If you want the fucking part, earn it!

Terence Fletcher

Terence Fletcher: Now are you a rusher, or are you a dragger or are you gonna be on my fucking time?
Andrew: I'll be on your time.

[after being replaced by another drummer] Are you serious? That shit?

Andrew

[to Connelly] HEY, FUCK OFF JOHNY UTAH! TURN MY PAGES, BITCH!

Andrew

Terence Fletcher: Were you rushing or were you dragging?
Andrew: I-I don't know.
Terence Fletcher: Start counting!
Andrew: Five, six...
Terence Fletcher: In four, dammit! Look at me!
Andrew: One, two, three, four.
Andrew: One, two, three, four.
Andrew: One, two, three...
Terence Fletcher: Now, was I rushing or I was dragging?
Andrew: I don't know.
Terence Fletcher: Count again.
Andrew: One, two, three, four.
Andrew: One, two, three, four.
Andrew: One, two, three, four...
Terence Fletcher: Rushing or dragging?
Andrew: Rushing.
Terence Fletcher: [yelling] So, you do know the difference!

That is not your boyfriend's dick, so don't come too early.

Terence Fletcher

[Repeated line] Not my tempo.

Terence Fletcher

I can still fucking see you, Mini Me!

Terence Fletcher

And here comes mister gay pride of the Upper West Side himself. Unfortunately, this is not a Bette Midler concert, we will not be serving Cosmopolitans and Baked Alaska, so just play faster than you give fucking hand jobs, will you please?

Terence Fletcher

Terence Fletcher: Do you think you're out of tune? What are you... there's no fucking Mars Bar down there, what are you looking at? Look up here, look at me. Do you think you were out of tune?
Metz: Yes.
Terence Fletcher: THEN WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T YOU SAY SO? Carried your fat ass for too long Metz, I'm not gonna have you cost us a competition because your minds on a fucking happy meal instead of on pitch.

For the record, Metz wasn't out of tune. You were, Erickson, but he didn't know and that's bad enough.

Terence Fletcher

Terence Fletcher: I don't think people understood what it was I was doing at Shaffer. I wasn't there to conduct. Any fucking moron can wave his arms and keep people in tempo. I was there to push people beyond what's expected of them. I believe that is... an absolute necessity. Otherwise, we're depriving the world of the next Louis Armstrong. The next Charlie Parker. I told you about how Charlie Parker became Charlie Parker, right?
Andrew: Jo Jones threw a cymbal at his head.
Terence Fletcher: Exactly. Parker's a young kid, pretty good on the sax. Gets up to play at a cutting session, and he fucks it up. And Jones nearly decapitates him for it. And he's laughed off-stage. Cries himself to sleep that night, but the next morning, what does he do? He practices. And he practices and he practices with one goal in mind, never to be laughed at again. And a year later, he goes back to the Reno and he steps up on that stage, and plays the best motherfucking solo the world has ever heard. So imagine if Jones had just said

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