A ticking-time-bomb insomniac and a slippery soap salesman channel primal male aggression into a shocking new form of therapy. Their concept catches on, with underground “fight clubs” forming in every town, until an eccentric gets in the way and ignites an out-of-control spiral toward oblivion
Tyler Durden: The things you own end up owning you.
Tyler Durden: Man, I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who’ve ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don’t need. We’re the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War’s a spiritual war… our Great Depression is our lives. We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off.
Narrator: I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.
Tyler Durden: It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.
Narrator: You met me at a very strange time in my life.
Tyler Durden: You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your fucking khakis. You’re the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.
Narrator: This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time.
Tyler Durden: Listen up, maggots. You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You’re the same decaying organic matter as everything else.
Tyler Durden: 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 two 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 time at Fight Club, you have to fight.
Tyler Durden: Now, a question of etiquette – as I pass, do I give you the ass or the crotch?
Narrator: [about the soap] Tyler sold his soap to department stores at $20 a bar. Lord knows what they charged. It was beautiful. We were selling rich women their own fat asses back to them.
Tyler Durden: Warning: If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life. Don’t you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can’t think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all that claim it? Do you read everything you’re supposed to read? Do you think every thing you’re supposed to think? Buy what you’re told to want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you’re alive. If you don’t claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned- Tyler.
Narrator: Well, what do you want me to do? You just want me to hit you?
Tyler Durden: C’mon, do me this one favor.
Tyler Durden: Why? I don’t know why; I don’t know. Never been in a fight. You?
Narrator: No, but that’s a good thing.
Tyler Durden: No, it is not. How much can you know about yourself, 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.
Narrator: This is crazy.
Tyler Durden: So go crazy. Let ‘er rip.
Narrator: I don’t know about this.
Tyler Durden: I don’t either. Who gives a shit? No one’s watching. What do you care?
Narrator: Whoa, wait, this is crazy. You want me to hit you?
Tyler Durden: That’s right.
Narrator: What, like in the face?
Tyler Durden: [beat] Surprise me.
Narrator: This is so fucking stupid…
[Narrator swings, connects against Tyler’s head]
Tyler Durden: Motherfucker! You hit me in the ear!
Narrator: Well, Jesus, I’m sorry.
Tyler Durden: Ow, Christ… why the ear, man?
Narrator: Guess I fucked it up…
Tyler Durden: No, that was perfect!
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Narrator: You’re making a big mistake, fellas!
Police Officer: You said you would say that.
Narrator: I’m not Tyler Durden!
Police Officer: You told us you’d say that, too.
Narrator: All right then, I’m Tyler Durden. Listen to me, I’m giving you a direct order. We’re aborting this mission right now.
Police Officer: You said you would definitely say that.
Narrator: If I did have a tumor, I’d name it Marla.
Tyler Durden: [pointing at an emergency instruction manual on a plane] You know why they put oxygen masks on planes?Narrator: So you can breathe.
Tyler Durden: 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.
Narrator: That’s, um… That’s an interesting theory.
Narrator: On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.
Narrator: A new car built by my company leaves somewhere traveling at 60 mph. The rear differential locks up. The car crashes and burns with everyone trapped inside. Now, should we initiate a recall? Take the number of vehicles in the field, A, multiply by the probable rate of failure, B, multiply 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.
Businesswoman on plane: Are there a lot of these kinds of accidents?
Narrator: You wouldn’t believe.
Businesswoman on plane: Which car company do you work for?
Narrator: A major one.
Narrator: When you have insomnia, you’re never really asleep… and you’re never really awake.
Narrator: [while brutally beating Angel Face] I felt like putting a bullet between the eyes of every Panda that wouldn’t screw to save its species. I wanted to open the dump valves on oil tankers and smother all the French beaches I’d never see. I wanted to breathe smoke.
[Poem on Narrator’s computer]
Narrator: Worker bees can leave. Even drones can fly away. The Queen is their slave.
Narrator: When people think you’re dying, they really, really listen to you, instead of just…
instead of just waiting for their turn to speak?
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Narrator: I am Jack’s inflamed sense of rejection.
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Tyler Durden: Hey, you created me. I didn’t create some loser alter-ego to make myself feel better. Take some responsibility!
Richard Chesler: [Reading a piece of paper] The first rule of Fight Club is you don’t talk about Fight Club?
Narrator: [Voice-over] I’m half asleep again; I must’ve left the original in the copy machine.
Richard Chesler: The second rule of Fight Club – is this yours?
Richard Chesler: Pretend you’re me, make a managerial decision: you find this, what would you do?
