People are always asking me
if I know Tyler Durden.
3 minutes.
ground zero.
Would you like to say a few words to mark the occasion?
With a gun barrel between your teeth,
you speak only in vowels.
I can't think of anything.
For a second I totally forget
about Tyler's whole controlled demolition thing,
and I wonder how clean that gun is.
Getting exciting now.
That old saying,
how you always hurt the one you love?
Well, it works both ways.
We have front row seats
for this theater of mass destruction.
The demolitions committee of Project Mayhem
wrapped the foundation columns of a dozen buildings
with blasting gelatin. In 2 minutes,
primary charges will blow base charges
and a few square blocks
will be reduced to smoldering rubble.
I know this...
because Tyler knows this.
21/2.
Think of everything we've accomplished.
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.
We're still men.
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...
They're gonna have to open up my pecs again
and drain the fluid.
Between those huge, sweating tits
that hung enormous the way you'd think of God's as big.
OK. You cry now.
No, wait. Back up. Let me start earlier.
For 6 months, I couldn't sleep.
I couldn't sleep.
With insomnia, nothing's real.
Everything's far away.
Everything's 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. Stellarsphere,
the Microsoft Galaxy,
Planet Starbucks.
Gonna need you out of town a little more this week.
We got some red flags to cover.
It must've been Tuesday.
He was wearing his cornflower-blue tie.
You want me to deprioritize my current reports
until you advise of a status upgrade?
Make these your primary action items.
Here's your flight coupons.
Call me from the road if there's any snags.
He was full of pep.
Must have had his grande 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.
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 indigenous peoples of...
Please hold.
Wherever.
I was holding.
We used to read pornography.
Now it was the Horchow collection.
No, you can't die from insomnia.
What about narcolepsy?
I nod off. I wake up in strange places.
I have no idea how I got there.
You need to lighten up.
Can you please just get me something?
Red and blue Tuenols, lipstick-red Seconals.
No. You need healthy natural sleep.
Chew some Valerian root and get more exercise.
Hey, come on. I'm in pain.
You wanna see pain?
Swing by First Methodist Tuesday nights.
See the guys with testicular cancer.
That's pain.
I always wanted 3 kids,
2 boys and a girl.
Mindy wanted 2 girls and a boy.
We never could agree on anything.
Well, uh, you know, she...
She had her first child last week, a...
a girl.
With... With her, uh, with her new husband.
Fuck.
Hey... Hey, thank God, you know.
I'm... I'm glad for her.
Because she deserves it.
Aw.
Everyone, let's thank Thomas for sharing himself with us.
Thank you, Thomas.
I look around this room, and I see a lot of courage,
and that gives me strength.
We give each other strength.
It's time for the one-on-ones.
So let's all of us here follow Thomas' good example
and really open ourselves up.
Would you find a partner?
And this is how I met the big moosey...
Come on. Let's go over here.
His eyes already shrink-wrapped in tears...
knees together, those awkward little steps.
My name is Bob.
Bob.
Bob had been a champion body-builder.
You know that chest-expansion program
you see on late-night TV? That was his idea.
I was a juicer.
You know, using steroids.
Diabonal and...
Wistrol. Oh, they use that
on racehorses, for Christ sakes.
And now I'm bankrupt.
I'm divorced.
My 2 grown kids...
won't even return my phone calls.
Strangers with this kind of honesty
make me go a big rubbery one.
Go ahead, Cornelius.
You can cry.
And then, something happened.
I let go.
That's really good.
Lost in oblivion...
dark and silent and complete.
I found freedom.
Losing all hope was freedom.
It's OK.
Babies don't sleep this well.
I became addicted.
Come on.
If I didn't say anything...
people always assumed the worst.
Welcome, Travis.
They cried harder...
then I cried harder.
Now we're going to open the green door,
the heart chakra.
I wasn't really dying.
I wasn't host to cancer or parasites.
I was the warm little center
that the life of this world crowded around.
Imagine your pain
as a white ball of healing light.
It moves over your body, healing you.
Now, keep this going. Remember to breathe,
and step forward
through the back door of the room.
Where does it lead?
To your cave.
Step forward into your cave.
That's right.
You're going deeper into your cave,
and you're going to find your power animal.
Slide.
Every evening, I died...
and every evening, I was born again.
Resurrected.
Bob loved me because he thought
my testicles were removed, too.
Being there...
pressed against his tits,
ready to cry.
This was my vacation.
And she ruined everything.
This is cancer, right?
This chick Marla Singer
did not have testicular cancer.
She was a liar.
She had no diseases at all.
I had seen her at Free and Clear
my blood parasites group Thursdays.
Then at Hope, my bimonthly sickle cell circle.
And again at Seize the Day,
my tuberculosis Friday night.
Marla, the big tourist.
Her lie reflected my lie,
and suddenly, I felt nothing.
I couldn't cry.
