Reservoir Dogs

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Reservoir Dogs is a 1992 film about a group of ruthless criminals who gather at their warehouse hideout after a botched diamond store heist, which left two of their number missing or dead, and soon begin to realize that there is a police informant among them.

Written and directed by Quentin Tarantino.
Every "dog" has its day.Taglines

Mr. White

  • If you kill that man, you die next. Repeat: if you kill that man, you die next.
  • The choice between doing ten years and taking out some stupid motherfucker, ain't no choice at all. But I ain't no madman either.
  • You shoot me in a dream, you better wake up and apologize.
  • Cut off one of his fingers...the little one.

Mr. Pink

  • 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 show me a piece of paper 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 this non-college bullshit you're givin' me, 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.
  • [rubs his middle finger and thumb against each other] You know what this is? It's the world's smallest violin, playing just for the waitresses.
  • Where's the commode in this dungeon? I gotta take a squirt.
  • Somebody's shoved a red-hot poker up our ass, and I want to know whose name is on the handle!
  • I don't wanna kill anybody. But if I gotta get out that door, and you're standing in my way, one way or the other, you're gettin' outta my way.

Mr. Blonde

  • If you keep talking like a bitch, I'm gonna slap you like one.
  • Listen kid, I'm not gonna bullshit you, all right? I don't give a good fuck what you know, or don't know, but I'm gonna torture you anyway, regardless. Not to get information. It's amusing, to me, to torture a cop. You can say anything you want, 'cause I've heard it all before. All you can do is pray for a quick death, which you ain't gonna get.
  • Are you gonna bark all day, little doggy, or are you gonna bite?
  • BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM. If they hadn't a done what I told them not to do they would still be alive.
  • Alone at last.
  • [after cutting off Marvin Nash's ear] Was that as good for you as it was for me? [steps back and begins talking to the ear] Hey what's goin' on? Can you hear that?

Mr. Orange

  • [about Joe Cabot] The Thing. Motherfucker looks just like The Thing.
  • Fuck you! Fuck you! I'm fucking dying here, I'm fucking dying!!
  • Don't pussy out on me now. They don't know. They don't know shit. You're not gonna get hurt. You're fucking beretta. They believe every fucking word 'cause you're super cool.


  • Mr. Brown: You guys are, like, making me lose my train of thought, here. I was sayin' something, what was it?
  • Mr. Brown: Mr. Brown? That sounds too much like Mr. Shit.
  • Joe Cabot: So, you guys like to tell jokes, huh? Gigglin' and laughin' like a bunch of young broads sittin' in a schoolyard. Well, let me tell a joke. Four guys, sittin' in a bullpen, in San Quentin. All wondering how the fuck they got there. What should we have done, what didn't we do, who's fault is it, is it my fault, your fault, his fault, all that bullshit. Then one of them says, hey. Wait a minute. When we were planning this caper, all we did was sit around tellin' fuckin' jokes! Get the message? Boys, I don't mean to holler at ya. When this caper's over - and I'm sure it'll be a successful one - we'll get down to the Cayman Islands, hell, I'll roll and laugh with all of ya. You'll find me a different character down there. Right now, it's a matter of business.
  • Nice Guy Eddie: If you fucking beat this prick long enough, he'll tell you he started the goddamn Chicago fire, now that don't necessarily make it fucking so!


Mr. Pink: You wanna fuck with me? I'll show you who you're fucking with!
Mr. White: You wanna shoot me, you little piece of shit? Go ahead. Take a shot.
Mr. Pink: Fuck you, White. I didn't create the situation, I'm dealing with it! You're acting like a first-year fucking thief, I'm acting like a professional! They get him, they get you. They get you, they get closer to me and that can't happen! You're looking at me like it's my fault? I didn't tell him my name, I didn't tell him where I was from! Shit, fifteen minutes ago, you almost told me your name. Your buddy got stuck in a situation you created. So if you wanna throw bad looks somewhere, go look in a mirror!
Mr. Blonde: You kids shouldn't play so rough. Somebody's gonna start crying.

Mr. Orange: What happens if the manager won't give you the diamonds?
Mr. White: 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 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.

Mr. Pink: We ain't taking him to a hospital.
Mr. White: If we don't, he's gonna die.
Mr. Pink: And I'm very sad about that, but some fellas are lucky and some ain't.