Narrator: [pauses] Well, I gotta tell you: I’d be very, very careful who you talk to about that, because the person who wrote that… is dangerous.
[Gets up from the chair]
Narrator: [Talking slowly] And this button-down, Oxford-cloth psycho might just snap, and then stalk from office to office with an Armalite AR-10 carbine gas-powered semi-automatic weapon, pumping round after round into colleagues and co-workers. This might be someone you’ve known for years. Someone very, very close to you.
Narrator: [Voice-over] Tyler’s words coming out of my mouth.
[Snatches the piece of paper from boss’ hands]
Narrator: [Voice-over] And I used to be such a nice guy.
Narrator: Or maybe you shouldn’t bring me every little piece of trash you happen to pick up.
Narrator: [Into phone] Compliance and Liability…?
Marla Singer: My tit’s gonna rot off.
Narrator: [to boss] Would you excuse me? I need to take this.
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Tyler Durden: Fuck damnation, man! Fuck redemption! We are God’s unwanted children? So be it!
Narrator: OK. Give me some water!
Tyler Durden: Listen, you can run water over your hand and make it worse or…
Tyler Durden: Look at me… or you can use vinegar and neutralize the burn.
Narrator: Please let me have it… *Please*!
Tyler Durden: First you have to give up, first you have to *know*… not fear… *know*… that someday you’re gonna die.
Tyler Durden: We’re a generation of men raised by women. I’m wondering if another woman is really the answer we need.
Narrator: Is Tyler my bad dream? Or am I Tyler’s?
Tyler Durden: Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken.
Narrator: [reading] I am Jack’s colon.
Tyler Durden: I get cancer, I kill Jack.
Narrator: If you wake up at a different time in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?
Tyler Durden: Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing. Like the first monkey shot into space.
Narrator: Tyler, what the fuck is going on here?
Tyler Durden: I ask you for one thing, one simple thing.
Narrator: Why do people think that I’m you? Answer me!
Tyler Durden: Sit.
Narrator: Now answer me, why do people think that I’m you.
Tyler Durden: I think you know.
Narrator: No, I don’t.
Tyler Durden: Yes, you do. Why would anyone possibly confuse you with me?
Narrator: Uh… I… I don’t know.
Tyler Durden: You got it.
Tyler Durden: Say it.
Tyler Durden: Say it.
Narrator: Because we’re the same person.
Tyler Durden: That’s right.
Narrator: And then, something happened. I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.
Narrator: Every evening I died, and every evening I was born again, resurrected.
Tyler Durden: 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.
Narrator: There’s always that.
Narrator: Look, nobody takes this more seriously than me. That condo was my life, okay? I loved every stick of furniture in that place. That was not just a bunch of stuff that got destroyed, it was ME!
Narrator: I’d like to thank the Academy…
Narrator: I am Jack’s smirking revenge.
Narrator: Oh, it’s late. Hey, thanks for the beer.
Tyler Durden: Yeah, man.
Narrator: I should find a hotel.
Tyler Durden: [in disbelief] What?
Tyler Durden: A hotel?
Tyler Durden: Just ask, man.
Narrator: What are you talking about?
Tyler Durden: [laughs] Three pitchers of beer, and you still can’t ask.
Tyler Durden: You call me because you need a place to stay.
Narrator: Oh, hey, no, no, no, I didn’t mean…
Tyler Durden: Yes, you did. So just ask. Cut the foreplay and just ask.
Narrator: Would – would that be a problem?
Tyler Durden: Is it a problem for you to ask?
Narrator: Can I stay at your place?
Tyler Durden: Yeah.
[while burning the Narrator’s hand with lye]
Tyler Durden: Shut up! Our fathers were our models for God. If our fathers bailed, what does that tell you about God?
Narrator: No, no, I… don’t…
Tyler Durden: 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.
Narrator: It isn’t?
Tyler Durden: We don’t need him!
[to the Narrator who has just fired a warning shot into the window of an explosives filled van]
Tyler Durden: WHOA! WHOA! WHOA! Ok, you are now firing a gun at your ‘imaginary friend’ near 400 GALLONS OF NITROGLYCERINE!
Narrator: Marla’s philosophy of life is that she might die at any moment. The tragedy, she said, was that she didn’t.
Narrator: I ran. I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid. Then I ran some more.
Narrator: It’s called a changeover. The movie goes on, and nobody in the audience has any idea.
Narrator: Everywhere I travel, tiny life. Single-serving sugar, single-serving cream, single pat of butter. The microwave Cordon Bleu hobby kit. Shampoo-conditioner combos, sample-packaged mouthwash, tiny bars of soap. The people I meet on each flight? They’re single-serving friends.
