Barry: You don't have it? That is perverse! Don't tell anybody you don't own fucking "Blonde on Blonde". It's gonna be okay.
[Rob has just placed "Smells Like Teen Spirit" on a top five list]
Barry: Oh, that's not obvious enough Rob. How about the Beatles? Or fucking... fucking Beethoven? Side one, Track one of the Fifth Symphony... How can someone with no interest in music own a record store?
Barry: Oh, "The Killing Moon" EP - it's almost impossible to find - especially on CD. Yet another cool trick they played on all the dumbasses who got rid of their turntables. But, every other Echo and the Bunnymen album...
Barry's Customer: Yeah, I have all the other ones.
Barry: Oh, you do? Well, how about the Jesus and Mary Chain?
Barry's Customer: They always seemed...
Barry: They always seemed what? They always seemed really great is what they always seemed. They picked up where your precious Echo left off and you're sitting around complaining about no more Echo albums. I can't believe you don't own this fucking record.
[tosses the record to the customer and walks
away]
Barry: That's insane! Jesus!
Barry: Hey, it's half past a monkey's ass, let's go.
Dick: Oh, I can't meet you guys at the club tonight.
Barry: Why?
[Dick smiles]
Barry: Who are you going to see?
Dick: [grins bashfully] Nobody.
Barry: Rob! Loooky-looky! Dick, are you gettin' some?
[Dick pauses]
Barry: Oh-ho-ho! Un-fucking-believable! Dick's got a hot date! How did this happen, Dick? What rational explanation can there possibly be? What's her name?
Dick: Anaugh.
Barry: Anna? Anaconda?
Dick: Anaugh Moss.
Barry: [laughing] Anna M-ha-ha-oss? Is she all
green and fuzzy and mossy? And you met this bruiser where exactly? The home for the mentally challenged or the blind or the bus station?
Dick: Um, here. She asked me about the new Green Day album, and I told her...
Barry: Oh, man, finally! *Anna!* That's great, Dick! Really! Smoke that ass!
Laura: [Reading] Top Five Dream Jobs.
Rob: Hey, that's private.
Laura: Number One: Journalist for Rolling Stone magazine. 1976-1979. Get to meet the Clash, Chrissie Hydne, Sex Pistols, David Byrne. Get tons of free records. Number Two: Producer. Atlantic Records. 1964-1971. Get to meet Aretha, Wilson Pickett, Solomon Burke...
Laura, Rob: More free records...
Laura: And a shitload of money.
Rob: Yeah.
Laura: Number Three: Any kind of musician.
Rob: Besides classical or rap.
Laura: Settle for being one of the Memphis Horns or something. Not asking to be Jaggar or
Hendricks or Otis Redding. Number Four: Film Director.
Rob: Any kind except German or silent.
Laura: And Number Five: we have architect.
Rob: Yeah.
Laura: Seven years training.
Rob: I'm not sure I even want to be an architect.
Laura: So you've got a list
here of five things you'd do if qualifications and time and history and salary were no object.
Rob: Yeah.
Rob: I own this store called Champions Vinyl. It's located in a neighborhood that attracts the bare minimum of window shoppers. I get by because of the people who make a special effort to shop here - mostly young men - who spend all their time looking for deleted Smiths singles and original, not rereleased - underlined - Frank Zappa albums. Fetish properties are not unlike porn.
I'd feel guilty taking their money, if I wasn't... well... kinda one of them.
Rob: Just c'mon. What would it mean to you, that sentence - "I haven't seen Evil Dead II, yet"?
Barry: Well, to me it would mean you were a liar. You've seen it twice: once with Laura - Oops! - and once with me and Dick, remember? We had that conversation about the guy making Beretta shotgun ammunition offscreen in the 14th century.
Rob: [Discussing his break-up with Laura while on the phone with his mom] Laura didn't even want to get married. That's not what happens now.
Rob's Mom: [exasperated] Oh, I don't know what happens now, except you meet a girl, you move in, she goes! You meet a girl, you move in, SHE GOES!
Rob: Aw, SHUT UP, MOM!
[Slams the phone
receiver down, then muttering]
Rob: God damn, that's some cold shit!
Penny Hardwick: I... I was crazy about you. I wanted to sleep with you, one day, but not when I was 16. When you broke up with me - YOU broke up with ME - because I was, to use your charming expression, "tight," I cried, and I cried, and I hated you, and when that little shitbag asked me out and I was too tired to fight him off, it wasn't rape, because I said "OK," but it wasn't
far off! Do you know I couldn't have sex until after college because I hated it so much? That's when you're supposed to have sex, Rob - in college! And now you want to have a little chat about rejection, well fuck you, Rob!
[gets up and leaves]
Rob: [stunned silence, seemingly chastised] God, she's right. I broke up with her, I rejected her... that's ANOTHER one I
don't have to worry about. I should have done this years ago!
Charlie Nicholson: Fuck! I knew it ! I knew it! I knew it! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Rob: I could've wound up having sex back there. And what better way to exorcise rejection demons than to screw the person who rejected you, right? But you wouldn't be sleeping with a person, you'd be sleeping with the whole sad, single-person culture. It'd be like sleeping with Talia Shire in Rocky if you weren't Rocky. I feel guilty enough as it is.