Mr. White: [snatches Joe's address book] Give me this fucking thing.
Joe: What do you think you're doing? Give me back my book!
Mr. White: I'm sick of fucking hearing it Joe, I'll give it back to you when we leave.
Joe: What do you mean, give it to me when we leave, give it back now.
Mr. White: For the past fifteen minutes, you've been droning on about names. Toby. Toby? Toby? Toby Wong. Toby Wong? Toby Wong. Toby Chung? Fucking Charlie Chan. I got Madonna's big dick coming out of my left ear, and Toby the Jap... I-don't-know-what coming out of my right.

Mr. Pink: But why am I "Mr. Pink"?
Joe Cabot: Because you're a fucking faggot! All right?

Mr. Brown: O.K., let me tell you what Like a Virgin's about. It's all about this cooze who's a regular fuck machine, I'm talking morning, day, night, afternoon, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick.
Mr. Blue: How many dicks is that?
Mr. White: A lot.
Mr. Brown: Then one day she meets this John Holmes motherfucker and it's like, whoa baby, I mean this cat is like Charles Bronson in the Great Escape, he's digging tunnels. Now, she's gettin' the serious dick action and she's feeling something she ain't felt since forever. Pain. Pain. It hurts her. It shouldn't hurt her, you know her pussy should be Bubble Yum by now, but when this cat fucks her it hurts. It hurts just like it did the first time. You see the pain is reminding a fuck machine what it once was like to be a virgin. Hence, "Like a Virgin."

Nice Guy Eddie: C'mon, throw in a buck!
Mr. Pink: Uh-uh, I don't tip.
Nice Guy Eddie: You don't tip?
Mr. Pink: I don't believe in it.
Nice Guy Eddie: You don't believe in tipping?
Mr. Blue: You know what these chicks make? They make shit.
Mr. Pink: Don't give me that. She don't make enough money, she can quit.
Nice Guy Eddie: I don't even know a fucking Jew who'd have the balls to say that. Let me get this straight: you never ever tip, huh?
Mr. Pink: I don't tip because society says I have to. Alright, I tip when somebody really deserves a tip. If they put forth an effort, I'll give them something extra. But I mean, this tipping automatically, that's for the birds. As far as I'm concerned they're just doing their job.
Mr. Blue: Hey, this girl was nice.
Mr. Pink: She was okay. But she wasn't anything special.
Mr. Blue: What's special? Take you in the back and suck your dick?
Nice Guy Eddie: I'd go over twelve percent for that.

Nice Guy Eddie: Did you see that daddy? Guy got me on the ground and he tried to fuck me.
Vic Vega (aka Mr. Blonde): You wish.
Nice Guy Eddie: Listen Vic, I don't mind what you do, but don't try to fuck me in my father's office, I don't think of you that way. I like you a lot man, but I don't think of you that way.
Vic: Eddie, if I was a butt cowboy, I wouldn't even throw you to the posse.
Nice Guy Eddie: Of course not, you'd keep me for yourself, you sick bastard. Four years of fuckin' punks up the ass you'd appreciate a piece of prime rib when you see one.

Mr. Blonde: Hey Joe, you want me to shoot this guy?
Mr. White: [laughs] Shit... You shoot me in a dream, you better wake up and apologize.

Mr. Orange: 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.
Mr. White: What for?
Mr. Orange: 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...
Nice Guy Eddie: Wait a minute. You go to the train station to pick up the buyer with the weed on you?
Mr. Orange: 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.
Nice Guy Eddie: They're waiting for you?
Mr. Orange: 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.
Mr. White: [laughs] That's hard, man. That's a fucking hard situation.
Mr. Orange: 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.

Mr. Pink: You kill anybody?
Mr. White: A few cops.
Mr. Pink: No real people?
Mr. White: Just cops.

Mr. Brown: I'm blind, man. I'm fucking blind.
Mr. Orange: You're not blind, you've just got blood in your eyes.

Mr. Pink: This is so fucking bad... Is it bad?
Mr. White: As opposed to good?