So once again, I couldn't sleep.
Next group, after guided meditation,
after we open our heart chakras,
when it's time to hug,
I'm gonna grab that little bitch
Marla Singer and scream...
Marla, you liar! You big tourist!
I need this! Now get out!
I hadn't slept in 4 days.
Absolutely. We'll just let that dry.
When you have insomnia,
you're never really asleep...
and you're never really awake.
To begin tonight's communion,
Chloe would like to say a few words.
Oh, yeah... Chloe.
Chloe looked the way
Meryl Streep's skeleton would look
if you made it smile and walk around the party
being extra nice to everybody.
Well, I'm still here,
but I don't know for how long.
That's as much certainty
as anyone can give me.
But I've got some good news.
I no longer have
any fear of death.
But I am in a pretty lonely place.
No one will have sex with me.
I'm so close to the end,
and all I want is to get laid for the last time.
I have pornographic movies in my apartment,
and lubricants and amyl nitrate.
Chloe...
Everyone, let's thank Chloe.
Now, let's... ready ourself
for guided meditation.
You're standing at the entrance of your cave.
You step inside your cave, and you walk.
If I did have a tumor...
I'd name it Marla.
Marla...
the little scratch on the roof of your mouth
that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it,
but you can't.
...deeper into your cave
as you walk.
You feel the healing energy of this place
all around you.
Now find your power animal.
Slide.
OK. Now let's partner up.
Pick someone special to you tonight.
Hey.
We need to talk.
Sure.
I'm onto you.
What?
Yeah. You're a faker.
You're not dying.
Sorry?
In the Tibetan philosophy, Sylvia Plath sense of the word,
I know we're all... we're all dying, all right?
But you're not dying the way Chloe back there is dying.
So?
So you're a tourist.
OK? I've seen you. I saw you...
saw you at melanoma,
saw you at tuberculosis,
I saw you at testicular cancer.
I saw you practicing this.
Practicing what?
Telling me off.
Is it going as well as you hoped...
"RUPERT"?
I'll expose you.
Go ahead. I'll expose you.
All right, come together.
Let yourselves cry.
Oh, God, why are you doing this?
It's cheaper than a movie, and there's free coffee.
No, look...
this is important, OK?
These are my groups.
I've been coming here for over a year.
Why do you do it?
I don't know.
When people think you're dying,
man, they really, really listen to you
instead of just...
Instead of just waiting for their turn to speak.
Yeah.
Share yourself... completely.
OK, you don't want to get into this.
It becomes an addiction.
Really?
I'm not kidding.
I can't cry if there's another faker present,
and I need this.
So you got to find somewhere else to go.
Candy stripe a cancer ward.
It's not my problem.
Wait, wait, wait.
Whoa. Hold on. I'll tell you.
We're gonna split up the week, OK?
You take lymphoma and tuberculosis...
You take tuberculosis.
My smoking doesn't go over at all.
OK. Good. Fine.
Testicular cancer should be no contest, I think.
Well, technically,
I have more right to be there than you.
You still have your balls.
You're kidding.
I don't know. Am I?
No. No.
What do you want?
I'll take the parasites.
You can't have both the parasites,
but why don't you take the blood parasites...
I want brain parasites.
I'll take the blood parasites,
but I'm gonna take the organic brain dementia...
I want that.
You can't have the whole brain.
So far you have 4. I only have 2.
OK.
Take both the parasites. They're yours.
Now we both have 3.
Hey, you left half your clothes!
What, are you selling those?
Yes! I'm selling some clothes.
So,
we each have 3. That's 6.
What about the seventh day? I want ascending bowel cancer.
The girl had done her homework.
Thank you.
No. No, I...
I want bowel cancer.
That's your favorite, too?
Try to slip it by me, eh?
Look, we're gonna split it, OK?
Take the first and third Sunday of the month.
Deal.
Looks like this is good-bye.
Well, let's not make a big thing out of it, OK?
How's this for not making a big thing?
Hey, Marla!
Marla!
May-Maybe we should exchange numbers.
Should we?
W-We might want to switch nights.
OK.
This is how I met Marla Singer.
Marla's philosophy of life
was that she might die at any moment.
The tragedy, she said, was that she didn't.
It doesn't have your name.
Who are you,
Cornelius, Rupert,
Travis,
any of the stupid names
you give each night?
You wake up at Seatac.
S.F. O...
L.A. X...
You wake up at O'Hare...
Dallas-Fort Worth...
B.W. I...
Pacific, mountain, central...
Lose an hour, gain an hour...
Check-in for that flight doesn't begin
for another 2 hours, sir.
This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time.
You wake up at Air Harbor International...
the aircraft has come to a complete stop.
If you wake up at a different time,
in a different place,
could you wake up as a different person?
Everywhere I travel,
tiny life...
single-serving sugar...
single-serving cream...
single pat of butter...
a microwave cordon-bleu hobby kit.
