Willie Conway: You know in five years you won't even remember me. Paul: Supermodels are beautiful girls, Will. A beautiful girl can make you dizzy, like you've been drinking Jack and Coke all morning. She can make you feel high full of the single greatest commodity known to man - promise. Promise of a better day. Promise of a greater hope. Promise of a new tomorrow. This particular aura can be found in the gait of a beautiful girl. In her smile, in her soul, the way she makes every rotten little thing about life seem like it's going to be okay. The supermodels, Willy? That's all they are. Bottled promise. Scenes from a brand new day. Hope dancing in stiletto heels. Marty: I might just grow to be five-ten. I'll be hot. Marty: What we've been doing lately is smoking massive amounts of drugs, binging on Entemmann's and listening to old Pink Floyd CD's. Marty: I like to mash snow. It gives me a tremendous feeling of self satisfaction. Willie Conway: I can't play Pooh to your Christopher Robin. Marty: If I'm not mistaken, you've come back here to the house of loneliness and tears, to Daddy Downer and Brother Bummer, to come to some sort of decision about life, a life decision if you will. Willie Conway: How old are you? Marty: Thirteen. But I have an old soul. Gina: I'm finished speaking to both of you okay? You're both fucking insane. You want to know what your problem is? MTV, Playboy, and Madison fucking Avenue. Yes. Let me explain something to you, ok? Girls with big tits have big asses. Girls with little tits have little asses. That's the way it goes. God doesn't fuck around; he's a fair guy. He gave the fatties big, beautiful tits and the skinnies little tiny niddlers. It's not my rule. If you don't like it, call him. Hey Mitch. Thank you. [Looking at a porn magazine] Gina: Oh, guys, look what we have here. Look at this, your favorite. Oh, you like that? Tommy: I could go along with that. Gina:
Yeah, that's nice right? Well, it doesn't exist ok. Look at the hair. The hair is long, it's flowing, it's like a river. Well, it's a fucking weave ok? And the tits, please! I could hang my overcoat on them. Tits by design were invented to be suckled by babies. Yes, they're purely functional. These are silicon city. And look, my favorite, the shaved pubis. Pubic hair being too unruly and all. Very key. This is a mockery, this is a sham, this is bullshit. Implants, collagen, plastic, capped teeth, the fat sucked out, the hair extended, the nose fixed, the bush shaved... These are not real women, all right? They're beauty freaks. And they make all us normal women with our wrinkles, our puckered boobs, hi bob, and our cellulite feel somehow inadequate. Well I don't buy it, all right? But you fucking mooks, if you think that if there's a chance in hell that you'll end up with one of these women, you don't give us real women anything approaching a commitment. It's pathetic. I don't know what you think you're going to do. You're going to end up eighty-years old, drooling in some nursing home, then you're going to decide, it's time to settle down, get married, have kids? What, are you going to find a cheerleader? Charge it Mitch.
Tommy: I think you're over simplifying. Gina: Oh eat me. Look at Paul. With his models on the wall, his dog named Elle McPherson. He's insane. He's obsessed. You're all obsessed. If you had an once of self-esteem, of self-worth, of self-confidence, you would realize that as trite as it may sound, beauty is truly skin-deep. And you know what, if you ever did hook one of those girls, I guarantee you'd be sick of her. Tommy: Yeah, I suppose I'd get sick of her after about, what, twenty or thirty years? Gina: Get over yourself. Thank you Mitch. Say hello to Gertrude. Tommy: What? Gina: No mater how perfect the nipple, how supple the thigh, unless there is some other shit going on in the relationship, besides the physical, it's going to get old, ok? And you guys, as a gender, have got to get a grip. Otherwise, the future of the human race is in jeopardy. Willie Conway: What was that? Tommy: I don't know, but a great ass. Willie Conway: Nice tits. Come on let's go. Willie Conway: I just want something beautiful. Michael 'Mo' Morris: Shit, Willy, we all want something beautiful... Tracy: You look awful. Willie Conway: I've been drunk for two weeks. Willie Conway: You know how it is, the beginnings? When you first fall in love and you can't eat, you can't sleep and getting a call from her, it makes your day. It's like seeing a shooting star. Andera: It's the best. Willie Conway: Yeah, but, inevitably it goes away. It quiets down. So, this is my thing see, why get married now? Why not have two, three more of those beginning things before I, you know, settle into the big fade? Andera: The big fade, that's a awful way to put it. Willie Conway: I look at you and I think it's amazing that there's a guy out there gets to do all kinds of things with you. He gets to make you happy and spend evenings with you... Andera: ...make me martinis, listen to Van Morrison... Willie Conway: ...smell your skin... Andera: ...after a day at the beach. Willie Conway: Yeah, and read the papers... Andera: ...on a Sunday morning... Willie Conway: ...a rainy Sunday morning, and pepper your belly with baby kisses... Sorry. Andera: The thing is, there's a guy out there thinks the same thing about Tracy and he's jealous of you because you get to do all that with her. Willie: Let me ask you something; can you think of anything better than making love to an attractive stranger... with just an oil light to guide your way? Can you think of anything better? Andera: Going back to Chicago. Ice cold martini. Van Morrison. Willie Conway: Sunday papers. Got ya. Tommy: Can I ask you a question?