Lionel Shabandar: And where are you staying?

PJ Puznowski: Er, well, one of them big hotels downtown. I can't remember the name of it. You remember, Harry?

Harry Deane: Connaught.

PJ Puznowski: Me neither.

Lionel Shabandar: [Preparing to have dinner with Japanese businessmen] As I said, these dinners can be difficult.

PJ Puznowski: Oh, don't worry about it, these guys seem pretty harmless.

Lionel Shabandar: They're evil little shits. Watch me crush them.

Harry Deane: I see the painting. A reproduction though, sir, in my opinion.

Lionel Shabandar: Bloody hell, based on what?

Harry Deane: Based on the fact that it's hanging on a wall of a caravan, sir. In Texas.

Lionel Shabandar: You may not realize it, Miss Puznowski, but Harry Deane knows Monet like I know... actually, I don't know anything quite like that.

Lionel Shabandar: [Lionel greets Puznowski] So... how do you find London?

PJ Puznowski: Well, everybody knows the answer to that one! You turn right at Greenland!

Lionel Shabandar: [Trying to digest it] Ha Ha Ha! Indeed!

[first lines]

The Major: [narrating] This is the story of my brave, foolish friend Harry Deane. Mr. Deane's work as a art curator in London had gone, he felt, largely unappreciated. He told me of countless insults suffered at the hands of his employer, Lionel Shabandar, media tycoon, art collector, and an absolute brute of a fellow.

Lionel Shabandar: [covered in mud] Do not touch my person! You, idiot...

Man: Yes, my lord.

Lionel Shabandar: ...give me your boot.

The Major: [narrating] Forty years ago I'd have called this Shabandar a cad. Now the prevailing parlance for a fellow of this type is, I believe... shitbag.

[last lines]

Harry Deane: Fancy trying your hand at Picasso?

The Major: Do you think we'd find a use for it?

Harry Deane: Seems Donald Trump is obsessed with the fellow. And there's many a billionaire in Texas.

The Major: Mr. Deane.

Harry Deane: Oh, yes, Major, the opportunities are endless.

The Major: [narrating] Mr. Deane, for all his talents, was given to one particular flaw. He saw the world as he wished to see it. But as we know, an optimist is simply a man who hasn't heard the news. As my time in the African Rifles had taught me, one ignored the elephant in the room at one's peril.

[bar fight erupts]

PJ Puznowski: I do apologize on Merle. He just loves a brawl. Nose been broke so many times, two years ago he had all the cartilage took out so there wouldn't be so much downtime between bar fights.

The Major: An expedient we might consider if we spend much more time in Texas.

Martin Zaidenweber: [in goofy German accent] The baron's collection is heavily Flemish. Titian, Rubens, all the women so zaftig and heftig.


Martin Zaidenweber: I mean, how many years can you spend looking at the Walloons? Huh?

PJ Puznowski: Like mama always said, if you can't tell the difference between a pig and a javelina, well, you could lose a big old chunk out of your ass.

The Major: Perhaps, sir, since out little caper is far from over, perhaps we should consider removing the cartilage.

Harry Deane: Don't be an ass, man. I'm hardly likely to be hit in the face a third time.

The Major: Uh, that *was* the third time, sir.

Harry Deane: This isn't a maths class!

Harry Deane: Best to let the fish work the hook in himself, eh, Major?

The Major: Much the best, Mr. Deane.

Harry Deane: Excuse me. We were given to understand that there was an equestrian tourney in this area.

Gas Station Cashier: Well, we got a law attorney. Don't know his religion. Up downtown Alpine. He's a fairy. Moved here from Albuquerque. It'll be five, no six years ago come May. Not that I judge.