[Momma sees Larry for the first time]

Momma: Who's this?

Owen: This is Cousin Paddy. He's coming to stay with us a while. Isn't that nice?

Momma: [suspiciously] You don't *have* a "Cousin Paddy".

Owen: [to Larry] You lied to me!

[Owen knocks Larry out with a frying pan to the head]

Owen: Where are you going?

Larry: I'm gonna kill the bitch. You want something?

Owen: Could you get me a Chunky?

Larry: [on the phone with Owen from Hawaii] Owen, what the hell did you do to my wife?

Owen: Ehh, I don't want to say over the phone. All I can tell ya is that I killed her last night.

[hangs up]

Momma: Who the HELL are you?

Larry: I'm Owen's friend.

Momma: Owen doesn't have a friend!

Larry: That's because he's shy.

Momma: No he's not. He's fat and he's stupid!

Owen: Momma! You're alive!

[to police]

Owen: Old people - you have to reassure them.

Momma: Get out of my way, you black bastard!

Larry: What?

Larry: Hate makes you impotent, Love makes you crazy. Somewhere in the middle you can survive.

Larry: [teaching a creative-writing class] This is a real classic by Mr. Pinsky. It's entitled "One Hundred Girls I'd Like to Pork."

Male Student #1: "Pork"?

Mr. Pinsky, Creative Writing Student: It's a coffee-table book.

Larry: "One Hundred Girls I'd Like To..." Hmmm. Chapter One: Kathleen Turner. Chapter Two: Cybill Shepherd. Chapter Three: Suzanne Pleshette. Chapter Four: The Girl in the Taco Commercial. Chapter Five: The Woman in 4B. Chapter Six: The Oriental Laker Girl. Chapter Seven... Mr. Pinsky, this is not literature!

Mr. Pinsky, Creative Writing Student: Well, you know, I would put in photographs, a brief character sketch, like a biography, and a nice dust jacket.

Larry: Mr. Pinsky, what is this?

Mr. Pinsky, Creative Writing Student: It's literature. It's a fantasy. My fantasy. Like Melville, this is my great white whale.

Mrs. Hazeltine: It's whacking material.

Mr. Pinsky, Creative Writing Student: Isn't that literature?

Larry: Mr. Pinsky, how do you associate "Moby Dick" to a list of women you'd like to have sex with?

Male Student #2: Well, I think it's very brave.

Mrs. Hazeltine: I think he's vulgar.

Male Student #3: That's what they said about Twain.

Mrs. Hazeltine: That's what I'm saying about him.

Male Student #3: I think you're vulgar.

Mrs. Hazeltine: I think you're a no-talent little shit.

Mr. Pinsky, Creative Writing Student: Maybe I should change the title.

Male Student #2: I like the title!

Larry: [bell rings] OK, I'll see you Wednesday, class. Good work today. Remember, a writer writes, always.

[as the students prepare to leave, voices are heard saying "Pinsky, I could do the photographs" and "Hey Pinsky, what about Vanna White?"]

Larry: You killed my wife, Owen!

Owen: No, I didn't... Yes, I did.

Larry: You're a sick man, Owen. You need care and I'm taking you to the police.

Owen: Did you know that Hawaii is a series of islands that was all spit up by the same volcano? I never knew that.

Larry: You killed somebody! You killed a person. You're a murderer. You took a life!

Owen: You're right. You're right, I'm no good. How could I do that? I'm a sick pers... cows!

[points at passing billboard]

Mrs. Hazeltine: [reading her manuscript] His guts oozed nice, like a melted malted.

Lester: [On why he thinks Larry didn't kill his ex-wife] All his life, Larry never did... anything.

Momma: You were writing a letter.

Owen: No, Momma!

Momma: You are writing to tell them to take me away! You want them to take me away!

Owen: I'm writing a story for class, Momma! I don't want them to take you away!

Momma: Yes, you do!

Owen: Owen loves his Momma!

Momma: [to herself] Owen loves his Momma!

[singing mockingly]

Momma: Owen loves his Momma, Owen loves his Momma, Owen loves his Momma, Owen loves his Momma...

Momma: Owen! Food!

Owen: In a minute, Momma.

