— Just a club soda, I'm driving.
— It's an open bar, cutie.
— Give me a bucket of Scotch.
— It must be my guardian angel. It's the only explanation. It was as if the phone booth was calling me. It rang and rang.
— Same here. The microwave's calling me.
— Well, I knew I would because me and Bucco, we go way back.
— Bucho.
— Him too.
— Would you take a look at that guy? I mean, where are the real fighters gonna come from? The pros. All we got today are jig clowns.
— Clowns?
— That's right. Clowns.
<...>
— You callin' Apollo Creed a clown?
— Well, what else? Look at him.
<...>
— Hey, are you crazy? This man is champion of the world. He took his best shot and became champ. Huh? What shot did you ever take?
We all are looking for someone. That's the very essence of human nature, isn't it? It's an eternal quest.
— A double Irish.
— Can't do, buddy. I'm closed.
— Listen up. I'm only gonna say this once. I ain't your buddy. When I ask for a drink, you say, Ice with that, sir? Now let's begin again. A double Irish.
— You want ice with that, sir?
— Don't be ridiculous. Who needs ice?
— That'll be five quid, sir.
— Like you said... you're closed.
— How much has he had?
— None. That's the first one, and he hasn't touched it yet. He just likes to hold it.
— The bartender lived? The bartender never gets killed.
— No, man, the bartender got it worse than anybody.