Tyler Durden: Do you know what a duvet is?
Narrator: It’s a comforter…
Tyler Durden: It’s a blanket. Just a blanket. Now why do guys like you and me know what a duvet is? Is this essential to our survival, in the hunter-gatherer sense of the word? No. What are we then?
Tyler Durden: Right. We are consumers. We’re the by-products of a lifestyle obsession.
Tyler Durden: Fuck off with your sofa units and string green stripe patterns, I say never be complete, I say stop being perfect, I say let… lets evolve, let the chips fall where they may.
Tyler Durden: Tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of Raymond K. Hessel’s life. His breakfast will taste better than any meal you and I have ever tasted.
Narrator: Bob is dead, they shot him in the head!
Tyler Durden: You wanna make an omelet, you gotta break some eggs.
Marla Singer: I got this dress at a thrift store for one dollar.
Narrator: It was worth every penny.
Marla Singer: It’s a bridesmaid’s dress. Someone loved it intensely for one day, and then tossed it. Like a Christmas tree. So special. Then, bam, it’s on the side of the road.
[Grabs Narrator’s crotch]
Marla Singer: Tinsel still clinging to it. Like a sex crime victim. Underwear inside out. Bound with electrical tape.
Narrator: Well, then it suits you.
Marla Singer: You can borrow it sometime.
Tyler Durden: Where’d you go, psycho boy?
Narrator: I felt like destroying something beautiful.
[after vigorous sex with Tyler Durden]
Marla Singer: My God. I haven’t been fucked like that since grade school.
Narrator: With insomnia, nothing’s real. Everything’s far away. Everything’s a copy of a copy of a copy.
Marla Singer: …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.
Narrator: This is crazy…
Tyler Durden: People do it everyday, they talk to themselves… they see themselves as they’d like to be, they don’t have the courage you have, to just run with it.
Tyler Durden: This isn’t love, it’s sport fucking.
Narrator: You wake up at Seatac, SFO, LAX. You wake up at O’Hare, Dallas-Fort Worth, BWI. Pacific, mountain, central. Lose an hour, gain an hour. This is your life, and it’s ending one minute at a time. You wake up at Air Harbor International. If you wake up at a different time, in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?
[meeting aboard an airliner]
Narrator: What do you do for a living?
Tyler Durden: Why? So you can pretend like you’re interested?
Lou: [Lou hits Tyler in the face] Do you hear me now?
Tyler Durden: No, I didn’t quite catch that, Lou.
[Lou hits Tyler again]
Tyler Durden: Still not getting it.
[Lou hits Tyler a few more times]
Tyler Durden: Okay, I got it. Shit, I lost it.
[Lou continues to beat up Tyler]
Tyler Durden: My dad never went to college, so it was real important that I go.
Narrator: Sounds familiar.
Tyler Durden: So I graduate, I call him up long distance, I say “Dad, now what?” He says, “Get a job.”
Narrator: Same here.
Tyler Durden: Now I’m 25, make my yearly call again. I say Dad, “Now what?” He says, “I don’t know, get married.”
Narrator: I can’t get married, I’m a 30 year old boy.
Tyler Durden: We’re a generation of men raised by women. I’m wondering if another woman is really the answer we need.
Narrator: Tyler, I’m grateful to you; for everything that you’ve done for me. But this is too much. I don’t want this.
Tyler Durden: What do you want? Wanna go back to the shit job, fuckin’ condo world, watching sitcoms? Fuck you, I won’t do it.
Tyler Durden: [to the police chief] Hi. You’re going to call off your rigorous investigation. You’re going to publicly state that there is no underground group. Or… these guys are going to take your balls. They’re going to send one to the New York Times, one to the LA Times press-release style. Look, the people you are after are the people you depend on. We cook your meals, we haul your trash, we connect your calls, we drive your ambulances. We guard you while you sleep. Do not… fuck with us.
Narrator: [Tyler steers the car into the opposite lane and accelerates] What are you doing?
Tyler Durden: Guys, what would you wish you’d done before you died?
Ricky: Paint a self-portrait.
The Mechanic: Build a house.
Tyler Durden: [to Narrator] And you?
Narrator: I don’t know. Turn the wheel now, come on!
Tyler Durden: You have to know the answer to this question! If you died right now, how would you feel about your life?
Narrator: I don’t know, I wouldn’t feel anything good about my life, is that what you want to hear me say? Fine. Come on!
Tyler Durden: Not good enough.
Narrator: I am Jack’s complete lack of surprise.
Narrator: Marla… the little scratch on the roof of your mouth that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it, but you can’t.
Narrator: I am Jack’s wasted life.