Momma: Don't you "In a minute, Momma" me! Get off your fat little ass or I'll break it for you! I want two soft-boiled eggs, white toast, and some of that grape jelly goddammit! And don't burn the toast!

Owen: Kill her, Larry.

Momma: Your friend had an accident, he's dead! You go bowling and leave a corpse to take care of me!

Owen: He's dead?

Momma: See for yourself.

Owen: Larry! My friend, my friend... Larry!

Momma: "My friend! My friend!" You big crybaby. Go bury him in the yard before he stinks up the place.

Larry: The night was dry, yet it was raining.

Mrs. Hazeltine: "Dive... DIVE" yelled the captain through the thing. So the captain pressed a button, or something, and it dove. And the enemy was foiled again!

Rosey: He called her a very bad name, and said "I hate her! I wish she were dead!"

Beth Ryan: He didn't do it!

Police Sergeant: Well, then, who do you suppose did?

Beth Ryan: [after a pause to think] Somebody else!

Lester: [discussing Larry's stalled book] Man, you been on "The night was... " for six months!

Larry: Takes place in the Yukon.

Momma: He's trying to kill me! I asked for the salted nuts. He brought me the unsalted nuts. The unsalted nuts make me choke!

Larry: One little murder and I'm Jack the Ripper.

Larry: Remember, a writer writes, always.

Larry: [Larry is reading stories to the class] Next is "Murder at My Friend Harry's" by Owen... Lift. "Chapter one: The night was humid."

[Closes the paper]

Larry: Class dismissed. I have a enormous headache in my eye.

Momma: Holy shit! What a dream I was having! Louis Armstrong was trying to kill me!

Larry: Mrs. Lift?

Momma: Get away from me, you horse's ass!

[Hits Larry in the crotch with her cane. Larry falls to the floor, groaning]

Larry: [to Owen] She's not a woman... she's the Terminator.

Owen: Larry! I can't breathe!

Larry: Yes! That's because I'm choking you!

Larry: Owen, you gotta get it through your thick head: I may be a lot of things, but I'm not a killer.

Owen: You don't have to blow her brains out or anything.

Larry: [Sarcastically] Thank you, that takes the pressure right off.

Owen: She's old. She's got a bad ticker. All you gotta do is jerk around a lot when you talk to her.

[Mimics shaking Mrs. Lift viciously]

Owen: "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Lift!"

Larry: Would you stop it?

Owen: Well, just meet her. Maybe she'll be somebody you'd LIKE to kill.

Momma: [On the train] I'm getting the hell out of here.

[Stands up and walks off]

Momma: Too goddamn sultry in here.

[Owen is typing on his typewriter when Momma comes and slams his hands on the keyboard]

Momma: Stop it, damn it! I got a wax ball in my ear. Get it out.

[Cut to bathroom. Momma slaps Owen]

Owen: Oh, Momma...

Momma: You're writing to her, aren't you Owen?

Owen: Don't start that again, Momma, and don't hit me anymore!

Momma: You love her.

Owen: There's no "her", Momma.

[Momma bends down above the bathtub as Owen brushes her hair back]

Momma: You're writing a letter!

Owen: I'm writing a story for class, Momma. Don't you see? I take a class, I take a nice class.

Momma: Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Owen: And I'm gonna be a writer someday.

Momma: You know how that typing upsets me!

Owen: I'm sorry, Momma. A writer writes.

Momma: You're gonna be nothing. You're gonna be nothing. You'll never get to first base. All you do is type, type, type, type, type, type. You sit there typing all day like a fat little pigeon.

[Owen notices a pair of long scissors on a nearby shelf, picks them up and raises them]

Owen: You won't ever hear it again, Momma. I promise.

[Owen stabs Momma through the ear with the scissors. Momma stands up screaming]

Owen: [Confused] Momma...

Momma: [Cleaning her ear] I think you got it, sonny.

[Owen suddenly comes to his senses, realizing he was imagining killing her]

Momma: I don't know what I'd do without you, Owen baby.

[Kisses him on the cheek and hugs him]

Owen: I know, Momma. I know.

Momma: Owen, my little baby. Owen, my little baby boy.

[Owen still looks confused as to how he cleared Momma's ear]

Larry: Slut! She's a slut! Look at her! Slut!

