and a German shepherd.

No, they're just a bunch of cops hanging out in the men's room, talking. When I walked through the door, they all stopped what they were talking about and they looked at me.

German shepherd starts barking. He's barking at me. I mean, it's obvious. He's barking at me. Every nerve-ending, all my senses, blood in my veins, everything I have is screaming, "Take off, man! Just bail, just get the fuck out of there!" Panic hits me like a bucket of water. First there's the shock of it… -BAM!… -right in the face. I'm standing there drenched in panic. All these sheriffs looking at me, and they know, man. They can smell it. Sure as that fucking dog can, they can smell it on me.

We had just gotten away from the cops. He just got shot. It was my fault he got shot. He's a fuckin' bloody mess - he's screaming. I swear to god, I thought he was gonna die right then and there. I'm tryin' to comfort him, telling him not to worry, everything's gonna be okay, I'm gonna take care of him. And he asked me what my name was. I mean, the man was dyin' in my arms. What the fuck was I supposed to do? Tell him: "Sorry, I can't give out that fuckin' information! It's against the rules! I don't trust you enough!"? Or maybe I should've, but I couldn't! Fuck you and fuck Joe!

When you're dealing with a store like this, they're insured up the ass. They're not supposed to give you any resistance whatsoever. If you get a customer, or an employee, who thinks he's Charles Bronson, take the butt of your gun and smash their nose in. Everybody jumps. He falls down screaming, blood squirts out of his nose, nobody says fucking shit after that. You might get some bitch talk shit to you, but give her a look like you're gonna smash her in the face next, watch her shut the fuck up. Now if it's a manager, that's a different story. Managers know better than to fuck around, so if you get one that's giving you static, he probably thinks he's a real cowboy, so you gotta break that son of a bitch in two. If you wanna know something and he won't tell you, cut off one of his fingers. The little one. Then tell him his thumb's next. After that he'll tell you if he wears ladies underwear. I'm hungry. Let's get a taco.

All right, let's run through what happened: we're in the place and everything's going fine. Suddenly the alarm get tripped. I turn around and there's all these cops outside. Everyone starts going ape shit and starts shooting. Then Mr. Blonde goes psycho and starts shooting all those civilians in the head execution style…