Melvin Hubble is the last in a long line of unsuccessful serial killers. Fulfilling his father's dying wish, Melvin sneaks into the Ro Ro Ro...更多>
Lauren: I think I know what's going on here. You're some kind of axe murderer. Neal:
Well... I've never used an axe.
Lauren: I was hoping you'd deny it. Neal: Sorry. Lauren: Why is it that every guy I meet is either insane or a complete idiot? [looking at a photo album] Melvin Hubble: Who's that Pop? Melvin Hubble Sr.: That's your great uncle Alvin. He was responsible for a series of maimings in Hoboken, New Jersey. Melvin Hubble: Maimings? Melvin Hubble Sr.: He would cut off a few fingers. Bit off an ear or two. Got away with a whole leg once. Felt pretty proud of himself, until he realized that it was a prosthetic. Melvin Hubble: And this one? Melvin Hubble Sr.: Your fourth cousin Louis. He'd shoot people in the back, or rather in the butt. Really pathetic. Look that them. Pages of loonies, all Hubbles, all insane. You thing one of them would be able to pull off a half-decent massacre. But no, not a real killer in the bunch. Here's your Aunt Betty. You know what she was responsible for? The "Shabouden Second Degree Burns." Here's Artie Hubble, the "Hillside Smacker." And lets not forget your cousin Bruce. He's the one who delivered the famous "Texas Chainsaw Manicure." Oh, here's you grandmother, Martha Hubble Bumstead. Masterminded the Jonesboro Slayings. Killed four people in one night. Melvin Hubble: Well, there you go Pop. Melvin Hubble Sr.: What "go"? She was adopted! Suzie: Not to be religious, but T.G.I.F. Amber: A-men! I could just sit here all weekend and not move. Suzie: I know what you mean. I couldn't move a muscle. Amber: Party tonight? Suzie: You know it! Professor Andrews: And so, in closing ladies. I want you to follow in the footsteps of Lysistrata this weekend. Just try it. Take a stand against your boyfriends. Don't let them enslave your spirit by allowing them to touch your beautiful, virginal bodies with their disgusting hands. Remember ladies, you are in control. This is your game ladies. You set the pace, you set the rules. This is all about you. They get funny, you take their tentacles in your hand, you crush them, squeeze them, kill them like the disgusting pouches they are! Remember ladies, this is your game. Make me proud. Holly: Aren't you getting ready for the party? Lauren: I'll hide here. Holly: Oh, no you don't. Steve's coming over at six, and I plan on doing some partying with him. Lauren: Arn't you reading the cliff notes of Lysistrata too? Holly: Hell no. I took that last semester. This term I have the history of human sexuality, and I have my own homework to do. Lauren: Sex all night? Aren't you afraid of attracting the attention of some hyper-repressed mass murderer? Holly: When Steve and I get it going, we'll be far more frightening than any comic murderer. We're like a mighty beast racing though the jungle. A juggernaut of pure sexual energy. Dr. Pitt: As you can see, St. Jones is a totally moderate facility. A haven for hopeless cases. Most of the patients here are pathetic specimens. They'll have to spend the rest of their lives here. Those who are not already catatonic are routinely sedated. That's the best part of my job. In spite of the sedation, many of these patients are extremely dangerous. So, I cannot adequately stress that while you are in your residency here, that you at all times, carry your taser gun, and your suicide pill.