#1. Meet Jack
JACK: People were always asking me, did I know Tyler Durden.
TYLER: Three minutes. This is it. Ground zero. Do you have a speech for the occasion?
JACK: ... i... ann....iinn.. ff....nnyin...
JACK: With a gun barrel between your teeth, you only speak in vowels.
JACK: I can't think of anything.
JACK: For a second, I totally forgot about Tyler's whole controlled demolition thing and I wonder how clean this gun is.
TYLER: It's getting exciting now.
JACK: That old saying, how you always hurt the one you love. Well, it works both ways.
JACK: We have front row seats for this Theater of Mass Destruction. The Demolitions Committee of Project Mayhem wrapped the foundation columns of ten buildings with blasting gelatin. In two minutes, primary charges will blow base charges, and those buildings will be reduced to smoldering rubble. I know this because Tyler knows this.
TYLER: Two and a half. Think of everything we've accomplished.
JACK: Suddenly I realize all of this, the gun, the bombs, the revolution, has got something to do with a girl named Maria Singer.
JACK: Bob. Bob had bitch tits.
JACK: This was a support group for men with testicular cancer. The big moosie slobbering all over me, that was Bob.
BOB: We're still men.
JACK: Yes. We're men. Men is what we are.
JACK: Six months ago, Bob had had his testicles removed. Then hormone therapy. He developed bitch tits because his testosterone was too high and his body upped the estrogen. That was where I fit.
BOB: They'l have to drain my pecs again and drain the fluid.
JACK: Between these huge, sweating tits that hung enormous, the way we think of God's as big.
BOB: Okay. You cry now.
JACK: No, wait. Back up. Let me start earlier.
JACK: For six months. I couldn't sleep.
I couldn't sleep.
JACK: With insomnia, nothing is real. Everything's far away. Everything's a copy of a copy of a copy.
JACK: When deep space exploration ramps up, it will be corporations that name everything. The IBM Stellar Sphere. The Philip Morris Galaxy. Planet Starbucks.
BOSS: I'm going to need you out-of-town a little more this week. We've got some "red-flags" to cover.
JACK: It must've been Tuesday. he was wearing his "cornflower-blue" tie.
JACK: You want me to de-prioritize my current reports until you advise of a status upgrade?
BOSS: Make these your primary "action items." Here's your flight coupons. Call me if there's any snags.
JACK: He was full of pep. Must've had his grande latte enema.
JACK: Like so many others, I had become a slave to the IKEA nesting instinct.
JACK: i Yes. I'd like to order the Erka Pekkari dust ruffles.
PHONE GIRL: Please hold.
JACK: If I saw anything clever like a little coffee table in the shape of a yin-yang, I had to have it.
JACK: The Klipsk personal office unit. The Hovetrekke home exerbike.
JACK: Like the Johanneshov armchair in the Strinne green stripe pattern...
JACK: Even the Ryslampa wire lamps of environmentally-friendly unbleached paper.
JACK: 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 peoples of...
PNONE GIRL: Please hold.
JACK : Wherever. I was holding. We used to read pornography. Now it was the Horchow Collection.
INTERN: No, you can't die of insomnia.
JACK: What about narcolepsy? I nod off, I wake up in stange places. I have no idea how I got there. . INTERN: You need to lighten up. JACK: Can't you please just give me something?
JACK: Red-and-blue Tuinal, lipstick-red Seconals.
INTERN: No. You need healthy, natural sleep. Chew valerian root and get some more exercise.
JACK: Hey, come on. I'm in pain.
INTERN: You want to see pain? Swing by First Methodist Tuesday nights. See the guys with testicular cancer. That's pain.