Narrator: [to Tyler, while looking at a Calvin Klein-esque ad on the bus] Is that what a real man is supposed to look like?
Narrator: If I didn’t say anything, people always assumed the worst.
Richard Chesler: Get the fuck out of here, you’re fired!
Narrator: I have a better solution. You keep me on the payroll as an outside consultant and in exchange for my salary, my job will be never to tell people these things that I know. I don’t even have to come into the office, I can do this job from home.
Tyler Durden: [the Narrator is trying to disarm a car bomb of nitroglycerin] You don’t know which wire to pull.
Narrator: I know everything you do, so if you know I know.
Tyler Durden: Or maybe, since I knew you’d know I spent all days thinking about the wrong wires.
Tyler Durden: Self improvement is masturbation. Now self destruction…
Tyler Durden: In the world I see – you are stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You’ll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life. You’ll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. And when you look down, you’ll see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway.
Narrator: A 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.
Tyler Durden: I look around, I look around, I see a lot of new faces.
Tyler Durden: Shut up. Which means a lot of you have been breaking the first two rules of Fight Club.
Tyler Durden: Hitting bottom isn’t a weekend retreat. It’s not a goddamn seminar. Stop trying to control everything and just let go! LET GO!
Tyler Durden: I’ll bring us through this. As always. I’ll carry you – kicking and screaming – and in the end you’ll thank me.
Marla Singer: You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
Narrator: I can’t get married – I’m a thirty-year-old boy.
[Tyler and Narrator are discussing ideal opponents]
Tyler Durden: OK: any historic figure.
Narrator: I’d fight Gandhi.
Tyler Durden: Good answer.
Narrator: How about you?
Tyler Durden: Lincoln.
Tyler Durden: Big guy, big reach. Skinny guys fight ’til they’re burger.
Tyler Durden: You have a kind of sick desperation in your laugh.
Narrator: I am Jack’s broken heart.
Narrator: You had to give it to him: he had a plan. And it started to make sense, in a Tyler sort of way. No fear. No distractions. The ability to let that which does not matter truly slide.
Tyler Durden: Fuck what you know. You need to forget about what you know, that’s your problem. Forget about what you think you know about life, about friendship, and especially about you and me.
[while narrator is on the phone]
Tyler Durden: Reject the basic assumptions of civilization, especially the importance of material possessions.
Doctor: You wanna see pain? Swing by First Methodist Tuesday nights. See the guys with testicular cancer. That’s pain.
Tyler Durden: This is your pain. This is your burning hand. It’s right here. Look at it.
Narrator: I’m going to my cave. I’m going to my cave and I’m going to find my power animal.
Tyler Durden: No! Don’t deal with this the way those dead people do. Deal with it the way a living person does.
Tyler Durden: All the ways you wish you could be, that’s me. I look like you wanna look, I fuck like you wanna fuck, I am smart, capable, and most importantly, I am free in all the ways that you are not.
Narrator: I am Jack’s cold sweat.
Narrator: Was it ticking?
Airport Security Officer: Actually throwers don’t worry about ticking ’cause modern bombs don’t tick.
Narrator: Sorry, throwers?
Airport Security Officer: Baggage handlers. But, when a suitcase vibrates, then the throwers gotta call the police.
Narrator: My suitcase was vibrating?
Airport Security Officer: Nine times out of ten it’s an electric razor, but every once in a while…
Airport Security Officer: it’s a dildo. Of course it’s company policy never to, imply ownership in the event of a dildo… always use the indefinite article a dildo, never your dildo.
Narrator: I don’t own…
[Officer waves Narrator off]
Narrator: Deja vu – all over again.
Narrator: We have front row seats for this theatre of mass destruction. The demolitions committee of Project Mayhem wrapped the foundation columns of a dozen buildings with blasting gelatin. In two 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.
[First lines. Tyler points a gun into the Narrator’s mouth]
Narrator: [voiceover] People are always asking me if I know Tyler Durden.
Tyler Durden: Three minutes. This is it – ground zero. Would you like to say a few words to mark the occasion?
Narrator: …i… ann… iinn… ff… nnyin…
Narrator: With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels.
[Tyler removes the gun from the Narrator’s mouth]
Narrator: I can’t think of anything.
Narrator: For a second I totally forgot about Tyler’s whole controlled demolition thing and I wonder how clean that gun is.
Narrator: I know it seems like I have more than one side sometimes…
Marla Singer: More than one side? You’re Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Jackass!
Narrator: When the fight was over, nothing was solved, but nothing mattered. We all felt saved.
Narrator: I wrote little haiku poems. I emailed them to everyone.
Narrator: You’re insane.