Shampoo-conditioner combos.
Sample package mouthwash, tiny bars of soap.
The people I meet on each flight,
they're single-serving friends.
Between takeoff and landing, we have our time together,
but that's all we get.
Welcome!
On a long enough timeline,
the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.
I was a recall coordinator.
My job was to apply the formula.
Here's where the infant
went through the windshield.
3 points.
A new car built by my company
leaves somewhere traveling at 60 miles per hour.
The rear differential locks up.
The teenager's braces
are wrapped around the back seat ashtray.
Might make a good antismoking ad.
The car crashes and burns
with everyone trapped inside.
Now, should we initiate a recall?
The father must've been huge.
You see where the fat
has burned to the seat,
the polyester shirt?
- Very modern art. - Ha ha ha!
Take the number of vehicles in the field, "A,"
multiply it by the probable rate of failure, "B,"
then multiply the result
by the average out-of-court settlement, "C."
"A" times "B" times "C"
equals "X."
If "X" is less than the cost of a recall,
we don't do one.
Are there a lot
of these kinds of accidents?
You wouldn't believe.
Which car company do you work for?
A major one.
Every time the plane banked too sharply
on takeoff or landing,
I prayed for a crash
or a midair collision.
Anything.
Life insurance pays off triple
if you die on a business trip.
"If you are seated in an emergency exit row..."
Yeah...
"And you feel you would be unable
or unwilling to perform the duties
listed on the safety card,
please ask a flight attendant
to reseat you."
It's a lot of responsibility.
Wanna switch seats?
No. I'm not sure I'm the man
for that particular job.
An exit-door procedure at 30,000 feet.
Mm-hmm.
The illusion of safety.
Yeah. I guess so.
You know why they put oxygen masks on planes?
So you can breathe.
Oxygen gets you high.
In a catastrophic emergency,
you're taking giant panicked breaths.
Suddenly you become euphoric, docile.
You accept your fate.
It's all right here.
Emergency water landing...
600 miles an hour.
Blank faces,
calm as Hindu cows.
That's, um...
That's an interesting theory.
What do you do?
What do you mean?
What do you do for a living?
Why? So you can pretend like you're interested?
OK.
You have a kind of sick desperation
in your laugh.
We have the exact same briefcase.
Soap.
Sorry?
I make and I sell soap...
the yardstick of civilization.
And this is how I met...
"Tyler Durden."
Did you know, if you mixed equal parts
of gasoline and frozen orange juice concentrate,
you can make napalm?
No, I did not know that. Is that true?
That's right.
One can make all kinds of explosives
using simple household items.
Really?
If one were so inclined.
Tyler, you are, by far, the most interesting
"single-serving" friend I've ever met.
See, obviously,
everything on a plane is single-serving, even...
Oh, I get it. It's very clever.
Thank you.
How's that working out for you?
What?
Being clever.
Great.
Keep it up, then.
Right up.
Now a question of etiquette.
As I pass,
do I give you the ass or the crotch?
How I came to live with Tyler is...
airlines have this policy about vibrating luggage.
Was... Was it ticking?
Actually, throwers don't worry about ticking,
'cause modern bombs don't tick.
Sorry. "Throwers"?
Baggage handlers.
But when a suitcase vibrates,
then the thrower's gotta call the police.
My suitcase... was vibrating?
9 times out of 10, it's an electric razor,
but every once in a while...
it's a dildo.
Of course, it's company policy
never to imply ownership
in the event of a dildo.
We have to use the indefinite article
a dildo.
Never your dildo.
I don't own a...
I had everything in that suitcase...
my CK shirts,
my DKNY shoes,
my AX ties.
Never mind.
Hey! That's my car!
Home was a condo on the 15th floor
of a filing cabinet for widows and young professionals.
The walls were solid concrete.
A foot of concrete's important
when your next-door neighbor lets her hearing aid go
and has to watch game shows at full volume...
Or when a volcanic blast
and debris that used to be your furniture and personal effects
blows out of your floor-to-ceiling windows
and sails flaming into the night.
I suppose these things happen.
There's nothing up there.
You can't go into the unit.
Police orders.
Do you have somebody you can call?
How embarrassing.
A house full of condiments and no food.
The police would later tell me
that the pilot light might have gone out,
letting out just a little bit of gas.
That gas could have slowly filled the condo...
1,700 square feet of high ceilings
for days and days.
Then the refrigerator's compressor could've clicked on.
Yeah?
I can hear you breathing, you...
If you asked me now,
I couldn't tell you why I called him.
Hello?
Who's this?
Tyler?
Who is this?
Um, ahem, we met on the airplane.
We had the same suitcase.
Uh, the clever guy.
Oh, yeah. Right. OK?
I called a second ago.
There was no answer. I'm at a pay phone.
Yeah. I star-69ed you.
I never pick up my phone.
