Reverend H.W. Smith: When I read the Scriptures, I do not feel Christ's love as I used to.
Calamity Jane: Aw, is that so? That is too bad! Join the fuckin' club of most of us!
EB:
[scrubbing the floor]
You have been tested, Al Swearingen.
And your deepest purposes proved:
"There's gold on the woman's claim."
You might as well have shouted it from
the rooftops.
[EB speaks what he thinks are Al's thoughts...]
That's why I'm jumping through hoops
to get it back.
Thorough as I fleeced the fool she married,
I will fleece his widow, too.
Using loyal associates like
Eustace Bailey Farnum,
as my go-betweens and dukes.
To explain why I want her bought out,
I'll make a pretext of my fear
of the Pinkertons.
I'll throw Farnum a token fee. Why should I
reward EB with some small, fractional
participation in the claim?
Or let him even lay by
a little security
or source of continuing income for
his declining years?
What's he ever done for me?
Except let me terrify him
every god-damn day of his life
'till the idea of bowel regularity
is a forlone fucking hope?
Not to mention ordering
a man killed in one of
EB's rooms.
So every fucking, free moment
of his life, EB has to spend
scrubbing the blood stains
off the god-damn floor.
...to keep him
from having
to lower
his rates.
GODDAMN!
Motherfucker.
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posted by HTuttle at 8:08 PM on June 10, 2006