- He had a guitar. - A Jew with a guitar.
If you will excuse me one moment, madam, I shall, uh, I shall see you out.
If you gentlemen can labour harmoniously in the course of my absence,
perhaps upon my return we shall be prepared to explode
that vexin' old piece of igneous.
Oh, Professor. This is Mrs Funthes.
Enchanté, Mrs Funthes. Ravi.
Rosalie, this is Professor GH Dorr, Ph.D.
Oh, my. That's an awful lot of letters.
Oh, well, no.
Of course, in my youth, I was known simply as Goldthwait.
All right, safety meeting.
Let's listen up. General, can you hand me the primer cord?
Before we set the charge, we will run through our procedure.
I have earplugs for whoever wants them. Just wedge those right in your ears.
Now, here we have... Not yet, Lump.
Now, primer cord.
Gelatinite. C-4.
Time comes, we pack the hole in the rock with the C-4
and insert two leads: A and B.
I remember my father sayin' to me -
and it's one of the few memories I retain of the man
from one of his visits home, and how I do cherish it -
he said to me, "Goldthwait, you are not formed as other boys."
He a man of learnin'?
This is the same procedure we will be using when we collapse the tunnel
after entering the casino vault and returning to the root cellar.
He was a self-educated man. Didn't have a career as such,
but the government did recognise the breadth of his readin'
by makin' him librarian of the state nervous hospital in Meridian,
where he was a distinguished inmate.
Once these materials are combined only the professionals may handle them.
That means me or the General.
Separately they are harmless, completely inert.
Why, you could light this stuff on fire, hit it with a ham...
What in the name of heavens was that?
Well, I'm quite certain there's absolutely no reason to be alarmed.
Why, I'm not even absolutely certain I heard anything at all.
Didn't hear nothin'?
Well, something perhaps.
Nothing that need discompose us was the sense I was tryin' to convey.
Now, Mrs Munson, I will not have you missin' your musical recital. Off you go.
I shall call the gas company, or the water company.
Whatever subterranean utility is implicated in this contretemps.
I shall see to the matter, as only a highly educated classicist could.
Blood. Blood, Professor, blood. Blood, blood, blood.
It's nothin' to make a fuss about. It's perfectly all right.
Jackass. You better get yo' ass back down there and find that shit, dipshit.
- Really, I'm perfectly all right. - Perfectly all right?
Jackass, you just blew your goddamn finger off.
The muthafucka down there flappin' the fuck around.
You better get yo' ass back down there and find it.
I'm tellin' you right now, nubbie, I ain't pickin' up your goddamn finger.
I gather there was a premature detonation.
Would you tell this muthafucka he can sew this shit back on?
It's like that dude whose wife cut his dick off, threw it on the freeway?
She just called Triple A,
they towed the dick and sewed the muthafucka back on.
Listen up. Jackass, I saw the muthafucka in a porno.
The thang still worked. It looked like a chewed-up frank,
but that little muthafucka be workin' that muthafucka.
It's mangly, but he be fuckin' the bitch all kind of ways with a twisted dick.
Oh. Your fuckin' finger just moved. The muthafucka movin' slow now.
I'm not gettin' that shit. Fuck that. You're on your own there.
They usin' the house to practise music of the Rococo.
I propose we get our fallen comrade to the hospital.
The General will follow when he manages to recover the severed digit.
No, no, really, I'm perfectly all right. I don't know what all the fuss is about.
- Good news. Good news. - Pickles. Go get him.
The house is in apple-pie order,
though we do have to get medical attention for Mr Pancake,
who, durin' the disturbance, pinched his finger in the valve of his sackbut.
You let the cat out.
Wha...? The General is even now exercisin' every effort in retrievin'
your mischievous little Pickles. Please, go on.
Go on and enjoy the concert. Driver. Au revoir, mesdames.
Despite our setback, we find ourselves on schedule
to penetrate the vault here this afternoon, while Mrs Munson is at church,
havin' blasted that little old rock to pieces durin' Mrs Munson's choir practice.
Garth, can you run us through the game plan for what remains of our tunnel?
Of course. Why, it's child's play now. Easiest thing in the world.
Only a couple of feet separate us from the vault.
Just the usual spadework until we get to the masonry of the vault,
and then we just drill through.
