Pölsa: Pölsa has no fear, because he got a lot of beer. Erik: Who killed Sussie?
Pölsa: It wasn't me! Um, and nobody else either. Billy Davidsson: I guess you could say... Wait, didn't you have red hair before? [pause] Billy Davidsson: Well, I guess you could say... Hey, could you remove that dead fly there, it looks really disgusting. Thanks. Sandra: [removed a dead fly from the window] Billy Davidsson: I guess you could say that... These things... happen. Things disappear. People disappear. Erik: Pölsa, there are four junkies getting stoned in your couch! Pölsa: Only four? Damn it, should be full of folks today! Biografmaskinisten: As you can see, the movie ended here. They forgot to send the last reel. Yeah I know, it sucks. But I'll try to fix this. [Dials a phone number on the cell phone] Biografmaskinisten: Hi, it's me. I'm fine. How are you? Hey, you've seen Pulp Fiction, right? How does it end? Uh-huh. Sounds complex. What about the negro? OK, bye. [Turns to audience] Biografmaskinisten: I'm sorry to tell you this, but John Travolta dies. Bruce Willis shoots him as he comes out of the bathroom. But things worked out for the negro, anyway. Gerd: How much do you know? Erik: About what? Pölsa: That we were the ones who shot Sussie, for example! Did you know that? Gerd: Are you completely brainwashed? Billy Davidsson: We do occasionally get some tips. Do you know anyone by the name of Keyser Soze? Tony Montana? Sandra: No. Billy Davidsson: You don't. OK. They're not registered anywhere. Erik: Pölsa, det sitter fyra knarkare i din soffa Pölsa: Fyra bara? Den ska ju va fullsatt. Pölsa: Twenty-seven and bald. I look like an old gym teacher. [taking out a roll of tin foil] Pölsa: Brown sugar. Heroin. It's like medicine for people who are sad. Or bald. Erik: I thought I'd fuck myself to death, but it worked out. Erik: [Pölsa is doing heroin] Cut it out, you could die. Pölsa: So could you. In a letter: Stop writing me. We will never go bananas together. Signed, the Chimp