Needful Things Page #2

- Pusillanimous a**holes...

- That's enough!

I try to do a lot for this town.

I accomplish a lot for this town.

In fact, I am this town. And I am sick

and tired of this goddamn persecution.

- I am not persecuting you, Danforth.

- He called me Buster!

- You know how I feel about that.

- Then he'll apologize.

Won't you, Norris?

- Don't know that I will.

- You will.

Now.

I'm sorry.

- I'm sorry that I called you Buster.

- Yeah, you mama's boy. You candy-assed...

Shut up, you bloated,

cigar-sucking used car salesman.

Boats, shithead!

I sell quality preowned yachts,

you miserable f***ing scuzz bucket...

Shut up! Shut up!

When I moved here, I thought,

"Great, I'm out of the big city. "

I'm in a place where people won't be

crawling up each other's a**hole every day.

Where maybe my biggest nightmare

was gonna be getting a cat out of a tree.

But forget that!

Everybody is insane everywhere!

So you guys just fight it out between you.

One of you kill each other,

and who's ever left, I'll throw in jail.

You can do it. I know you can.

He's not gonna bite.

But what will I say?

You introduce yourself. "Hi. I'm Nettie. "

Then what?

Nettie, just go. You'll be fine.

Go on.

Hi. I'm Nettie.

Thank you.

It's only 19th century. I'm sorry.

Enjoy your purchases.

What's this? Some old wood chisel?

It belonged to a cabinet maker

at Chteau de Versailles...

...in the days of Louis XVI.

Look at this, Pete. Looks pretty old.

Yep.

My God. I didn't think we had room

for another soul in here.

Hi. My name is Nettie.

That stupid dog barks at me once more...

...I won't bother complaining

to Sheriff Pangborn again.

- I'll come over your place, skin him alive.

- No, not in here. Dear God, please!

- Throw her Baptist ass in the street.

- I will not.

Dear ladies, let's all be friends.

Can't we all be friends?

Not in this life.

Please, not in my place.

I'm sorry. Ladies, excuse me!

Miss Jerzyk!

Pick it up. Go ahead. Go on.

Don't be afraid, Miss Cobb.

No. I had one just like it years ago.

But it got broke.

- My husband...

- Your husband?

Then it's Mrs. Cobb.

Although my George has been passed on

for some time now.

- He died, untimely.

- I'm so sorry to hear that.

No need to be sorry.

It's been seven years since he was...

Murder is awful.

- I didn't mean to.

- Of course not.

It wasn't you who took that meat fork

from the drawer...

...and stuck it in his throat.

Are you leaving, Mrs. Roberts?

I'll have to think about it.

It is a lot of money.

You think about it. So will I.

You baked this?

Of course.

Homemade every day from apples

picked down at the Mayflowers'.

Polly Chalmers, my boss, sent it over.

Go ahead. Take him.

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