A way out west there was a fella, fella I want to tell you about, fella by the name of Jeff Lebowski. At least, that was the handle his lovin' parents gave him, but he never had much use for it himself. This Lebowski, he called himself the Dude. Now, Dude, that's a name no one would self-apply where I come from. But then, there was a lot about the Dude that didn't make a whole lot of sense to me. And a lot about where he lived, like-wise. But then again, [...]
**
Dude: You brought a fucking Pomeranian
bowling?
Walter: What do you mean "brought it bowling?" I didn't rent it shoes. I'm not
buying it a fucking beer. He's not
gonna take your fucking turn, Dude.
Dude: Hey, man, if my fucking ex-wife asked
me to take care of her fucking dog
while she and her boyfriend went to
Honolulu, I'd tell her to go fuck
herself. Why can't she board it?
Walter: First of all, Dude, you don't have
an ex, secondly, it's a fucking show
dog with fucking papers. You can't
board it. It gets upset, its hair
falls out.
Dude: Hey man--
Walter: Fucking dog has papers, Dude.
**
Walter: That wasn't her toe.
Dude: Whose toe was it, Walter?
Walter: How the fuck should I know? I do
know that nothing about it indicates--
Dude: The nail polish, Walter.
Walter: Fine, Dude. As if it's impossible
to get some nail polish, apply it to
someone else's toe--
Dude: Someone else's--where the fuck are
they gonna find--
Walter: You want a toe? I can get you a
toe, believe me. There are ways,
Dude. You don't wanna know about
it, believe me.
Dude: But Walter--
Walter: I'll get you a toe by this
afternoon--with nail polish. These
fucking amateurs. They send us a
toe, we're supposed to shit our-selves with fear. Jesus Christ. My
point is--
Dude: They're gonna kill her, Walter, and
then they're gonna kill me--
Walter: Well that's just, that's the stress
talking, Dude. So far we have what
looks to me like a series of
victimless crimes--
Dude: What about the toe?
Walter: FORGET ABOUT THE FUCKING TOE!
**
Dude: I figure my only hope is that the
big Lebowski kills me before the
Germans can cut my dick off.
Walter: Now that is ridiculous, Dude. No
one is going to cut your dick off.
Dude: Yeah, thanks Walter. That gives me
a very secure feeling.
Walter: Dude--
Dude: That makes me feel all warm inside.
Walter: Now Dude--
Dude: This whole fucking thing-- I could
be sitting here with just pee-stains
on my rug.
**
Dude: Walter, come off it. You're not
even fucking Jewish, you're fucking Polish Catholic--
Walter: What the fuck are you talking about?
I converted when I married Cynthia!
Come on, Dude! You know this!
Dude: And you were divorced five fucking
years ago.
Walter: Yeah? What do you think happens
when you get divorced? You turn in
your library card? Get a new driver's
license? Stop being Jewish?
**
The Stranger: The Dude abides. I don't know about you, but I take
comfort in that. It's good knowin'
he's out there, the Dude, takin' her
easy for all us sinners. Shoosh. [...] Wal, uh hope you folks enjoyed
yourselves. Catch ya further on down the trail.