So, what's up, man?
Uh, well...
you're not gonna believe this.
You know, man, it could be worse.
A woman could cut off your penis
while you're sleeping
and toss it out the window
of a moving car.
There's always that.
I don't know, it's just...
when you buy furniture,
you tell yourself, that's it.
That's the last sofa I'm gonna need.
Whatever else happens,
I've got that sofa problem handled.
I had it all.
I had a stereo that was very decent,
a wardrobe that was getting very respectable.
I was close to being complete.
Shit, man. Now it's all gone.
All gone.
Hmm. All gone.
Do you know what a duvet is?
Comforter.
It's a blanket.
Just a blanket.
Why do guys like you and I
know what a duvet is?
Is this essential to our survival
in the hunter-gatherer sense of the word?
No.
What are we, then?
We're, uh, you know, consumers...
Right. We're consumers.
We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession.
Murder, crime, poverty...
these things don't concern me.
What concerns me are celebrity magazines,
television with 500 channels,
some guy's name on my underwear.
Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra.
Martha Stewart.
Fuck Martha Stewart.
Martha's polishing the brass on the Titanic.
It's all going down, man.
So fuck off with your sofa units
and Strinne green stripe patterns.
I say, never be complete.
I say, stop being perfect.
I say, let's... let's evolve.
Let the chips fall where they may.
But that's me, and I could be wrong.
Maybe it's a terrible tragedy.
No. It's just stuff.
It's not a tragedy, but...
Well, you did lose
a lot of versatile solutions for modern living.
Fuck. You're right.
No. I don't smoke.
My insurance is probably gonna cover it, so...
What?
The things you own end up owning you.
But do what you like, man.
Oh, it's late.
Hey, thanks for the beer.
Yeah, man.
I should find a hotel.
Oh.
What?
A hotel.
Yeah.
Just ask, man.
What are you talking about?
Oh, God.
3 pitchers of beer,
and you still can't ask.
What?
You called me 'cause you needed a place to stay.
Oh, hey, no, no, no.
Yes, you did. So just ask.
Cut the foreplay and just ask, man.
Would that be a problem?
Is it a problem for you to ask?
Can I stay at your place?
Yeah.
Thanks.
I want you to do me a favor.
Yeah, sure.
I want you to hit me as hard as you can.
What?
I want you to hit me as hard as you can.
Let me tell you a little bit
about Tyler Durden.
Tyler was a night person.
While the rest of us were sleeping,
he worked.
He had one part-time job as a projectionist.
See, a movie doesn't come all on one big reel.
It comes on a few.
So someone has to be there to switch the projectors
at the exact moment that one reel ends
and the next one begins.
If you look for it, you can see these little dots
come into the upper right-hand corner of the screen.
In the industry,
we call them "cigarette burns."
That's the cue for a changeover.
He flips the projectors,
the movie keeps right on going,
and nobody in the audience has any idea.
Why would anyone want this shit job?
Because it affords him other interesting opportunities.
Like splicing single frames of pornography
into family films.
So when the snooty cat and the courageous dog
with the celebrity voices
meet for the first time in reel 3,
that's when you'll catch a flash
of Tyler�s contribution to the film.
Nobody knows that they saw it,
but they did.
A nice big cock.
Even a hummingbird couldn't catch Tyler at work.
Tyler also works sometimes as a banquet waiter
at the luxurious Pressman Hotel.
He was the guerilla terrorist
of the food service industry.
Do not watch.
I cannot go when you watch.
Apart from seasoning the lobster bisque,
he farted on meringues,
sneezed on braised endive.
And as for the cream of mushroom soup,
well...
Go ahead, tell them.
You get the idea.
What do you want me to do? You just want me to hit you?
Come on. Do me this one favor.
Why?
Why? I don't know why. I don't know.
I've never been in a fight. Have you?
No, but that's a good thing.
No, it is not.
How much can you know about yourself
if you've never been in a fight?
I don't wanna die without any scars.
So, come on, hit me before I lose my nerve.
God, this is crazy.
So go crazy. Let 'er rip.
Hey, I don't know about this.
I don't, either, but who gives a shit?
No one's watching. What do you care?
Wait. This is crazy. You want me to hit you?
That's right.
What, like, in the face?
Surprise me.
This is so fucking stupid.
Ohh!
Motherfucker!
You hit me in the ear.
Well, Jesus, I'm sorry.
Ow! Christ!
Why the ear, man?
Aw, I fucked it up.
No. That was perfect.
Ohh! Uhh!
Nah, it's all right.
That really hurts.
Right.
Hit me again.
No. You hit me.
Come on.
We should do this again sometime.
Where's your car?
What car?
I don't know how Tyler found that house,
but he said he'd been there for a year.
It looked like it was waiting to be torn down.
Most of the windows were boarded up.
There was no lock on the front door
from when the police or whoever kicked it in.