And will you be able to wield the drill with your maimed extremity?
Oh, well, yeah, I should think so. Yeah, it's only one finger.
Inhibits me in doing finer work of course. I'll always have to live with that.
Maybe - I'm just thinkin' out loud here -
maybe, since as you say there will be problems later,
maybe - and I actually mentioned this to Mountain Girl, she agrees with me,
so it's not just one person's opinion - maybe...
I should get a little extra compensation for the accident.
Somewhat larger share.
Why, if this was any other line of work, I'd be getting workman's comp.
Wouldn't I? Might even have a pretty good lawsuit.
Wait, so you gonna sue yourself for blowing your own goddamn finger off?
- Well, now that is simply asinine. - Yes, but you see, Garth,
this is not what you just called "some other line of work."
Yeah, no, no, no, but if it were...
This is a criminal enterprise, not to put too fine a point on it,
entailing any manner of risk not involved in honest labour.
Governmental regulations and civic safeguards
cannot be assumed to apply to antisocial pursuits.
- Yeah, but he lost his finger. - We don't give a fuck.
That fool could blow his goddamn dick off, it don't make no nevermind to us.
We not payin' this jackass for goin' around blowin' off goddamn body parts.
Get yo' fuckin' head out yo' ass, man.
Look you, there is no call for...
No extra share.
OK. Majority rules.
Like I say, it was just a trial balloon. Hand's not so bad really.
I even get some phantom feeling.
Yeah, you pull on your prick, you get some phantom feelin'.
- Fuck you. - Fuck you.
- Fuck you, nubbie.
Well, now that that matter is settled,
why don't we synchronise our watches before Gawain reports to work.
In 20 seconds, it will be exactly 12.16.
- Fifteen... - What, it'll be 12.15?
No, 15 seconds. Well, 11 seconds now. It'll be 12.16.
- Eight, seven... - Professor? Prof...?
...six... - Professor?
...five... Yes, Lump.
I don't have a watch.
There'll be no more weepin' and wailin'
No more weepin' and wailin'
Home to live with God Oh...
Soon I will be done with the troubles of this world
Troubles of this world Troubles of this world
Oh, soon I will be done with the troubles of this world
I'm goin' home to live with God
Soon I will be done with the troubles of this world
Troubles of this world Troubles of this world
Soon I will be done with the troubles of this world
I'm goin' home to live with God
Well, soon I will be done with the troubles of this world
Troubles of this world Troubles of this, great God.
Soon I will be done with the troubles of this world
I'm goin' home to live with God
Well, I'm goin' up to see King Jesus Hey, hey, yeah.
I'm gonna shake His loving hand
I'm gonna tell Him all about my trouble
As I'm travellin' through this land.
Oh, soon I will be done
Troubles of this world
Yeah, soon I will be done
I'm goin' home to live with God
Yeah, soon I will be done with the troubles of this world
Troubles of this world
Yeah, soon I will be done with the troubles, yeah
I'm goin' home to live with God
Ain't that somethin'.
- I.B.S. - You be what?
Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Is there a men's room down here?
Oh, come on. You shouldn't be usin' the men's room now.
Or a ladies' room. Quickly. I.B.S.
If you knew you had the runs, why didn't you shit back at the house?
Quickly.
We don't want Elron finding your stinkin' ass on the crapper.
No choice. It's a medical condition. Quickly.
You one disgustin' individual, you know that?
Come on. Follow me.
I feel 30 pounds lighter.
- Come the fuck on with your stinkass. - Thank you for being so understanding.
Not everyone is, of course, which is why the biggest challenge of I.B.S.
Is educating the public.
Afflicts over two million people, yet most of us have never heard of it.
And it strikes without regard to age, gender or race.
Oh, fuck, man, I don't wanna hear about this shit.
Well, that's exactly the kind of attitude we're fighting.
I guess I never told you that's how Mountain Girl and I met.
They had an I.B.S. Weekend at Grossinger's up in the Catskills.
Of course, the tourist business there has suffered
with the demise of the Borscht Belt,
so they have various promotions, mixers, so on.
This was a weekend for Irritable Bowel singles to meet, support each other,
- share stories. - Man, look here,
I don't want to hear a single one of them stories, OK?