Tyler Durden: No, you’re insane.
Tyler Durden: Fight Club was the beginning, now it’s moved out of the basement, it’s called Project Mayhem.
Narrator: We have just lost cabin pressure.
Narrator: You can swallow a pint of blood before you get sick.
Tyler Durden: We are all part of the same compost heap.
Narrator: I had it all. Even the glass dishes with tiny bubbles and imperfections, proof they were crafted by the honest, simple, hard-working indigenous peoples of… wherever.
Narrator: I’ve found a new one. For men *only*.
Marla Singer: Oh, is it a testicle thing?
Tyler Durden: 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.
Tyler Durden: God Damn! We just had a near-life experience, fellas.
Narrator: 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.
Tyler Durden: In the industry, we call them “cigarette burns.”
Narrator: 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.
Tyler Durden: Why would anyone want this shit job?
Narrator: Because it affords him other interesting opportunities.
Tyler Durden: Like splicing single frames of pornography into family films.
Tyler Durden: All right, if the applicant is young, tell him he’s too young. Old, too old. Fat, too fat. If the applicant then waits for three days without food, shelter, or encouragement he may then enter and begin his training.
Narrator: 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*.
Marla Singer: This is cancer, right?
Narrator: 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 parasite group Thursdays. Then at Hope, my bi-monthly sickle cell circle. And again at Seize the Day, my tuberculous Friday night. Marla… the big tourist. Her lie reflected my lie. Suddenly, I felt nothing. I couldn’t cry, so once again I couldn’t sleep.
Tyler Durden: Did you know that if you mix equal parts of gasoline and frozen orange juice concentrate you can make napalm?
Narrator: No, I did not know that; is that true?
Tyler Durden: That’s right… One could make all kinds of explosives, using simple household items.
Tyler Durden: If one were so inclined.
Narrator: Tyler, you are by far the most interesting single-serving friend I’ve ever met… see I have this thing: everything on a plane is single-serving…
Tyler Durden: Oh I get it, it’s very clever.
Narrator: Thank you.
Tyler Durden: How’s that working out for you?
Tyler Durden: Being clever.
Tyler Durden: Keep it up then… Right up.
[Gets up from airplane seat]
Tyler Durden: Now a question of etiquette; as I pass, do I give you the ass or the crotch…?
Tyler Durden: Would you like to say a few words to mark the occasion?
Tyler Durden: I’m sorry…
Narrator: I still can’t think of anything.
Tyler Durden: Ah… flashback humor.
Richard Chesler: Is that your blood?
Narrator: Some of it, yeah.
Marla Singer: There are things about you that I like. You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re… spectacular in bed… But you’re intolerable! You have very serious emotional problems. Deep seated problems for which you should seek professional help.
Narrator: I know, and I’m sorry…
Marla Singer: Yeah, you’re sorry, I’m sorry, everybody’s sorry, but… I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. And I won’t. I’m gone.
[Holding up a wad of cash]
Marla Singer: You’re not getting this back. I consider it asshole tax.
[about attending support groups for diseases she doesn’t have]
Marla Singer: It’s cheaper than a movie, and there’s free coffee.
Ricky: [to Bob, while interviewing for applicants] You’re too old, fat man.
[to Angel Face]
Ricky: And you, you are too fucking… *blonde*!
Tyler Durden: [his face is soaked in blood; he is shaking it over Lou and screaming] You don’t know where I’ve been. You don’t know where I’ve been. Just let us have the basement, Lou!
[while the narrator is on the phone with the police]
Tyler Durden: Tell him. Tell him, The liberator who destroyed my property has realigned my perceptions.
Narrator: When deep space exploration ramps up, it’ll be the corporations that name everything, the IBM Stellar Sphere, the Microsoft Galaxy, Planet Starbucks.
Tyler Durden: Now, ancient people found their clothes got cleaner if they washed them at a certain spot in the river. You know why?
Tyler Durden: Human sacrifices were once made on the hills above this river. Bodies burnt, water speeded through the wood ashes to create lye.
[holds up a bottle]
Tyler Durden: This is lye – the crucial ingredient. The lye combined with the melted fat of the bodies, till a thick white soapy discharge crept into the river. May I see your hand, please?
[Tyler licks his lips until they’re gleaming wet – he takes the Narrator’s hand and kisses the back of it]
Narrator: What is this?
Tyler Durden: This…
[pours the lye on the Narrator’s hand]
Tyler Durden: … is chemical burn.
Ricky: I can’t believe he’s still standing.
Thomas: One tough motherfucker.
Tyler Durden: She’s a predator posing as a house pet.
Narrator: Clean food, please.