The stairs were ready to collapse.
I didn't know if he owned it or if he was squatting.
Neither would have surprised me.
Yeah. That's you.
That's me.
That's the toilet.
Good?
Yeah. Thanks.
What a shithole.
Nothing worked.
Turning on one light
meant another light in the house went out.
There were no neighbors,
just some warehouses and a paper mill...
that fart smell of steam,
the hamster cage smell of wood chips.
After work tomorrow, we'll be...
Hey. What have we here?
Hey, guys.
Hey.
It's cool.
Ohh!
Every time it rained, we had to kill the power.
By the end of the first month,
I didn't miss TV.
I didn't even mind the warm, stale refrigerator.
Can I be next?
All right, man.
Lose the tie.
Ooh!
At night, Tyler and I were alone
for a half a mile in every direction.
Rain trickled down through the plaster
and the light fixtures.
Everything wooden swelled and shrank.
Everywhere were rusted nails to snag your elbow on.
The previous occupant had been a bit of a shut-in.
Hey, man, what are you reading?
Listen to this.
It's an article written by an organ
in the first person.
"I am Jack's medulla oblongata.
Without me, Jack could not regulate
his heart rate, blood pressure, or breathing."
There's a whole series of these.
"I am Jill's nipples."
"I am Jack's colon."
Yeah. "I get cancer. I kill Jack."
Whoa... Ohh!
After fighting,
everything else in your life got the volume turned down.
What?
You could deal with anything.
Have you finished those reports?
If you could fight anyone,
who would you fight?
I'd fight my boss, probably.
Really?
Yeah. Why, who would you fight?
I'd fight my dad.
I don't know my dad.
I mean, I know him,
but he left when I was, like, 6 years old,
married this other woman and had some other kids.
He, like, did this every 6 years.
He goes to a new city and starts a new family.
Fucker should open up franchises.
My dad never went to college,
so it was real important that I go.
That sounds familiar.
So I graduate, I call him up long distance.
I say, "Dad, now what?" He says, "Get a job."
Same here.
Now I'm 25.
I make my yearly call again.
I say, "Dad, now what?"
He says, "I don't know. Get married."
Eh, I mean...
I can't get married.
I'm a 30-year-old boy.
We're a generation of men
raised by women.
I'm wondering if another woman
is really the answer we need.
Most of the week, we were Ozzie and Harriet.
But every Saturday night,
we were finding something out.
We were finding out more and more
that we were not alone.
Who turned the lights off?
It used to be
that when I came home angry or depressed,
I'd just clean my condo,
polish my Scandinavian furniture.
I should've been looking for a new condo.
I should've been haggling with my insurance company.
I should've been upset about my nice, neat flaming little shit.
But I wasn't.
The basic premise
of cyber-netting any office
is make things more efficient.
Monday mornings, all I could do
was think about next week.
Can I get the icon in cornflower blue?
Absolutely.
Efficiency is priority number one, people,
because waste is a thief.
I showed this already to my man, here.
You liked it, didn't you?
You can swallow a pint of blood
before you get sick.
It was right in everyone's face.
Tyler and I just made it visible.
It was on the tip of everyone's tongue.
Tyler and I just gave it a name.
Come on, people, you gotta go home.
Turn off the jukebox. Lock the back.
Every week, Tyler gave the rules
that he and I decided.
Gentlemen, welcome to Fight Club.
The first rule of Fight Club is...
you do not talk about Fight Club.
The second rule of Fight Club is...
you do not talk about Fight Club.
Third rule of Fight Club...
Someone yells "Stop!" goes limp, taps out,
the fight is over.
Fourth rule...
Only 2 guys to a fight.
Fifth rule...
One fight at a time, fellas.
Sixth rule... No shirts, no shoes.
Seventh rule...
Fights will go on as long as they have to.
And the eighth and final rule...
If this is your first night at Fight Club...
you have to fight.
This kid from work, Ricky,
couldn't remember whether you ordered pens
with blue ink or black...
Come on, man!
But Ricky was a god for 10 minutes
when the trounced the maitre d' of a local food court.
Sometimes, all you could hear
were the flat, hard packing sounds
over the yelling...
or the wet choke when someone caught their breath
and sprayed...
Stop!
You weren't alive anywhere like you were there.
But Fight Club only exists
in the hours between when Fight Club starts
and when Fight Club ends.
Even if I could tell someone they had a good fight,
I wouldn't be talking to the same man.
Who you were in Fight Club
is not who you were in the rest of the world.
The guy who came to Fight Club for the first time,
his ass was a wad of cookie dough.
After a few weeks,
he was carved out of wood.
If you could fight any celebrity,
who would you fight?
Alive or dead?
It doesn't matter. Who'd be tough?
Hemingway.
You?
Shatner.
I'd fight William Shatner.
We all started seeing things differently.
Everywhere we went,
we were sizing things up.
