Con Air

- One of the guards--
- One of the guards--

One of the guards faked a heart attack
and we had to remove his restraints.

All right?
I see.
And what's your question?

Where you goin'
with my plane, Cyrus?

- We're going to Disneyland.
- You're lying, Cyrus.

So are you, Vince.
# Oh, nothin ' #

# Makes me sadder than the agent
lost his bladder in the #

# Aeroplane #
Lerner Airfield, Poe. Middle of nowhere.
That's our rendezvous point.

Forty-nine minutes from anything
resembling authority.

So, now you know.
Your attention, please.
Flight 475--

You excited? Yeah?
Sure look pretty.

- Mrs Poe?
- That's right.

My name's Grant,
U.S. Marshal Service.

There's been a slight problem
on your husband's flight.
Your presence is requested.

I have a jet
standing by.

What's on your mind, hillbilly?

What was I thinking about?
Oh, yeah. Yee-ha.
That's right.

I was just wonderin' what a black
militant, uh, that would be you...

was doin' takin' orders from
a white boy on a power trip.

- Don't you think that's strange?
- It's a means to an end,
my white friend.

A means to an end.

I can play house nigger till's
we get to where we're goin'.

And then,
the day of the dog begins.

So what was that
all about?

Oh, nothin',
except they somehow managed...

to get every creep and freak
in the universe onto this one plane...

and then somehow managed
to let them take it over...