Here we are again, bro, just you and me. Same kind of moon and same kind of jungle. Real number 10 night, remember? Whole platoon, 32 men chopped into meat, and we walk out, just you and me. Nobody else. Right on top, bro. Not a scratch. Not a fucking scratch. You know, whoever got you, he'll come back again, and when he does, I'm gonna cut your name right into him. I'm gonna cut your name into him.
When we go headlong into memories, we lose touch with the present. The brighter the memory, the happier our past seems, but one day these memories turn into hatred and then we lose the ability to move forward into the future. Heavy chains, whose name is "revenge", bind our hearts. Tears of sorrow cover our eyes...
— What about this? Evidence?
— Evidence my ass. Where we're headed that's better than cash.
— As long as it's all official business, right?
— Well, if you knew this car was a girl name Charlotte.
— Charlotte!
— Yeah.
— Scored some shit at that Chinese restaurant and next thing you know she was overdosing.
— You got me riding in along on some personal off the book job?
— Fuck! yeah it's personal. Trying to take it down to some kid who lost a party.
— Look! I'm sorry about your friend, Charlotte, whoever she is... but if this isn't about national security I'm not going along with this.
— It is when she is the Secretary of Defence’s niece.
— The Secretary Of Defence wants us to shut these guys down, right?
— The whole operation, top to bottom, chef to chief, you got a problem with that?
— Hmm Nope.
— Good.
— Hey, Delilah. You're a pain in my ass, you know?
— Get out of here now. You can't handle this information density.
— Ah, good point. Thanks. So you're the one. You're in the mirror Anji was talking about.
— Big Sis...
— We're going.
— Huh?
— We're going. Together. And we'll stay together. Night and day. We'll eat and we'll laugh together. Our revenge... Let's give up. Together.
— Ballpeen's casa at 7:00.
— Where in the fuck a nigger get a name like that?
— You seen little nigger's arm, right?
— Oh, yeah.
— That's why they call him Ballpeen. He broke Jimmy's arm... with a ten-pound ball peen hammer. Three years ago "Lester James", a.k.a. Ballpeen, was a big, stud motherfucker. Had a stable of bitches he fucked on a regular basis, but every couple weeks... he went out to get some strange. One night, Lester finds himself in this titty bar, and this knockout white girl named Raven, is just gyrating her little tits off. Well, Lester wanted her in the worst way. Even more when she told him to go fuck himself. He sprinkles a little fairy dust on her, somehow gets her to go back to his place. That was all she wrote. He "abused" this bitch. He fucked her every way you can think of and then some. Finally, he gets ready to go again, and he figures he'd "really" degrade this bitch and make her blow him. So, he pushes her head down and, bam! She bites that motherfucker's dick... clean off. Fortunately, they found it and sewed it back on. But it never worked right again. The problem is, a story like that gets around, you know how it is. So to combat this, anytime he even heard anybody talk about it, he'd use this fuckin' hammer on them. "Ballpeen" kind of stuck.
— And Jimmy?
— Over the years, this kind of shit gets out of control. So one day, Ballpeen, shows up late for a meeting and Jimmy made the mistake of asking if he'd been jerking off. Next thing you know,
Jimmy's got a broken arm.
They say there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Well, I’d like to add one more...revenge.
Weak people revenge. Strong people forgive. Intelligent people ignore.