Waiter: In that case, sir, may I advise against the lady eating clam chowder?
Narrator: No clam chowder, thank you.
Tyler Durden: [the Narrator places the gun under his chin and cocks back the hammer] Now why would you want to go and blow your head off?
Narrator: Not my head, Tyler, *our* head.
Narrator: [looking at a Calvin Klein ad on a bus] Is that what a man looks like?
Tyler Durden: [laughs] Self-improvement is masturbation. Now self-destruction…
Narrator: Life insurance pays off triple if you die on a business trip.
[the Narrator’s apartment has just been blown to pieces]
Narrator: 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.
Tyler Durden: Shit man, now it’s all gone.
Narrator: Tyler’s not here. Tyler went away. Tyler’s gone.
Tyler Durden: The salt balance has to be just right, so the best fat for making soap comes from humans.
Narrator: Wait. What is this place?
Tyler Durden: A liposuction clinic.
Narrator: You’re fucking Marla, Tyler.
Tyler Durden: Uh, technically, you’re fucking Marla, but it’s all the same to her.
Tyler Durden: If you could fight anyone, who would you fight?
Narrator: I’d fight my boss, prob’ly.
Tyler Durden: Really.
Narrator: Yeah, why, who would you fight?
Tyler Durden: I’d fight my dad.
Narrator: I don’t know my dad. I mean, I know him, but… he left when I was like six years old. Married this other woman, had some other kids. He like did this every six years, he goes to a new city and starts a new family.
Tyler Durden: Fucker’s setting up franchises.
Narrator: Like so many others, I had become a slave to the Ikea nesting instinct.
Tyler Durden: I want you to hit me as hard as you can.
Narrator: I’ll tell you: we’ll split up the week, okay? You take lymphoma, and tuberculosis…
Marla Singer: You take tuberculosis. My smoking doesn’t go over at all.
Narrator: Okay, good, fine. Testicular cancer should be no contest, I think.
Marla Singer: Well, technically, I have more of a right to be there than you. You still have your balls.
Narrator: You’re kidding.
Marla Singer: I don’t know… am I?
Narrator: No, no! What do you want?
Marla Singer: I’ll take the parasites.
Narrator: You can’t have both the parasites, but while you take the blood parasites…
Marla Singer: I want brain parasites.
Narrator: I’ll take the blood parasites. But I’m gonna take the organic brain dementia, okay?
Marla Singer: I want that.
Narrator: You can’t have the whole brain, that’s…
Marla Singer: So far you have four, I only have two!
Narrator: Okay. Take both the parasites. They’re yours. Now we both have three…
Marla Singer: So, we each have three… that’s six. What about the seventh day? I want ascending bowel cancer.
Narrator: [Narrating] The girl had done her homework.
Narrator: No. No, I WANT bowel cancer.
[the clerk gives them both a weird look]
Marla Singer: That’s your favorite too? Tried to slip it by me, eh?
Narrator: Except for their humping, Tyler and Marla were never in the same room. My parents pulled this exact same act for years.
Members of Fight Club: [chanting] His name is Robert Paulson.
Narrator: Bob had bitch tits.
Narrator: What do you do?
Tyler Durden: What do you mean?
Narrator: What do you do for a living?
Tyler Durden: Why? So you can pretend like you’re interested?
Lou: Reject the basic assumption of civilization, especially the importance of material possessions.
Narrator: First person that comes out this fucking door gets a… gets a *lead salad*, you understand?
Narrator: After fighting, everything else in your life got the volume turned down.
Tyler Durden: You’re too old, fat man. Your tits are too big.
[Tyler walks away, throwing his cigarette]
Tyler Durden: Get the fuck off my porch.
Narrator: I want you to listen to me very carefully, Tyler.
Tyler Durden: Okay…
Narrator: My eyes are open.
[the Narrator puts the gun into his mouth and pulls trigger]
Angel Face: Bury him in the garden. Come on people, let’s go!
Narrator: Get away from him! Get the fuck away!
Angel Face: He was killed serving Project Mayhem, sir.
Narrator: This is Bob. He was a decent man, and we’re not gonna bury him in the fucking garden!
Narrator: How embarrassing… a house full of condiments and no food.
Narrator: [voiceover] It must’ve been Tuesday. He was wearing his cornflower-blue tie.
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Narrator: What are we doing tonight?
Tyler Durden: Tonight? We make soap.
Tyler Durden: To make soap, first we render fat.
Tyler Durden: *slaps the Narrator, throws away goggles* Listen to me! You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you, never wanted you, and in all probability, he HATES you. It’s not the worst thing that can happen.
Narrator: It isn’t?
