Customer at Quick Stop: Are you even supposed to be here today?
Dante Hicks: Don't get me started.

Randal Graves: That was definitely worse than "Clash of the Titans."
Dante Hicks: I can't believe Judi Dench played me.
Randal Graves: Remind me to renew that restraining order.
Dante Hicks: Why?
Randal Graves: Because I'm going to blast that flick on the Internet tonight.

I don't get out to the movies that much, but "Bluntman and Chronic" was blunt-tastic.


Affleck, you the bomb in "Phantoms," yo!


Missy: Oh my god, he just called Sissy 'Juggs'.
Chrissy: I'm on it.
[pulls out knife]
Jay: What's with the knife, we havin' cake or something?
Chrissy: Great, he's retarded to boot.
Jay: [to Silent Bob] Dude, she called you retarded.

Willenholly: Put the monkey down, and your hands up. Let's go, misters. Do you want to get shot? I didn't think so.
Jay: Look, man. She doesn't want to go back to the lab. And for the record, I ain't gay.
Willenholly: And for the record, while we're one the subject, I knew that wasn't a real little boy.
Jay: And for one more record, he loves the cock.

Hey. Get the fuck off her. That's my ex-girlfriend's monkey.


Sissy: Your shit is really getting tired, Justice.
Justice: Call me 'Boo-Boo-Kitty-Fuck', bitch.

Justice: Hi, I'm Justice.
Jay: And I'm so fucking yours.

I hope one rips the other one's shirt off and we see some fuckin titties floppin around, yeah!


[on message board] All you motherfuckers are gonna pay. You are the ones who are the ball-lickers. We're gonna fuck your mothers while you watch and cry like little bitches. Once we get to Hollywood and find those Miramax fucks who are making that movie, we're gonna make 'em eat our shit, then shit out our shit, then eat their shit which is made up of our shit that we made 'em eat. Then you're all you motherfucks are next. Love, Jay and Silent Bob.


Brodie: Oh my God. Don't tell me you have no idea there's a movie being made of the comic you two were the basis for.
Jay: What? Since when?
Brodie: See, here's the pulse. And this is your finger, far away from the pulse, jammed straight up your ass. Say, would you like a chocolate covered pretzel?

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