Joe Pesci responds to some everyday questions with the typical level-headed charm we've come to expect of him.
Can you help me? You think I been standin' in line all fuckin' day for my fuckin' health? You think I got nothin' better to do than wait around for you to get off your ass and decree me worthy of your assistance? Why don't you come over here and help jerk me off? 'Cause I ain't had to do that since I moved next door to your sister.
What's up? You ask me that like you think I don't know what's up? You don't ask me what's goin' down 'cause I'm short, is that it? Fuckin' little guy couldn't possibly know "what's up?" I got miles of intestines, motherfucker! I got sperms taller than you! Fuck you!
Yeah, I have driven a Ford lately. I took a test drive right over your fuckin' mother. I was gonna send you a picture, 'cause she didn't have time to get the dead deer' dick out of her mouth.
No, I do not want fries with that. Did I ask for fries? What is it about my voice that inspires you to conclude my life would be made better if only I had some fries? You know what? I don't even fuckin' want anything anymore. I'm gonna pull outta line and fuck up your pansy-ass computer. How do you like them fuckin' apples? You arrogant, fry-pushing asshole.
Is it hot enough out here for me? You're outside too, right? And your skin has the ability to differentiate between hot and cold, correct? So what the fuck do you care if it's hot enough for me? Does the sweat on my brow amuse you? Am I your fuckin' thermometer? Am I a little flamenco weatherman dancin' around with fuckin' finger cymbals for your entertainment?
No, I don't got a light. I got a lighter. Do you think I'm too stupid understand your fancy "one who," "that which" suffix? Is presuming my illiteracy enjoyable to you? Yeah, I got a light all right. But maybe I should just shove that fuckin' cigarette down your throat instead.
What's the good word? I don't know--why don't you tell me? Maybe you think I don't know what the good word is because I got a limited vocabulary by your standards? Well, I know a lotta bad words, you despicable cock slurping ne'er-do-well asshole shit sucking layabout jagoff motherless fuck bastard.
It's hangin' just fuckin' perfect, all right? Why the fuck do you feel the need to ask me about the state of my genitals? Is it 'cause you get envious every time you change that little fuckin' prick' diapers? Well if you must know, it' hangin' like a fuckin' bulletproof steel pendulum. You could fuckin' navigate by it all the way to hell. Call me Ishmael, you fuckin' prick.
Yeah, I got milk. But I keep it at home in the fuckin' refrigerator like a normal person. Do I have to carry a gallon jug around in my car to make you happy? Can I read a fuckin' magazine without a fuckin' glass of milk in my fuckin' hand in case you should ask?