I've been having these dinner parties at my house in L.A. for years that turn into charades parties. I'm so good at breaking stuff down into syllables and sounds. If I were to be doing anything else besides being an actor, I would be a professional charades player. I'm not sure if it exists, but if it didn't, I'll create it.
Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Ooh, but I still smell her.
[inhales deeply through nose]
Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Women! What can you say? Who made 'em? God must have been a fuckin' genius. The hair... They say the hair is everything, you know. Have you ever buried your nose in a mountain of curls... just wanted to go to sleep forever? Or lips... and when they
touched, yours were like... that first swallow of wine... after you just crossed the desert. Tits. Hoo-ah! Big ones, little ones, nipples staring right out at ya, like secret searchlights. Mmm. Legs. I don't care if they're Greek columns... or secondhand Steinways. What's between 'em... passport to heaven. I need a drink. Yes, Mr Sims, there's only two syllables in this whole wide world worth
hearing: pussy. Hah! Are you listenin' to me, son? I'm givin' ya pearls here.