Narrator: You had to give it to him: he had a plan. And it started to make sense, in a Tyler sort of way. No fear. No distractions. The ability to let that which does not matter truly slide.

Frank: I had an awesome time!
Beanie: I know that you had an awesome time. I think the entire town knows you had an awesome time.

Tyler Durden: We're consumers. We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty, these things don't concern me. What concerns me are celebrity magazines, television with 500 channels, some guy's name on my underwear. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra.
Narrator: Martha Stewart.
Tyler Durden: Fuck Martha Stewart. Martha's polishing the brass on the Titanic. It's all going down, man. So fuck off with your sofa units and Strinne green stripe patterns.

Mitch: Beanie, you remember Cheese, Rodney's kid brother?
Dean Pritchard: Actually, my name's not Cheese anymore. It's Gordon Pritchard.
Beanie: Oh yeah. Cheeeeeese. Yeah, didn't we lock you in a dumpster one time?
Dean Pritchard: Yea, I got out.
Beanie: Cool man. Good. Glad you did.

Marla Singer: I got this dress at a thrift store for one dollar.
Narrator: It was worth every penny.
Marla Singer: It's a bridesmaid's dress. Someone loved it intensely for one day, and then tossed it. Like a Christmas tree. So special. Then, bam, it's on the side of the road.
[Grabs Narrator's crotch]
Marla Singer: Tinsel still clinging to it. Like a sex crime victim. Underwear inside out. Bound with electrical tape.
Narrator: Well, then it suits you.
Marla Singer: You can borrow it sometime.

Marla Singer: A condom is the glass slipper for our generation. You slip one on when you meet a stranger. You dance all night, and then you throw it away. The condom, I mean, not the stranger.
Narrator: What?

Except for their humping, Tyler and Marla were never in the same room. My parents pulled this exact same act for years.


Frank: I just wanna tell you guys thanks for being here. Best day ever.
Beanie: Frank, you need to walk away from this right now.

I got in everyone's hostile little face. Yes, these are bruises from fighting. Yes, I'm comfortable with that. I am enlightened.


Fight club wasn't about winning or losing. It wasn't about words. The hysterical shouting was in tongues, like at a Pentecostal Church.


With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels.


Narrator: Was it ticking?
Airport Security Officer: Actually throwers don't worry about ticking 'cause modern bombs don't tick.
Narrator: Sorry, throwers?
Airport Security Officer: Baggage handlers. But, when a suitcase vibrates, then the throwers gotta call the police.
Narrator: My suitcase was vibrating?
Airport Security Officer: Nine times out of ten it's an electric razor, but every once in a while it's a dildo. Of course it's company policy never to, imply ownership in the event of a dildo.

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