I felt sorry for guys packed into gyms,
trying to look like how Calvin Klein
or Tommy Hilfiger said they should.
Is that what a man looks like?
Ahh. Self-improvement is masturbation.
And self-destruction.
Excuse me.
Kick his ass!
Hit him again, man! Come on! Hit him!
Fight Club wasn't about winning or losing.
It wasn't about words.
The hysterical shouting was in tongues,
like in a Pentecostal church.
- Is that it? - Stop!
When the fight was over,
nothing was solved,
but nothing mattered.
Hey, cool.
Afterwards, we all felt saved.
Hey, man, how about next week?
How about next month?
I hear you.
Irwin, you're in the middle.
New guy. You, too.
Sometimes, Tyler spoke for me.
He fell down some stairs.
I fell down some stairs.
Fight Club became the reason to cut your hair short
or trim your fingernails.
OK. Any historical figure.
I'd fight Gandhi.
Good answer.
How about you?
Lincoln.
Lincoln?
Mm.
Big guy, big reach.
Skinny guys fight till they're burger.
Fuck.
Hey. Even the Mona Lisa's falling apart.
Hello.
Where have you been
the last 8 weeks?
Marla?
How'd you find me?
You left that forwarding number.
I haven't seen you in any support groups.
We split them up.
That was the idea, remember?
Yeah, but you haven't been going to yours.
How do you know?
I cheated.
I found a new one.
Really?
It's for men only.
Like the testicle thing?
Waaah!
Look, this is a bad time.
I've been going to Debtors Anonymous.
You wanna see some really fucked up people?
I'm just on my way out.
Me, too.
I've got a stomachful of Xanax.
I took what was left of a bottle.
It might have been too much.
Just picture watching Marla Singer
throw herself around her crummy apartment.
But this isn't a for-real suicide thing.
This is probably one of those cry-for-help things.
This could go on for hours.
So you're staying in tonight, then?
Do you wanna wait
and hear me describe death?
Do you wanna listen
and see if my spirit can use a phone?
Have you ever heard a death rattle before?
Tyler's door was closed.
I'd been living here for 2 months,
and Tyler's door was never closed.
You won't believe this dream I had last night.
Yeah, I can hardly believe anything about last night.
What... What are you doing here?
What?
This is my house. What are you doing in my house?
Fuck you.
Ha ha! Ohh...
Oh, you got some fucked-up friends, I'm tellin' you.
Limber, though...
silly coos.
So, I come in last night. Phone's off the hook.
Guess who's on the other end.
I already knew the story before he told it to me.
Have you ever heard a death rattle before?
Do you think it'll live up to its name?
Or will it just be a death... hairball?
Prepare... to evacuate soul.
9...
8...
Now, how could Tyler, of all people,
think it was a bad thing that Marla Singer was about to die?
5...
4...
3... Oh, hang on.
You got here fast.
Did I call you?
Huh?
Hey.
The mattress is all sealed in slippery plastic.
Oh, don't worry. It's not a threat to you.
Oh, fuck.
Somebody called the cops.
Hey, where's 513?
End of the hall.
You know, the girl who lives there
used to be a charming, lovely girl.
She's lost faith in herself.
Miss Singer!
She's a monster.
You have every reason to live!
She's infectious human waste!
Miss Singer!
Good luck trying to save her!
If I fall asleep, I'm done for.
You're gonna have to keep me up...
all... night.
Un-fucking-believable.
He was obviously able to handle it.
You know what I mean. You fucked her.
No, I didn't.
Never?
No.
You're not into her, are you?
No! God, not at all.
I am Jack's raging bile duct.
Are you sure? You can tell me.
Believe me, I'm sure.
Put a gun to my head
and paint the walls with my brains.
That's good, 'cause she's a predator
posing as a house pet.
Stay away from that one.
And the shit that came out of this woman's mouth
I ain't never heard.
My God.
I haven't been fucked like that since grade school.
Uhh!
How could Tyler not go for that?
The night before last, he was splicing
sex organs into Cinderella.
Marla doesn't need a lover.
She needs a fucking case worker.
She needs a wash. And she's in love with sport fuckin'.
She invaded my support groups.
Now she'd invaded my home.
Hey, hey. Sit down.
Now, listen. Can't have you talking to her about me.
Why would I talk to her...
You say anything about me or what goes on in this house
to her or to anybody, we're done.
Now, promise me.
OK.
You promise?
- Yeah, I promise. - Promise.
I just said I promise.
That's 3 times you promised.
If only I had wasted a couple of minutes
and gone to watch Marla Singer die,
none of this would've happened.
Unhh! Unhh! Unhh!
Unhh!
Yeah! Oh! Harder! Harder!
Yeah! Ooh! Aah!
Aah! Ohh! Aah!
I could've moved to another room...
on the third floor, where I might not have heard them.
Oh, baby!
But I didn't.