- Now, some of them are very moving. - Not one fucking story.
- Look, I didn't choose to have I.B.S. - Man, shut the fuck up.
There's no cure, you know. Only control. Lifelong condition.
Yeah, you know what? Bein' an asshole's a lifelong condition, too.
Just drop the fuckin' tools.
I'm not complaining. I did meet Mountain Girl.
Man, get back in the fuckin' hole.
Marvel... Marvellous. This way. This way, gentlemen.
Oh. Excellent. Excellent. Flawless, flawless. Thumbs up.
Can't stop shittin'. Can't stop talkin' about shittin'.
Gentlemen, to we few. We who have shared each other's company,
each other's cares, each other's joys,
and who shall now reap the fruits of our communal efforts,
shoulder to shoulder, from each according to his abilities,
so forth and whatnot.
We have had our little differences along the way,
but I'd like to think that they've only made us value one another all the more.
Each of us coming to understand and appreciate
the other's unique qualities and potencies and, yes, foibles.
I suggest that we shall look back upon this little caper one day,
one distant day, grandchildren dandled upon our knee,
and perhaps a tear will form and we shall say,
"Well, with wit and grit and no small amount of courage,
we accomplished something on that day,
a feat of derring-do, an enterprise not ignoble."
We merry band, unbound by the constraints of society
and the prejudices of the common ruck.
We happy few.
- Gentlemen, to us. - To us.
Charge shoulda gone off already.
I do beg your pardon?
The charge to collapse the tunnel. I set it for eight minutes.
Well, that much time and more has certainly elapsed.
I need not remind you, it is of the essence of this plan
that the money should appear to have simply vanished without a trace,
- spirited away, as it were, by ghosts. - Of course.
The conundrum of the undisturbed, yet empty vault,
the unsolvable riddle of the sealed yet violated sanctum,
is of the utmost importance,
not only to make our caper more intellectually satisfying,
it is exigent as a matter of practical fact.
I remind you that if any tunnel is ever found leading to this house,
the owner knows all your names.
You just fart?
Nope, nope, I'm fine. Perfectly all right. Not a problem.
There's no hole left.
Professor.
I'm surprised.
Well, properly speaking, madam, we are surprised. You are taken aback.
Though I do acknowledge that the sense that you intend
is gaining increasing currency through its use, yes.
You have returned from your devotions betimes.
I had to make tea.
I want to talk to you, Professor, so don't you be leavin'.
And you. I told you I don't want any smokin' in this house.
Oh, come on in.
How you doin'?
Tea, ladies.
Now, I don't know what you boys been up to,
but I know mischief when I see it. Now, I want an explanation, but first,
I want you to get your fannies up here with all y'all's period instruments.
Now, I been tellin' the ladies about your music, and they want to hear you play.
- Professor? - Yes, Lump?
I can't really play the buttsack.
Madam, or rather, mesdames,
you must accept our apologies for not bein' able to perform,
for, as you see, we are shorthanded.
Gawain is still at work,
and we could no more play with one part tacit
than a horse could canter shy one leg.
Perhaps I could offer,
as a poor but ready substitute, a brief poetic recital.
Though I do not pretend to any great oratorical skills,
I would be happy to present, with your ladies' permission,
verse from the unquiet mind of Mr Edgar Allan Poe.
"Ladies, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, wayworn wanderer bore
To his own native shore."
My, my, my.
"On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome."
Glory hallelujah.
Amen.
Bye-bye, ladies. It was... it was my pleasure.
- We have to do this again. - Yes, we do got to.
Such a pleasure. Safe home. Safe home.
- Now I want to know what's goin' on. - Oh, indeed, indeed.
The thirst for knowledge is a very commendable thing.
Though I do believe that when you hear the explanation you shall laugh riotously,
slappin' your knee and perhaps even wipin' away a giddy tear,
relieved of your former concern.
Lump here, is an avid collector of Indian arrowheads,
and having found one simply lying on your cellar floor...
A particularly rare artifact of the Natchez tribe?
Nats... what?
...he enlisted the entire ensemble in an all-out effort to sift through the subsoil
in search of others.
And apparently, in doing so, we hit a mother lode of natural gas.
I myself became acutely aware of the smell of "rotten eggs."