Tyler Durden: We don’t NEED Him!
Narrator: *squirms* We don’t – we don’t – !
Tyler Durden: Fuck damnation, man! Fuck redemption! We’re God’s unwanted children, SO BE IT!
Lou: I’m fucking Lou. Who the fuck are you?
Narrator: 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. It used to be that when I came home angry and depressed I’d just clean my condo, polish my Scandinavian furniture. I should have been looking for a new condo. I should have been haggling with my insurance company. I should have been upset about my nice, neat, flaming little shit. But I wasn’t.
Tyler Durden: WHOA! WHOA! OK, you are now firing a gun at your imaginary friend NEAR 400 GALLONS OF NITROGLYCERIN!
[Tyler and Jack stand in the bathroom doorway, watching Steph finish shaving off all of his hair. Tyler comes to give the top of Steph’s head a sharp slap]
Tyler Durden: Like a monkey, ready to be shot into space. Space monkey! Ready to sacrifice himself for the greater good.
Tyler Durden: From now on, all those with shaved heads: “Space Monkeys”.
[about Tyler splicing frames of pornography into family films]
Narrator: So when the snooty cat, and the courageous dog, with the celebrity voices meet for the first time in reel three, that’s when you’ll catch a flash of Tyler’s contribution to the film.
[the audience is watching the film, the pornography flashes for a split second]
Narrator: Nobody knows that they saw it, but they did…
Tyler Durden: A nice, big cock…
[several audience members look rattled, a little girl is crying]
Narrator: Even a hummingbird couldn’t catch Tyler at work.
Narrator: What do you want me to do? You want me to hit you?
Tyler Durden: Come on, do me this one favor.
Tyler Durden: Why? I don’t know why, I don’t know. Never been in a fight, you?
Narrator: No, but that’s a good thing.
Tyler Durden: No, man it’s not. How much can you know yourself if you’ve never been in a fight? I don’t wanna die with out any scars.
Tyler Durden: [Robbing a liposuction clinic] The richest, creamiest fat in the world. The fat of the land.
Marla Singer: [after taking a bottle of sleeping pills] This isn’t a real suicide-thing. This is probably one of those cry-for-help things.
Narrator: I flipped through catalogs and wondered: What kind of dining set defines me as a person?
Narrator: By the end of the first month, I didn’t miss TV.
Marla Singer: Your whacked out bald freaks hit me with a fucking broom! They almost broke my arm! They were burning their fingertips with lye, the stink was unbelievable!
Tyler Durden: It’s getting exciting now, two and one-half. Think of everything we’ve accomplished, man. Out these windows, we will view the collapse of financial history. One step closer to economic equilibrium.
Tyler Durden: Just tell him you fuckin’ did it. Tell him you blew it all up. That’s what he wants to hear.
Police Officer: You said that if anyone ever interferes with Project Mayhem, even you, we gotta get his balls.
Narrator: Tyler was now involved in a class action lawsuit against the Pressman Hotel over the urine content of their soup.
Angel Face: [the Narrator is about to look at some files but Angel Face stops him] Don’t worry. It’s all taken care of, sir.
Tyler Durden: [his last words] What’s that smell?
[the narrator pulls a loose tooth out of his mouth]
Tyler Durden: Hey, even the Mona Lisa’s falling apart.
Narrator: And then, Tyler was gone.
Tyler Durden: [Eating breakfast cereal] Who is this?
Tyler Durden: Who is this?
Narrator: Uh… we met… we met on the airplane. We had the same suitcase. Uh… the clever guy?
Tyler Durden: Oh yeah, right.
Tyler Durden: Ok?
Narrator: I called a second ago, th – there was no answer, I’m at the payphone…
yeah, I *69ed you, I never pick up my phone.
Tyler Durden: So what’s up, huh?
Narrator: Uh, well… You’re not gonna believe this…
Narrator: 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.
Narrator: 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.
The Mechanic: In death, a member of project mayhem has a name, his name is Robert Paulsen. His name is Robert Paulsen. His name is Robert Paulsen. His name is Robert Paulsen…
Narrator: Fight Club wasn’t about winning or losing. It wasn’t about words. The hysterical shouting was in tongues, like at a Pentecostal Church.
First Man at Auto Shop: Here’s where the infant’s head went through the wind-shield. Three points.
Man #2 at Auto Shop: The teenager’s braces are still wrapped around the backseat ashtray. Might make a good anti-smoking ad.
First Man at Auto Shop: The driver must have been huge, see where the fat burned to the seat? The polyester shirt? Very modern art.
Tyler Durden: Something on your mind, dear?
