Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Oh, where do I go from here, Charlie?
Charlie Simms: If you're tangled up, just tango on.
Lt. Col. Frank Slade: You askin' me to dance, Charlie?

Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Clear them little bottles off. And when I get off the phone here, call up Hyman and tell him I want it wall to wall with John Daniels.
Charlie Simms: Don't you mean Jack Daniels?
Lt. Col. Frank Slade: He may be Jack to you son, but when you've known him as long as I have... that's a joke.

Touch me again, I'll kill ya, you little son-of-a-bitch! I touch you. Understand?

Lt. Col. Frank Slade

Lt. Col. Frank Slade: How's your skin, son?
Charlie Simms: My skin, sir?
Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Oh, for Christ's sake.

Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Haven't you heard? CONSCIENCE is daihed.
Charlie Simms: No, I haven't heard.
Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Well, then, take the fuckin' WAX outta your ears! GROW UP! It's fuck your buddy. Cheat on your wife. Call your mother on Mother's Day. Charlie, it's all shit.

Lt. Col. Frank Slade: I don't know if Charlie's silence here today is right or wrong; I'm not a judge or jury. But I can tell you this: he won't sell anybody out to buy his future!

Can't believe they're my blood. I.Q. of sloths and the manners of banshees. He's a mechanic, she's a homemaker. He knows as much about cars as a beauty queen, and she bakes cookies, taste like wing nuts. As for the tots, they're twits.

Lt. Col. Frank Slade

Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Your father pedals car telephones at a 300 percent markup. Your mother works on heavy commission at a camera store. Graduated to it from espresso machines. Hah!
[pause]
Lt. Col. Frank Slade: What are you, dying of some wasting disease?
Charlie Simms: No, I'm right - I'm right here.
Lt. Col. Frank Slade: I know exactly where your body is. What I'm looking for is some indication of a brain. Too much football without a helmet? Hah! Lyndon's line on Gerry Ford. Deputy debriefer, Paris, peace talks, '68. Snagged a silver star and a silver bar. Threw me into G-2.
Charlie Simms: G-2?
Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Intelligence. Of which you have none.

You sharpshootin' me, punk? Is that what you're doin'? Don't you sharpshoot me! You'll give me forty. Then you're gonna give me forty more. Then you're gonna pull K.P., the grease pit! I'll rub your NOSE in enlisted men's CRUD till you don't know WHICH END IS UP! YOU UNDERSTAND?

Lt. Col. Frank Slade

Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Just call me Frank. Call me Mr. Slade. Call me... Colonel, if you must, just don't call me 'Sir'.
Charlie Simms: All right. Colonel.

Tickets. Money. Speech. Old Washington joke... from my days with Lyndon.

Lt. Col. Frank Slade

Out of order, I show you out of order. You don't know what out of order is, Mr. Trask. I'd show you, but I'm too old, I'm too tired, I'm too fuckin' blind. If I were the man I was five years ago, I'd take a FLAMETHROWER to this place! Out of order? Who the hell do you think you're talkin' to? I've been around, you know? There was a time I could see. And I have seen. Boys like these, younger than these, their arms torn out, their legs ripped off. But there isn't nothin' like the sight of an amputated spirit. There is no prosthetic for that. You think you're merely sending this splendid foot soldier back home to Oregon with his tail between his legs, but I say you are... executin' his soul! And why? Because he's not a Bairdman. Bairdmen. You hurt this boy, you're gonna be Baird bums, the lot of ya. And Harry, Jimmy, Trent, wherever you are out there, FUCK YOU TOO!

Lt. Col. Frank Slade

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