Nice Guy Eddie: Let me say this out loud, 'cause I wanna get it straight in my head. You're saying that Mr. Blonde was gonna kill you, then when we got back, he was going kill us, take the satchel of diamonds, and scram. I'm right about that, right? That's correct? That's your story?
Mr. Orange: I swear on my mother's eternal soul that's what happened.
Nice Guy Eddie: The man you just killed was just released from prison. He got caught at a company warehouse full of hot items. He could've fuckin' walked. All he had to do was say my dad's name, but he didn't; he kept his fucking mouth shut. And did his fuckin' time, and he did it like a man. He did four years for us. So, Mr. Orange, you're tellin' me this very good friend of mine, who did four years for my father, who in four years never made a deal, no matter what they dangled in front of him, you're telling me that now, that now this man is free, and we're making good on our commitment to him, he's just gonna decide, out of the fucking blue, to rip us off? Why don't you tell me what really happened?
Joe: [walks in] What the hell for? It'd just be more bullshit.

Joe Cabot: This man set us up.
Nice Guy Eddie: Dad I'm sorry but I really don't know what's going on here.
Joe Cabot: That's all right Eddie, I'll fill in the blanks for you.
Mr. White: What are you talking about.
Joe Cabot: That lump of shit's working for the LAPD.
Mr. Orange: Joe, I don't have the single, slightest fucking idea what you're talking about.
Mr. White: Joe I don't know what you think you know, but you're wrong. I know this man, he wouldn't do that.
Joe Cabot: You don't know shit I do the cocksucker tipped off the cops and got Mr. Brown and Mr. Blue killed.
Mr. Pink: Mr. Blue is dead?
Joe Cabot: Dead as Dillinger.
Mr. White: How do you know all of this?
Joe Cabot: He was the only one I wasn't a hundred percent on. I should have my fucking head examined going in when I wasn't a hundred percent sure.
Mr. White: That's your proof?!
Joe Cabot: [Draws a gun and aims at Orange] You don't need proof when you got instinct. I ignored it before but no more.

[Mr. White draws a gun and aims at Joe. And Eddie draws a gun and aims at White.]

Nice Guy Eddie: Have you lost your fucking mind?
Mr. White: Joe you are making a mistake, I won't let you do it.
Mr. Pink: Come on guys. We're supposed to be acting like fucking professionals.
Mr. White: Joe you shoot that man, you die next. Repeat: You shoot that man, you die next.
Nice Guy Eddie: Larry, it's been a long time, a lot of jobs. We've been through a lot of shit. You respect me and I respect you, but I will put bullets in your heart if you don't put that fucking gun down now. Let's all just put our guns down and settle this with a fucking conversation.
Mr. White: Goddamn you, Joe. Don't make me do this.

[White, Eddie, Joe and Orange are all shot simultaniously.]

Mr. Orange: Oh God! Shit! I'm gonna die, Larry! I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die!
Mr. White: Just hold on, buddy boy!
Mr. Orange: I'm gonna die!
Mr. White: Hey!
Mr. Orange: I'm sorry! I can't...
Mr. White: Hey there!
Mr. Orange: The fucking crawdad!
Mr. White: Hey! Just cancel that shit, right now! You're hurt, you're hurt real fucking bad, but you ain't dying!
Mr. Orange: I'm gonna die! This blood's scaring the shit outta me, Larry! I'm gonna die, I know it!
Mr. White: Oh, excuse me, I didn't realise you had a degree in medicine! Uh... ah... are you a doctor? Are you a doctor? Answer me please! Are you a doctor? Huh?
Mr. Orange: No, I'm not.
Mr. White: OK! So you admit you don't know what you're talking about! So, when you're through giving me your ameteur opinion, just lie back and listen to the news! I'm taking you back to the rendezvous, Joe's gonna get you a doctor, the doctor's gonna fix you up, and you're gonna be ok! Now say it! You're gonna be ok! SAY IT! [sings] You're gonna be ok! Say the goddamn words, you're gonna be ok!
Mr. Orange: [groans] Oh, God!
Mr. White: [shouts] Say the goddamn fucking words! Say it!
Mr. Orange: I'm ok, Larry
Mr. White: Correct! Correct!
Mr. Orange: I'm ok...


  • Every "dog" has its day.
  • Five Total Strangers Team Up For The Perfect Crime. They Don't Know Each Other's Name. But They've Got Each Other's Color.
  • Four perfect killers. One perfect crime. Now all they have to fear is each other.
  • Let's go to work.
  • Let's get the job done.


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