And it was just at this inopportune moment
that the General here violated the cardinal rule of this house
- and lit himself a cigarette. - So sorry.
Well, what about all that money?
The money. Well, the money is Mr Pancake's.
- That's right. - Who only just remortgaged his home
in order to raise the money for a surgical procedure
that will correct the wandering eye of his common-law wife, Mountain Water,
who suffers from astigmia, strabismus and a general curdling of the vitreous jelly.
Mr Pancake is an ardent foe of the Federal Reserve,
and is, in fact, one of those eccentrics one often reads about
hoardin' his entire life savings,
in Mr Pancake 's case, in a Hefty bag that is his constant companion.
- The Steel Sak. - Don't trust the banks. Never have.
It don't smell right to me.
- I'm callin' Sheriff Wyner. - No. Madam.
Please, please. Madam.
No, no, I beg of... Yes. Yes.
It is a lie. It is a fantastic tale.
You have us dead to rights, but, madam, please, please, please,
allow me to tell you the truth in private.
Madam...
Madam, we are not musicians of the late Renaissance.
Nor of the early, nor mid period.
We are, in fact,
criminals.
Desperate men, Mrs Munson.
We have tunnelled into the nearby offices of the Bandit Queen gambling emporium
- and relieved it of its treasure. - Lord have mercy.
It is true.
The Bandit Queen is a den of iniquity,
a painted harlot luring people into sin by exciting the vice of greed
with her promise of easy winnings. Oh, yes.
Her gains are ill-gotten.
But, I offer no excuses - save one.
We men have each pledged one half of our share of the booty
to a charitable institution.
In compensation for the use of your home,
we had planned to donate a full share to Bob Jones University,
without burdening you with guilty knowledge by informing you of same.
But now you have wrested the information from me.
There you have it. It is on your table, Mrs Munson.
The "awful truth."
- Stolen money. - But find the victim, Mrs Munson.
I challenge you. Even the casino itself, that riparian Gomorrah,
shall suffer no harm.
It has an insurance company.
A financial behemoth that will cheerfully replenish its depleted vaults.
That is its function.
And that insurance company has tens and tens of thousands of policyholders.
So that... We have done the calculations, Mrs Munson.
So that at the end of the day, at the final reckoning,
each and every one of those policyholders shall have contributed one penny.
One, single, solitary cent to the satisfaction of this claim.
- One penny? - One penny. Think of it, Mrs Munson.
One penny from those thousands upon thousands of people
so that Bob Jones University can continue on its mission.
Why, I have no doubt that, were those policy holders made aware
of the existence of that august institution, each and every one of them
would have volunteered some token amount for the furtherance of its aims.
Well, that's prob'ly true.
Sadly, the criminal stain is upon my soul,
but the benefit shall accrue to any number of worthy causes
as long, that is, as the secret stays with us.
Well...
I can't hardly see the harm in it.
- One penny? - One penny.
- I'm sorry. - Excuse me?
No, I'm sorry, it's wrong, and don't you be leadin' me into temptation.
- No, no, madam, I must strenuously... - I'm sorry, it's just plain wrong.
- Stealin'. - No, madam...
- I know your intentions was good. - No, they weren't.
And I won't call the police if you give back the money
and y'all go to church with me next Sunday.
And engage in divine worship?
I've made up my mind.
Now, you can doubletalk all you want. It's church or the county jail.
Think it over. I gotta feed the cat.
- Motherfuck. - Yes.
Unfortunately, Mrs Munson has rather complicated the situation.
Yeah, well, I know how to decomplicate it.
You bust a cap in that old bitch's head, everything be simple.
Not easy to do. Many reasons.
Practical ones: Quiet neighbourhood, sleepy town.
Reasons of moral repugnance: A harmless woman,
a deed conceived and executed in cold blood.
Oh, no, Gawain, would that it were simple.
Well, fuck, man. What we gonna do? Give the money back and go to church?
I shudder. I quake.
You, sir, are a Buddhist.
Is there not a "middle" way?
Must float like a leaf on the river of life
and kill old lady.
Yes, yes, I suppose you are right.
It is the active nature of the crime, though, that so abhors.
The squeezing of the trigger, the plunging of the knife.
But... let us think a moment.
What other tools do we have at hand?
