Con Air

- Right here.
- Attention, officers.

- Final check, all restraints.
- Sweet bird of freedom.

Take off
in three minutes.

What's up, man?
Oh, shit. What's up?

I thought you was someone else.
Pinball Parker.

Armed robber, arsonist, dope fiend. I'm
a hell of a nice guy. I just got caught.

Aw, shucks.
- All right, face me.
- I got him.

Come on.
You guys are late
for the party.

- Okay.
- Let's go, sweetheart.

What's up, Cochise?
Hey, man, I'm just fuckin' with you,
all right? Don't get all...

"Wounded Knee" on me
and shit.

You look like
you wanna scalp a nigger.

What you lookin' at,

Nothin'. I was just
admirin' your cage.

Fits you pretty good.
Well, welcome aboard.
My, my. As I look around I see
a lot of celebrities among us.

I see 11 Current Affairs,
two Hard Copies, and a genuine
Geraldo interviewee.

But I got to tell you, gentlemen,
none of this impresses me.

Because we have rules on this aircraft,
and they're gonna be enforced.

It's a lot like kindergarten.
You'll keep your hands to yourself.

You keep the decibel level down.
And if any of you should feel
the need to scream...

spit or bite,
you get the treatment.

- Fuck you, pig.
- Gag and bag this Nazi muffin.

See, this kind of thing
puts me in a foul mood.

These rules will be enforced.
If there's a hint of trouble...

if any of you so much as
passes gas in my direction,
it offends my delicate nasal passages...