Plump Fiction

And a handful of people made a shitload of money.

..life-affirming...

...motion picture.

I love cappuccino. I love the taste of it. I love the smell of it.

I even love the sound of it - cappuccino.

If someone held a gun to my head

and forced me to choose a celebrity - any celebrity -

whose life I'd have to assume,

I'd choose Al Pacino, because my name would sound like 'cappuccino'.

I would choose Major Nelson from 'I Dream of Jeannie'.

Having your own girl in a bottle would be fun.

Yeah, I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you, Bumpkin'? Ha-ha!

Your own little pin-up girl,

wearing nothing but harem pants and a halter top,

popping out of a cookie jar every time you snapped your fingers.

It wasn't a cookie jar. It was a fancy bottle with a plug.

A stripper in a bottle. Can you believe that'?

A freakin' call girl in a bottle.

And this was prime time - 7:30 - right before 'Laugh-In'.

“Yes, master." “Right away, master."

If I was Barbara Eden, I would have crossed my arms

and blinked Major Nelson right into a leather sling.

Then we'd see who would be master.

Where's that fucking waitress?

What's a sling?

I can't believe how fucking stupid you are.

Stupid is as stupid...

Whoa.

You say that stupid line one more time, I'm gonna execute you

and every other pancake-eating motherfucker in this place.

Do you hear me? I'm not eating pancakes.

I said, do you hear me?

Yes, OK, I hear you.

Stupid movie.

“Life is just like a box of chocolates.”

Life is just like a box of shit.

Ah, but what do I care?

I've just written the most brilliant, violent script

in the history of cinema.

And somebody's actually producing it.

Look out, Bumpkin, my star is on the rise.

If your star is on the rise,

how come they banned you from the set'?

I'll show them.

I'm gonna get my hands on my first million bucks

and I'll make my own movie and screw all of 'em.

Oh, actress...

...could you bring me another double cappuccino?

“I am not an actress. I am an aspiring filmmaker."

Filmmaker?

WOW!

Why don't we do a nice, slow tracking shot

of you bringing me...

...another fucking cappuccino?

That wasn't very nice.

Well, nice doesn't get you anywhere.

Just ask Barbara Eden.

Oww.

Look what I've been sitting on.

Gimme that.

Jesus Christ!

What is it?

Hello?

Do I have a sign on my back that says 'Blow smoke up my ass'?

Crispin, sweetheart.

Do I have a sign on my back that says 'Blow smoke up my ass'?

Did you put another sign on the director's back?

No, no. There's none that I'm aware of.

No, I do not have such a sign. You know why I have no such sign?

Because I don't like having smoke blown up my fuckin' ass!

Now, I got lights, I got cameras,

I got actors, I got a crew,

I even have a fucking cappuccino machine!

But there's only one thing I don't have, Bunny. You know what that is?

A script, Bunny.

I don't have a fucking script!

The first day of shooting, I don't have a fucking script.

Now, listen, unless you want me to make a movie about a couple of grips

sitting around, jerkin' off and eating crullers,

you get that script down here pronto!

Yesterday, you fucking hear me?

And don't you blow smoke up my ass anymore!

I got enough smoke up my ass to elect a pope in my fuckin' pants!

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Bumpkin, take this to the warehouse in La Grande, Washington.

OK. And this time, don't screw up.

It's my last copy.

Treat that script as if your life depended on it.

Because, frankly...

...it does.

Uh, OK.

Love you, Bumpkin.

I love you too, Bunny Rabbit.

That's Roberts! Bunny Roberts!

Fucking retard.

And you, Marcel Marceau, I don't need some fucking coffee shop mime

throwing attitude at me like it's fucking rice at a wedding.

Now, you get me that cappuccino now or I'll blow

that fuckin' bonnet-wearing head of yours right off.

And that goes for every last motherfuckin' one of you!

And that goes for every last motherfuckin' one of you!

Sunday, Sunday, Sun...

The pair of serial-killing wrestlers

are still on the loose.

We're gonna be searching for a high of 70...

OK, tell me about this Tomorrowland.

Alright, so, Tomorrowland is called Mananaville,

but everything else in Tomorrowland is in French.

No shit?

Space Mountain.

That's that Star Wars ride, you know'?

What's it called? Star Tours.

Right you are.

And all the characters are in French too.

You know what they call Goofy'? What?

You know what they call Mickey?

You keep going, cat.

That's groovy. Now, what about Dumbo?

I dunno. I didn't make it over to Fantasy land.

But I did see the Little Mermaid.

Had her right in front. Check this out.

You know in the cartoon, in the commercials,

she's got those two shells covering her breasts?

Right, right.

Nothing-Get out of town.

These two enormous surf-and-turf tits

just hangin' out in the Disney daylight.

Damn! Yeah.

Apparently in Europe, seeing a woman's tits

is like an everyday thing.

So she's just sitting up there waving at the kids.

Families huddle around taking her picture.

Hair up in a bun? You better believe it.

Eh, this black motherfucking hairy-ass nigger's

gotta get his ass down there, I'm telling you that right now.

Shit! Look out!

You hit something.

Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.

Get that fuckin' bug off the hood of my car.

Ugh!

Uh-oh. No page numbers.

Fucking bug, huh. We should have a grenade for this type of shit.

Maybe we just spray him with your Jeri curl.

Say, man, this is real hair, OK'? Helps a nigger's hair relax.

You wouldn't know nothing about that shit.

Why don't you relax? How many of them up there, man?

The whole place is probably crawling with them.

And only sends two of us'? Well, you know Monticello.

Damn, we should have a fuckin' Uzi.

Will you stop that...

Is that the revolutionary new pesticide you been working on?

Eh, man, that's gonna get this brother out of this bullshit exterminating suits

into an Armani suit.

I might even end up with a Porsche. Like most fly niggers.

Eh, Julius, it's a fuckin' doughnut.

This is a lethal puff pastry.

Within the walls of this flaky golden crust

is a Bavarian cream laced with DDT.

Enough to exterminate a whole tenement.

Lay one of these suckers on the kitchen counter,

you wake up the next morning, it's like fucking cockroach Jonestown.

Yeah, and kill an entire family. Huh'?

You can't leave a fuckin' poisonous doughnut laying on the counter.

Somebody's gonna eat it.

Not if you tell them it's poisonous.

I said, would you shut... Give me that fuckin' doughnut.

...that goddamn dog up?! We spray once.

Oh, man. And that's it.

But then they gonna come right back. Uh-huh, then we'll come back.

That's how we make a living.

No, that's how Monticello makes a fuckin' living.

I don't get paid enough for this bullshit.

Say, you know what they call an eclair in New Zealand'?

So, what's her name again? Mimi.

They say she's plump. Yeah.

Used to be an exotic dancer.

Monticello likes his women party-size.

Oh, yeah? Not me. I don't like fat chicks.

Yeah, right. I don't.

Yeah, OK. Serious, man.

Yeah, whatever. Fat, me, no can do.

Uh-huh. Yeah, right. I'm tellin' you.

Let me tell you something - 200 years ago,

you would've been singing a different tune, my friend.

Is that so'? Yes.

A man's prowess was measured by the size of his wife.

The bigger, the better, OK'?

Fat women were revered.

200 years ago, that little mermaid at Euro Disney

would've looked more like Free Willy.

I hear this Mimi is a real handful.

Remember that kung-fu dude with the black belt and the nunchaks,

Tony Krakatoa?

Used to call him Polly Want a Cracker?