Ohh!
Ohh! Ohh! Ohh!
Ohh! Ohh! Aaahh!
Aah! Aah! Aah!
- Aah! Ohhh! Ohh! Ow!
Ohh!
What are you doin'?
Just goin' to bed.
Want to finish her off?
Uhh... oh!
No.
No, thank you.
I found the cigarettes.
Who are you talking to?
Shut up.
I became the calm little center of the world.
I was the Zen master.
Ohh! Ohh! Ohh!
I wrote little haiku poems.
I e-mailed them to everyone.
Is that your blood?
Some of it, yeah.
You can't smoke in here.
Take the rest of the day off.
Come back Monday with some clean clothes.
Get yourself together.
I got right in everyone's hostile little face.
Yes, these are bruises from fighting.
Yes, I'm comfortable with that.
I... am enlightened.
You give up the condo life...
give up all your flaming worldly possessions...
go live in a dilapidated house
in a toxic waste part of town...
and you have to come home to this.
Ohh! Ohh! Ohh!
Hello?
Yes. This is Detective Stern
with the Arson Unit.
We have some new information
about the incident at your former condo.
Yes?
I don't know if you're aware,
but it seems that someone sprayed freon
into your front door lock,
then tapped it with a chisel to shatter the cylinder.
No, I wasn't aware of that at all.
I am Jack's cold sweat.
Does this sound strange to you?
Uh, yes, sir. Strange. Very strange.
The dynamite...
Dynamite?
left a residue
of ammonium oxylate potassium chloride.
Do you know what this means?
No. What does it mean?
It means it was homemade.
I'm sorry. This is just coming
as quite a shock to me, sir.
See, whoever set this homemade dynamite
could've blown out your pilot light
days before the actual explosion.
The gas was just the detonator.
Who would go and do such a thing?
I'll ask the questions.
Tell him. Tell him the liberator
who destroyed my property has realigned my perception.
Excuse me. Are you there?
No, I am listening. It's a little hard to know
what to make of all this.
Have you recently made enemies with anyone
who might have access to homemade dynamite?
- Enemies? - Reject the basic
assumption of civilization,
especially the importance of material possessions.
Son, this is serious.
Yes, I know it's serious.
I mean that.
Yes, it's very serious.
Look, nobody takes this more seriously than me.
That condo was my life.
OK? I loved every stick of furniture in that place.
That was not just a bunch of stuff
that got destroyed.
It was me!
I'd like to thank the Academy.
Is this not a good time for you?
Just tell him you fuckin' did it.
Shhh!
Tell him you blew it all up.
That's what he wants to hear.
Are you still there?
Wait. Are you saying that I'm a suspect?
No, no. I may need to talk to you a little further,
so how about you just lettin' me know if you're gonna leave town?
OK?
OK.
Except for their humping,
Tyler and Marla were never in the same room.
My parents pulled this exact same act for years.
The condom is the glass slipper of our generation.
You slip one on when you meet a stranger.
You... dance all night.
Then you throw it away.
The condom, I mean. Not the stranger.
What?
I got this dress at a thrift store for $1.00.
It was worth every penny.
It's a bridesmaid's dress.
Someone loved it... intensely
for one day...
then tossed it.
Like a Christmas tree...
so special...
then... bam...
it's on the side of the road...
tinsel still clinging to it...
like a sex crime victim...
underwear inside out...
bound with electrical tape.
Well, then it suits you.
You can borrow it sometime.
Get rid of her.
Why can't you get rid of her?
Don't mention me.
I'm 6 years old again,
passing messages between parents.
I really think it's time you got out of here.
Don't worry. I'm leaving.
Not that we don't love your little visits.
You are such a nut case.
I can't even begin to keep up.
Thanks. Bye.
You kids.
Wh... Why do you still waste time with her?
I'll say this about Marla...
at least she's tryin' to hit bottom.
What, and I'm not?
Stickin' feathers up your butt
does not make you a chicken.
What are we doin' tonight?
- Tonight? - Yeah.
We make soap.
Really.
To make soap, first we render fat.
The salt balance has to be just right,
so the best fat for making soap comes from humans.
Wait. What is this place?
A liposuction clinic.
Aha! Pay dirt.
The richest, creamiest fat in the world.
Fat of the land.
Come on.
Oh, God! Oh!
Get another one. Unhh!
As the fat renders, the tallows float to the surface.
Like in Boy Scouts.
I can imagine you as a Boy Scout.
Keep stirrin'.
Once the tallow hardens,
we skim off a layer of glycerin.
If you were to add nitric acid, you got nitroglycerin.
If you were then to add sodium nitrate
and a dash of sawdust, you got dynamite.
Yeah, with enough soap,
we could blow up just about anything.
Tyler was full of useful information.
Now, ancient peoples found that clothes got cleaner
when they washed them at a certain point in the river.
- You know why? - No.
