It did sound a little wet, there didn't it? Right at the end! Oooh! Heh heh heh. Let's have a smell, all right? Oh, everyone likes their own brand, don't they? Oh, this is magic! Hmmm, wafting, wafting. Ok, analysis. Ooh, smells like carrots in throw-up! Oh that could gag a maggot! I smell like hot sick... ass in a dead carcass! Even stink would say that stinks! You know when you go into an apartment building and you smell the other people's cooking on each floor and you go "What are they cookin'?" That, plus crap!

Fat Bastard

[singing] He's got the Midas touch, but he touched it too much. Hey, Goldmember. Hey, Goldmember. He's got a golden pad, he's super bad. Hey, Goldmember. Hey, Goldmember.

Foxxy Cleopatra

I vant everyone to have an Amsterdam good time.

Goldmember

I don't know how to be no crib on MTV, God only knows, got my mini-me and the GP see how it goes. Evil's all that I see, you ask me my name? D to the rizzo, E to the vizzo, I to the lizzo. I'm a crazy motherfucker, y'all knew that. Austin caught me in the first act, it's all backwards, what's up with that? So I'll make a prophecy from the dogs to the mini-me. Gimme and Escalade, two way, bling-bling on eBay. DOMINO, motherfucker!

Dr. Evil

Fook Mi: Do we make you sleepy?
Austin Powers: Well, you make me many things but "sleepy" isn't one of them.

Twins, Basil. Twins.

Austin Powers

Foxxy Cleopatra: Hey. What's kickin', Basil?
Basil Exposition: A lot is kicking, Foxxy.

Young Dr. Evil: Would it kill you to put on some clothes? Honestly it's like living with frickin Sasquatch.
Young Austin Powers: Hey, have you seen my Balzac?
Young Dr. Evil: I'm looking at your Balzac right now.

Oh great. Isn't this magical?

Fat Bastard

Charles: Any idea who the girl in the black hat is?
Fiona: The name's Carrie.
Charles: Pretty.
Fiona: American.
Charles: Interesting.
Fiona: Slut.
Charles: Really?
Fiona: Used to work at Vogue. Lives in America now. Only gets out with very glamorous people. Quite out of your league.
Charles: Well, that's a relief. Thanks.

Tom: Splendid, I thought. What did you think?
Bernard: I, thought, splendid! What did you think?
Tom: Splendid, I thought.

Matthew: Gareth used to prefer funerals to weddings. He said it was easier to get enthusiastic about a ceremony one had an outside chance of eventually being involved in. In order to prepare this speech, I rang a few people, to get a general picture of how Gareth was regarded by those who met him. Fat seems to be a word people most connected with him. Terribly rude also rang a lot of bells. So very fat and very rude seems to have been a stranger's viewpoint. On the other hand, some of you have been kind enough to ring me to tell me that you loved him, which I know he'd be thrilled to hear. You remember his fabulous hospitality... his strange experimental cooking. The recipe for "Duck à la Banana" fortunately goes with him to his grave. Most of all, you tell me of his enormous capacity for joy. When joyful, when joyful for highly vocal drunkenness. But joyful is how I hope you'll remember him. Not stuck in a box in a church. Pick your favorite of his waistcoats and remember him that way. The most splendid, replete, big-hearted, weak-hearted as it turned out, and jolly bugger most of us ever met. As for me, you may ask how I'll remember him, what I thought of him. Unfortunately there I run out of words. Perhaps you will forgive me if I turn from my own feelings to the words of another splendid bugger: W.H. Auden. This is actually what I want to say: "Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone. Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone. Silence the pianos and with muffled drum, Bring out the coffin... let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle, moaning overhead, Scribbling on the sky the message: He is Dead. Put crepe bows 'round the necks of public doves, Let traffic policemen wear black, cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East, my West. My working week and my Sunday rest. My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song, I thought love would last forever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now, put out every one. Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun. Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood, For nothing now can ever come to any good."

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