We have the cellar.
We have the cavity.
We have masonry and trowel.
Perhaps we could simply immure her.
Sure. Easiest thing in the world. I can whip up a little mortar in a snow saucer.
Lay the bricks. Anchor in some chains.
Mountain Girl could outsource the manacles.
Ah, gentlemen, gentlemen, we delude ourselves.
No, shortest and painless is best.
Gawain's gun, retort muffled by a pillow, into the brain.
The affair of an instant.
The only question is who wields the weapon?
I believe it is traditional in such circumstances to draw straws.
Fair enough. Here you go, Lump.
I'm thinkin', though, that since I lost a finger -
and I mean literally lost it cos of that fuckin' cat -
maybe I should be excused from this thing.
Hard for me to squeeze a trigger anyway.
You one whiny muthafucka.
I'll come over there and squeeze your fuckin' nutsack, you keep that bullshit up.
Shut up, punk.
- I'll kick your goddamn ass, sweet-legs. - Gentlemen.
No special pleading. No exceptions.
It is of the nature of the situation we would all prefer to be excused.
Well, OK, it was just a trial balloon.
Long straw. You all see it. All that fuss for nothin', punk.
Fuck you.
Motherfuck.
- Oh, would you like a hot cross bun? - No, just an explanation.
Coming up.
- Ouisie, I'll take some cocoa. - Hi, George.
What's goin' on?
George. How did they get in here?
- What you got there, Gawain? - Why, nothin', Mama.
Nothin', my ass. You got a dog there.
- No, Mama. - A filthy, noisy, little pest of a puppy dog
- gonna shit all over the house. - He won't shit in the house, Mama.
I'm gonna train him, I promise. I'll train him real good.
I'm gonna train you real good.
You wait till your daddy get home. He gonna lay into you proper.
No, Mama. Please, Mama. I love you.
Your daddy gonna kick yo' ass.
Mama's whuppin' Gawain's ass.
Ain't you gonna use the strap, Mama?
I love you, Mama. I'm sorry, Mama, I love you.
Yeah, I'll wipe the dog's ass and everything, Mama.
I'll train him to shit in the toilet, Mama.
- I'll wipe his ass and everything, Mama. - What you doin'?
What you doin' with my pillow?
Nothin', ma'am. I just came down to get a...
I'm displeased with you.
- Yeah, but... - Fine coloured boy like you
fallin' in with that trash downstairs.
Now, I know your mama taught you better than that.
I can't do it. She remind me of my mama.
- Look, man... - Why, this is most irregular.
...y'all muthafuckas just gonna have to draw straws again.
Wait a minute. You've got to accept your responsibilities, young man,
and shoot that old lady.
Hey, man, fuck you and your irritated bowel.
Must shoot.
Now, look here, it's the easiest thing in the world.
Just pretend her head's a casaba melon and the gun is a melon baller.
What the fuck are you talkin' about? A melon baller?
- Look, man, you do it. - Oh, this is most irregular.
Now, look, with equal rights comes equal responsibility.
I'm afraid Mr Pancake is correct. We cannot draw straws again.
The exercise would lose all credibility if you show that the loser can simply beg off.
Must shoot.
Hey, look, man, she's just an old coloured lady to you.
Come on, man, you do it.
- Why, you snivelling little coward. - What did you say to me?
- Snivelling little coward. - You whiny muthafucka.
I will come up yo' stankin', irritated asshole with this gun
and give you a lead colonic, muthafucka.
You think you scare me, you mewling punk?
You don't scare me. Bull Connor and all his dogs didn't scare me.
Now, be a man.
You fuck. You ain't no fuckin' man.
- Oh, my, this is most distressin'. - Be a man.
You ain't no fuckin' man. Fuckin' a 60-year-old with pigtails.
Why, you bastard punk. Mountain Girl is 53.
- She could ride your ass to jelly. - Oh, yeah?
- Gentlemen, please. - I seen Virginia hams
I'd rather stick my dick in than that big ol' white chick.
Oh, my God.
Oh, no.
Oh, my.
- I think he's hit. - Oh, no.
I'll just check the carotid artery.
- That's a negative. - Is he dead, Professor?
Oh, sure he's dead, Lump. I just checked his carotid artery.
Well, this is most irregular.