Human sacrifices were once made
on the hills above this river.
Bodies burned. Water seeped into the wood and ashes
to create lye.
This is lye, the crucial ingredient.
Once it mixed with the melted fat of bodies,
a thick, white, soapy discharge
crept into the river. May I see your hand, please?
What is this?
This... is chemical burn.
Uh... Aah! Aah!
It'll hurt more than you've ever been burned,
and you will have a scar.
If meditation worked for cancer, it could work for this.
Stay with the pain. Don't shove to center.
No, no! Oh, God!
Look at your hand.
The first soap was made from the ashes of heroes,
like the first monkey shot into space.
Without pain, without sacrifice,
we would have nothin'.
I tried not to think of the the words "sear" or "flesh."
Stop it! This is your pain.
This is your burning hand. It's right here.
I'm going to my cave.
I'm going to my cave and find my power animal.
No! Don't deal with it the way those dead people do!
Come on!
I get the point! OK! Please!
No. What you're feeling is premature enlightenment.
This is the greatest moment of your life, man,
and you're off somewhere...
Shut up.
Our fathers were our models for God.
If our fathers bailed,
what does that tell you about God?
No, no.
Listen to me.
You have to consider the possibility
that God does not like you,
He never wanted you.
In all probability, He hates you.
This is not the worst thing that can happen.
We don't need Him.
We don't! I agree!
Fuck damnation, man. Fuck redemption.
We are God's unwanted children?
So be it!
Listen! You can run water over your hand
to make it worse, or... look at me...
or you can use vinegar to neutralize the burn.
Please let me have some! Please!
First you have to give up.
First you have to know, not fear,
know that someday you're gonna die.
You don't know how this feels!
It's only after we've lost everything
that we're free to do anything.
OK.
Congratulations.
You're one step closer to hitting bottom.
Tyler sold his soap to department stores
at $20 a bar.
God knows what they charged.
This is the best soap.
Why, thank you, Suzie.
It was beautiful.
We were selling rich women
their own fat asses back to them.
He was wearing his yellow tie.
I didn't even wear a tie to work anymore.
"The first rule of Fight Club
is you don't talk about Fight Club"?
I'm half asleep again.
I must've left the original in the copy machine.
"The second rule of Fight Club..." Is this yours?
Huh?
Pretend you're me.
Make a managerial decision.
You find this. What would you do?
Well, I gotta tell ya...
I'd be very, very careful who you talk to about that.
Because the person who wrote that...
is dangerous.
And this buttoned-down, oxford-cloth psycho
might just snap
and then stalk from office to office
with an Armilade AR-10 carbine gas-powered
semi-automatic weapon,
pumping round after round
into colleagues and coworkers.
This might be someone you've known for years...
someone very... very... close to you.
Tyler's words coming out of my mouth.
And I used to be such a nice guy.
Maybe you shouldn't bring me every little piece of trash
you happen to pick up.
Liability.
My tit's gonna rot off.
Will you excuse me? I need to take this.
What're you talking about?
I need you to check and see if there's a lump in my breast.
Go to a hospital.
I can't afford to throw money away on a doctor.
I don't know about this, Marla.
Please?
She didn't call Tyler.
I'm neutral in her book.
That's nice.
Taking food to Mrs...
Hannaburr, Mrs. Raines?
Who are they... exactly?
Tragically, they're dead.
I'm alive, and I'm in poverty.
You want any?
No. No.
I got one for you.
Thanks for the thought.
What happened to your hand?
Uh... nothin'.
Right there.
Uhh.
Feel anything?
No.
Well, make sure.
OK, I'm... I'm pretty sure.
You feel nothing.
No. Nothing.
Well, that's a relief.
Thank you.
Uh, um... no problem.
I wish I could return the favor.
There's not a lot of breast cancer in the men in my family.
Could check your prostate.
I think I'm OK.
Well, thanks, anyway.
Are we done?
Yeah, we're done. See you... around.
Cornelius?
Cornelius!
It's me...
Bob!
Hey... Bob.
Hey. Uhh!
We all thought you were dead.
No, no. Still here.
How are you, Bob?
Better than I've ever been in my whole life.
Really. You still remaining men together?
No, no. I got somethin' so much better now.
Really. What is it?
Well...
first rule is...
I'm not supposed to talk about it.
And the second rule is,
I'm not supposed to talk about it.
And the third rule is...
Bob. Bob. I'm a member.
Look at my face, Bob.
That's fuckin'... That's fuckin' great.
I've... I've never seen you there.
I go Tuesdays and Thursdays.
I go Saturday.
Congratulations.
Yeah. Hey, to both of us, right?
Have you heard about the guy that invented this thing?
Well, uh, yeah, actually. I...
I hear all kinds of things.
Supposedly... he was born in a mental institution.
And he sleeps only one hour a night.
He's a great man.
Oh...
Do you know about Tyler Durden?