Narrator: Fuck you! Fuck Fight Club! Fuck Marla! I am sick of all your shit!
Robert ‘Bob’ Paulson: Go ahead, Cornelius, you can cry.
Marla Singer: I’ve got a stomachful of Xanax. I took what was left of a bottle. It might have been too much.
Narrator: I am Jack’s raging bile duct.
Narrator: 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.
Chloe: 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 nitrite…
[the group leader takes the mic]
Group Leader: Thank you, Chloe… everyone, let’s thank Chloe.
Narrator: I want bowel cancer.
Narrator: I got in everyone’s hostile little face. Yes, these are bruises from fighting. Yes, I’m comfortable with that. I am enlightened.
Narrator: He was full of pep. Must’ve had his grande-latte enema.
[after giving Marla a breast exam]
Marla Singer: I wish I could return the favor.
Narrator: There’s not a lot of breast cancer in the men in my family.
Marla Singer: I could check your prostate.
[after meeting and having sex with Marla]
Tyler Durden: Man, you’ve got some fucked up friends, I’m tellin’ ya. Limber, though…
Narrator: [being embraced by Bob at the group therapy session for Testicular Cancer] Strangers with this kind of honesty make me go a big rubbery one.
[after beating an ‘applicant’ with a broom]
Narrator: I’m gonna go inside, and I’m gonna get a shovel.
Tyler Durden: Well you did lose a lot of versatile solutions for modern living
Tyler Durden: This is a chemical burn. It will hurt more than you’ve ever been burned before. You will have a scar.
Narrator: Why wasn’t I told about Project Mayhem?
Tyler Durden: What are you talking about?
Narrator: Why didn’t you include me, in the beginning?
Tyler Durden: Fight Club *was* the beginning.
Tyler Durden: If you could fight anyone, who would you fight?
Narrator: Shatner. I’d fight William Shatner.
Lou: *punches Tyler in face* You here me now?
Tyler Durden: Alright, alright, I got it. I got it – shit I lost it.
Narrator: You know what, I really think it’s time you got out of here.
Marla Singer: Oh don’t worry, I’m leaving.
Narrator: Not that we don’t enjoy your little visits…
Marla Singer: You know you are such a nutcase, I can’t even begin to keep up!
Narrator: I just need to know if you’ve seen Tyler.
Proprietor of Dry Cleaners: I’m not disclosed to bespeak any such information to you, nor would I, even if I had said information you want, at this juncture be able
Narrator: [Resigned] You’re a moron.
Proprietor of Dry Cleaners: [as Narrator is leaving] I’m afraid I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.
Narrator: No, you have a house.
Tyler Durden: Rented in your name.
Narrator: You have jobs! You have a whole life!
Tyler Durden: You have night jobs because you can’t sleep. Why do you stay up and make soap?
Narrator: Marla. You’re fucking Marla, Tyler.
Tyler Durden: Ah technically *you’re* fucking Marla, but it’s all the same to her.
Narrator: Oh my God.
Tyler Durden: …If you don’t claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned
Narrator: He was *the* guerilla terrorist in the food service industry.
[the Narrator looks at Tyler, who’s urinating in a pot]
Tyler Durden: Do not watch. I cannot go when you watch.
Narrator: Apart from seasoning the lobster bisque, he farted on the meringue, sneezed on braised endive, and as for the cream of mushroom soup, well…
Tyler Durden: [snickers] Go ahead. Tell ’em.
Narrator: …you get the idea.
Narrator: [V.O] This is Bob. Bob had bitch tits.
[Camera pans to a REMAINING MEN TOGETHER sign]
Narrator: [V.O] This was a support group for men with testicular cancer. The big moosie slobbering all over me… that was Bob.
Robert ‘Bob’ Paulson: We’re still men.
Narrator: [slightly muffled due to Bob’s enormous breasts] Yes, we’re men. Men is what we are.
Narrator: Eight 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…
Robert ‘Bob’ Paulson: They’re gonna have to open my pecs again to drain the fluid.
Narrator: [V.O] Between those huge sweating tits that hung enormous, the way you’d think of God’s as big.
Narrator: Do you want me to deprioritize my current reports until you advise me of a status upgrade?
Richard Chesler: Yes. Make these your primary action items.
Marla Singer: I’ve been going to Debtor’s Anonymous. You want to see some really fucked-up people…
Narrator: Home was a condo on the fifteenth floor of a filing cabinet for widows and young professionals. The walls were solid concrete. A foot of concrete is important when your next-door neighbor lets their hearing aid go and have to watch game-shows at full volume. Or when a volcanic blast of 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.
Marla Singer: Candy-stripe a cancer ward. It’s not my problem.