We shall need a Hefty bag.
She is in the kitchen.
You steal out with the carcass while I dazzle her with conversation.
My dear Mrs Munson, I have outlined your position with my colleagues,
and I now return to you to render our collective verdict.
There was much spirited discussion and an atmosphere of frank give-and-take.
Some of our number were initially appalled at your proposal
that we simply return the money. Some were more receptive.
I don't care if they was receptive or not.
And that attitude, madam, was a factor in our discussions.
To a man, I must say they were devastated at the prospect
of not being able to contribute to their respective charities.
- Well, that is a shame. - Indeed,
but at the end of the day, your position prevailed.
So we have decided to return the money, every last cent of it,
and attend Sunday services, rather than spend the remainder of our days
wastin' away in the Mississippi Men's Correctional Facility.
Though that was the original preference of some.
You are not assistin' with the cadaver.
Oh, no need.
Just chuck it off the bridge. Easiest thing in the world.
I'm just cleanin' up here.
Oh. That's them. Back already.
I'll just go dump these in the hearse.
Yeah, easiest thing in the world.
General.
No extra share, huh?
- Mountain? - Garth?
I.B.S., dear?
Get Garth.
Excellent. I believe, at last, we have the right man for the job.
The old woman is a more formidable antagonist than one had imagined.
Now, Lump,
it falls to you to finish the job.
- The comedy must end. - You know,
- I've been doin' some thinkin', Professor. - Oh, dear.
Maybe we should be goin' to church. Maybe she is right.
Ooh, dear, Lump. I feared those would be your words.
Not that I don't appreciate you giving the matter the benefit of your thought,
but recall, my dear boy, our respective functions in this enterprise.
I am a professor. The professor, as you yourself so often say. The thinker.
Trained, in fact, in the arts of cogitation.
You, Lump, are the goon, the hooligan, the dumb brute,
whose actions must be directed by a higher intelligence.
Yeah, I know, but...
No buts, dear boy. Do not repeat the error of thinkin'.
Now is the moment of praxis. Now, Lump, you must act.
Well, I can't do it, Professor. A nice old lady like that.
Think of the riches, Lump, that you and I alone shall divide.
Yeah, I know, but...
And reflect also that if you decline to act, thus forcin' me to do so,
you shall no longer have any entitlement to the money.
Your offices shall have been nugatory.
You mean you're gonna kill her?
Of course, yes. My hand shall be forced.
I can't allow you to do that, Professor.
You...
allow?
Not allow?
What presumption.
You stupid boy.
You very, very, extremely stupid boy.
Oh, yeah?
Who looks stupid now?
No bullets?
Perhaps it had to be thus.
"Lo. In yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand..."
A raven.
"...The agate lamp within thy hand."
"Ah, Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy Land."
Professor?
Couldn't face the music.
I appreciate that, but we don't know what to do. Tried that, too.
- Mrs Munson... - Gotta make a statement, Sheriff.
Ma'am, could it possibly wait? We're kinda busy down here today.
Oh, well, I suppose it could wait, but it's about that casino money.
Let me call you back. You know somethin' about it?
Somethin'? Everything. I got it at home.
- You got what at home? - The money. $1.6 million dollars.
- It's down in my root cellar. - How did it get there, Marva?
Well, a bunch of desperate men stole it and put it there, that's how.
See, they was musicians of the Renaissance period.
Turned out they really couldn't play,
but they could recite poems that'd break your heart.
- The ringleader spoke in dead tongues. - Does he now?
Oh, I tried to get you to see him.
- That night. - Yes, ma'am.
I had to holler at 'em about stealin' all that money.
And I guess I made 'em feel real bad,
cos they just picked up and left without takin' the money.
And they let Pickles out.
So you want us to come over and fetch him.
Oh, no, no, he's back.
What you want me to do with the money?
You keep it. Why don't you keep it?
- Keep it? - Go on and keep it, Miss Marva.
Well...
It is just a penny off of everybody's policy.
I could...
- You don't suppose I could...? - Yes, ma'am?
Could I just give it all to Bob Jones University?
Yeah. That'd be nice.
Give it all to 'em. That's a good idea.
As long as everybody knows.
How you doin'?
Pickles. Oh, Lord, Pickles.