Larry: Two minutes ago you were my agent, and now you're telling me that...

Joel: Larry, I'm sorry. That's the way the mop flops.

Larry: That's what i get after seven years? That's the way the mop flops?

Joel: Larry, you have every right to feel like this is the lowest point in your entire life. Arnie, what are you doing? You're bending the fern. Don't bend the fern. Fluff it! Fluff it!

Owen: She didn't feel a thing, Professor Donner. I know how important that is to you not to have her feel a thing.

Larry: Who?

Owen: Your wife. She had a little trouble walking, but that was from the gardener.

Larry: You saw my wife?

Owen: She was kind of a tart, Larry. Although I can see why you married her. She was very beautiful.

Larry: Why did you kill my wife?

Owen: I thought you wanted me to. That was the deal we made that night. You told me that you hated your wife. You wished she was dead. I told you I hated my momma. I told you I wished she was dead. You told me to see that Hitchcock film about swapping murders. I figured I kill your wife and you kill my momma. That's fair.

Larry: I am not killing your mother. You have to turn yourself in.

Owen: I'm not turning myself in. That's not part of the plan.

Larry: What plan? There was never any plan, you moron! I am taking you to the police and you are telling them what you did! That's it and that's all! I don't want to hear another word!

Owen: If you take me to the cops, I'll just tell them that you did it, Larry! What's the point trying to convince them that I did it? You've got the motive!

Larry: Do you say the night was humid? Or do you say the night was moist? That's writing.

Momma: The night was sultry.

Momma: Who the hell are you, all of a sudden?

Owen: I wrote a book, and it got published. It's called 'Owen and Owen's Friend Larry. And it's all about you, me, and Momma, and our times that we shared together. What's your book about?

Larry: You wrote a book about us?

Owen: Yeah!

Larry: Mmm-hmm. All about you, me, and Momma?

Owen: Yeah! Isn't it great?

Larry: Mmmm... YOU SON OF A BITCH, I'm gonna KILL YOU!

Owen: Wha... what? Don't! Do you want me to leave?

Larry: No, I don't want you to leave, I want you dead!

Owen: No, no, wait! Larry! Here! Take this! It's a copy of my book.

Larry: What is this, you wrote a pop-up book?

Owen: Yeah! See, there's me, you, and there's Momma. And see, this is the little train... TOOT TOOT!

Larry: You wrote a pop-up book! Owen, this is the cutest thing I have ever seen!

[She changing the channel to news]

Reporter: The ex-husband of missing novelist Margaret Donner is wanted for questioning, but has now himself disappeared... If you have any information regarding his whereabouts of Mr. Donner, please contact your local police department.

Momma: [turns to Owen] OWEN! There's a murderer in the house!

[gets up and calls the police]

Momma: Hello, police? I found him! The wife murderer! He's here!

Larry: Give me the phone! Give me the phone!

[plugs the phone out]

Momma: I found him, the wife murderer!

Momma: You clumsy poop!

Owen: [Larry has driven his car off the road and it's going downhill through a load of bushes. Owen is in his passenger seat] This is good. It's like the Flintstones' car wash.

Larry: [talking at Margaret Donner on TV] It's my life, Margaret. It's MY life and I want it back!

Larry: [referring to Owen's lousy murder mystery paper] It wasn't motivated.

Owen: Sure it was. The guy in the hat killed the other guy in the hat.

[last lines]

Larry: [while Owen is snorkeling out through the surf] Keep going a little further, Owen. Maybe somebody will harpoon you!

Joel: Here. It's my favorite fuchsia. Live and be well.

Larry: The night was... nt... oy. There's probably halibut right here... who could write better than me. Uh. Oy. the night was... ya got a line fish, just yell it out. I'm up for grabs.

Larry: [upon seeing a news report on his ex-wife] She's a genius. She's getting $1.5 million and I'm getting glucose four times a day.

Old Man: [starts to rise from his bed] I'm getting something down the hall.

Larry: What?

Old Man: Anything. I can't take this any more. Every ten minutes, it's "Margaret this" and "Margaret that".

Larry: I'm sorry. I just can't help it.

Old Man: Hate's no good. I'm not living here with you in hate. Get rid of it altogether, Larry, or I'm leaving you.