Ed O'Neill credited as playing...
Dutch Dooley
- Dutch: You might be the toughest little whacker at the junior high but in my world, you're about as worrisome as a cloudy day.
- Dutch: You know, some day you're gonna get in a situation where you can't call for help. You'll have to depend on yourself, and you'll let yourself down. I'm not calling because I don't want your mother to think we can't make it home on our own. Call it male pride. Good, old fashioned, pig-headed, working-class, pre-fax machine/car phone, masculine pride. No accountants, no lawyers, no mommies, no daddies... no Washington lobbyists. Just a man and his wits.
- Dutch: I may not look like I could finance a trip to the zoo but the truth is I make a pretty good living. My income is a damn lot more than your father gives your mother to live on. But my money doesn't matter in your neighborhood, because I work for it. Working for your money doesn't matter in your neck of the woods, it's whose crotch the doctor yanked you out of.
- [Doyle doesn't want to come with Dutch; Dutch carries him out of his dorm slung underneath a hockey stick, with his hands and feet tied to the stick and a gag in his mouth]
- Dutch: What do you like to do for fun?
- [Doyle struggles to get loose, grunting around the gag]
- Dutch: Oh, you like to wiggle and grunt. Me too.
- [last lines]
- Dutch: Before we start, run in the other room and get my coat, would ya. I've got something in there for your mother.
- Doyle: Right now?
- Dutch: Yeah.
- Natalie: Can't it wait?
- Dutch: Well, it's something very special.
- [grins all around]
- Doyle: Okay...
- [gets up from table]
- Dutch: [to Natalie] Move over.
- [to her horror he shoots Doyle with the pellet gun]
- Doyle: Yipe!
- Dutch: Excuse me, I understand what you were saying to Natalie was personal. Well, I'm involved with her now so this is personal too; you hurt her and I'll hit you so fucking hard your dog will bleed, okay?
- Dutch: How do you know I'm working-class?
- Doyle: From your cheap shoes, to your ridiculous hairstyle, to your crude vocabulary, to my mother's taste in men, you scream it.
- Dutch: And is working-class bad.
- Doyle: If you want to get into a political discussion with me, I'll shred you. No, it's not bad. A solid economy needs hand workers.
- Doyle: Fireworks are illegal in Illinois.
- Dutch: Yes they are but this is Tennessee, so it doesn't matter.
- Doyle: You're gonna detonate this material now?
- Dutch: No not here in the gas station, you nuts? We'll go down the road a piece. I got M80s, Dragon Tongues, Bombay Bugles, Jersey Stinkers, Ha ha ha I don't even know what this is. For later I got a bag of pretzels and a deck of racy playing cards.
- Doyle: You're like a great big demented child.
- Dutch: Hee hee hee hee hee.
- Dutch: There's no better way for two guys to get to know each other better than to spend a couple of days in a car.
- Dutch: [after straightening things out with the truck driver, Dutch shoves Doyle into their motel room] Listen, you little son of a bitch, you could've killed somebody with a stunt like that! That poor bastard was on his way home to see his family and because you wanted to play some kind of spoiled-brat prank, you put his life in jeopardy. Now, what gives you the right to do that, huh?
- Doyle: I guess I didn't think about that.
- Dutch: [shoves him towards the bathroom] Well, you better start thinking of a little something else besides your own spoiled ass. I took on his idiotic assignment because I love your mother. I gotta wonder how nuts I am! Boy, I met some scum in my life, but you beat all, man. You are absolutely worthless. You know what? This isn't a joke anymore. This is a full-blown mission. You're not gonna beat me. I've had my head split open, my nose mashed, I've been kicked and beat and left for dead and when I set you down on your mother's doorstep, you're gonna be one whipped little puppy.
- Doyle: [advances his hands martial-arts style] Don't flatter yourself.
- Dutch: Get your hands down.
- Doyle: I'm not taking anymore of your crap! You touch me once more, you'll be sorry!
- Dutch: You say you want to go? You want to go? Hell, I'd love to go! You want to go?
- Doyle: [eager] Yeah, I do.
- Dutch: Okay, then. Let's see if your punch is as big as your mouth. Only this time, no sissy kicks, no kamikize kicks, no sucker punches. Just good American street fighting. Now, let me show how you do it.
- [he helps Doyle curl up his knuckles into fists]
- Dutch: Just curl up your little digits and thumbies, so you don't hurt them. All right, come on, give it to me, pipsqueak!
- [he lands a hard punch into Dutch's face, knocking him to the floor unconscious, with his rear end facing up. Doyle, shocked and fearful, goes into the bathroom and locks the door]
- [Doyle insists that Dutch stop the car, Dutch sarcastically slams on the brakes, tossing Doyle on the floorboard]
- Dutch: You can't beat a Ford for good brakes!
- Dutch: I don't care for caviar, I make it a policy never to eat something a fish deposits in a riverbed.
- Doyle: I could have frozen to death, you asshole!
- Dutch: I don't think you would have frozen. Not solid, anyway, it's not quite cold enough for that. Here's the deal, Dobsie: I don't screw around. You piss me off, I react. I'm not your daddy, I'm not your friend, I'm not your uncle. I'm a working-class nobody, and I don't take crap from kiddies.