Fight Club
Fight Club Movie Site
So I am memorizing a monologue from Fight Club for a theater class. I had been to the official movie website before, but I forgot how crazy and fun it is. If you haven't seen this movie, do yourself a favor and go rent it or borrow it from someone. Even if someone has already spoiled the whole thing for you, this movie is still worth seeing. Here is the transcription of the monologue I am doing(I hope Fox doesn't sue me for this one)I transcribed it from the DVD:
Narrator (V.O.)
And suddenly, I realize that all of this: the gun, the bombs, the revolution… has got something to do with a girl named Marla Singer.
Bob. Bob had bitch-tits. This was a support group for men with testicular cancer. The big moosey slobbering all over me , that was Bob.
Bob
We’re still men.
Narrator (V.O.)
“Yes, we’re men. Men is what we are.” 8 months ago, Bob’s testicles were removed. Then hormone therapy. He developed bitch-tits because his testosterone was too high, and his body upped the estrogen. And that was where I fit…
Bob
They’re gonna have to open my pecs again and drain the fluid.
Narrator (V.O.)
Between those huge sweating tits that hung enormous the way you’d think of God’s as big.
Bob
Ok. You cry now.
Narrator (V.O.)
No, wait. Back up. Let me start earlier.
For six months I couldn’t sleep. With insomnia nothing is real. Everything is far away. Everything is a copy of a copy of a copy. When deep space exploration ramps up, it’ll be the corporations that name everything. The I.B.M Stellar sphere, the Microsoft Galaxy, Planet Starbucks.
Boss
Gonna need you out of town a little more this week. We got some red flags to cover.
Narrator (V.O.)
It must’ve been Tuesday. He was wearing his cornflower-blue tie. “You want me to depriotize my current reports until you advise of a status upgrade?”
Boss
Make these your primary action items. Here’s your flight coupons. Call me from the road if there’s any snags.
Narrator (V.O.)
He was full of pep. Must have had his grand latte enema. Like so many others, I had become a slave to the IKEA nesting instinct. “Uh, yes. I’d like to order the Erica Pekkary dust ruffles.”
Please hold.
Narrator (V.O.)
If I saw something clever like a little coffee table in the shape of a yin-yang, I had to have it. The Klipske personal office unit, the Hovetrekke home exer-bike, or the Johannshamn sofa with the Strinne green stripe pattern. Even the Rizlampa wire lamps of environmentally friendly unbleached paper. I’d flip through catalogs and wonder: What kind of dining set defines me as a person? I had it all. Even the glass dishes with tiny bubbles and imperfections. Proof that they were crafted by the honest, simple, hard-working indigenious people of—(“Please hold”) Wherever. “I was holding”
We used to read pornography. Now it was the Horchow collection.
So I am memorizing a monologue from Fight Club for a theater class. I had been to the official movie website before, but I forgot how crazy and fun it is. If you haven't seen this movie, do yourself a favor and go rent it or borrow it from someone. Even if someone has already spoiled the whole thing for you, this movie is still worth seeing. Here is the transcription of the monologue I am doing(I hope Fox doesn't sue me for this one)I transcribed it from the DVD:
Narrator (V.O.)
And suddenly, I realize that all of this: the gun, the bombs, the revolution… has got something to do with a girl named Marla Singer.
Bob. Bob had bitch-tits. This was a support group for men with testicular cancer. The big moosey slobbering all over me , that was Bob.
Bob
We’re still men.
Narrator (V.O.)
“Yes, we’re men. Men is what we are.” 8 months ago, Bob’s testicles were removed. Then hormone therapy. He developed bitch-tits because his testosterone was too high, and his body upped the estrogen. And that was where I fit…
Bob
They’re gonna have to open my pecs again and drain the fluid.
Narrator (V.O.)
Between those huge sweating tits that hung enormous the way you’d think of God’s as big.
Bob
Ok. You cry now.
Narrator (V.O.)
No, wait. Back up. Let me start earlier.
For six months I couldn’t sleep. With insomnia nothing is real. Everything is far away. Everything is a copy of a copy of a copy. When deep space exploration ramps up, it’ll be the corporations that name everything. The I.B.M Stellar sphere, the Microsoft Galaxy, Planet Starbucks.
Boss
Gonna need you out of town a little more this week. We got some red flags to cover.
Narrator (V.O.)
It must’ve been Tuesday. He was wearing his cornflower-blue tie. “You want me to depriotize my current reports until you advise of a status upgrade?”
Boss
Make these your primary action items. Here’s your flight coupons. Call me from the road if there’s any snags.
Narrator (V.O.)
He was full of pep. Must have had his grand latte enema. Like so many others, I had become a slave to the IKEA nesting instinct. “Uh, yes. I’d like to order the Erica Pekkary dust ruffles.”
Please hold.
Narrator (V.O.)
If I saw something clever like a little coffee table in the shape of a yin-yang, I had to have it. The Klipske personal office unit, the Hovetrekke home exer-bike, or the Johannshamn sofa with the Strinne green stripe pattern. Even the Rizlampa wire lamps of environmentally friendly unbleached paper. I’d flip through catalogs and wonder: What kind of dining set defines me as a person? I had it all. Even the glass dishes with tiny bubbles and imperfections. Proof that they were crafted by the honest, simple, hard-working indigenious people of—(“Please hold”) Wherever. “I was holding”
We used to read pornography. Now it was the Horchow collection.
posted by Magomra at 5:22 PM
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