Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

-Why? Tell me why. -l can't tell you.
-Relax. They'll be there when you get out. I'm fine.
-Hey. -What's that?
Those bullets came from the gun of a suspect we arrested yesterday.
-Why me? You guys should be wearing. -Mr. Murtaugh, let me assist you.
Get rid of Murphy, now!
Pension.
Time, 5:1 5.
-l don't care! -You do so care!
No brains, but they got automatic weapons.
He's dead, Rog. Rog, he's dead.
-You must have heard of it. -l'm a cop. l'm the law.
Hey, did Rianne get her job back? Did she get a raise? Did she?
-How can you be so sure? -Oh, it's just a hunch.
Stacy
Really good work.
That's why Internal Affairs is on this. They think it's an inside job.
- Your insurance paid up? - Yeah, of course. Why?
Ah, we ain't seen nothing yet, though, Rog.
...and, uh, when I try and lick my balls, I keep falling off the couch.
Stupid. Take a right. No, left!
-You motherfucker. -Don't be stupid.
Los Angeles, shorthanded goal.
-She has a gift. Watch this. -A gift?
Where is the pursuit?
Call an ambulance. Riggs, call an ambulance. Breathe.
-Have you evacuated the building? -lt's clean.
-Come on, come on, check it out. Beautiful lawn.
-They make girdles for men? -They make girdles for men.
They fuck you in the hospital! First they drug you, then they fuck you.
"The good stuff." Jesus. Pfft!
Bullets aren't covered in normal road hazard. That's why.
-You and l have to talk. -Talking to you is bad for my image.
-What? -l know that kid.
Riggs, talk to me. Riggs.
You're a very poor loser.
-Oh, come on. -Get off my boat.
-Hold the hair. -Heh, heh.
-She's lnfernal Affairs, Rog. How'd you know?
Son of a bitch. I'm gonna cut him off at the--
Drunk at noon, bullet in the brain by evening. Well, not for this kid.
Clip any wrong wires lately? -No, I haven't done that for a couple days.
-Morning, guys. Daddy. Hey.
-You lost. -l conceded.
I didn't lose, Riggs.
You know, maybe some peroxide. I can patch it up myself.
There is no bomb.
-You meet my partner? -No.
Where's Sergeant Murtaugh?
-All you perverts, turn your heads. Take it off.
-Full of guns. Grab one.
Ow!
Drop it, miss.
Cover me. Cover me.
-Sergeant Cole. -Hey, how are you? Leo Getz.
They're gone. Leo Getz, I guess I'm gonna kill him.
Termites get-- Okay, okay. No more!
-Okay? l love it. That it? That say it all? Oh, yeah.
-Hey, hey, hey. Just take it easy, man. Okay.
I don't care. You can't be on the ice.
-You hit me. -Cool it, will you?
Take your mama to the car.
- There could be a bomb in here. - Oh, God.
-Word, Nick. -Word, Dad.
I know. I'm sorry, son.
You could be experiencing some transitional anger caused by the shooting.
Sergeant Cole from Traffic?
Central, keep me in touch with motorcycle pursuit.
Stop! Hold it!
I mean, if Trish finds out about it-- I didn't-- I didn't--
Not likely.
-l need the good stuff. -You'll get the ammo. The good stuff.
Hey. You know l love you.
Forget school.
I can't belie-- l can't believe you did that.
Why don't we spread out?
In the car. Get them up there. Let me see both of them. Come on!
I'm out of business without ammo.
-Know where that is? -Sure. Been there a lot.
-Hey. Hey, hey, hey, Riggs. -What?
Your involvement in this case ended when Billy Phelps hit the floor.
-What dog-biscuit problem? -l've been chasing more cars lately...
Hey, hey! -Hold on! Hold on! We got you.
-Stay where you are. -Smart son of a bitch.
-lt's not gonna keep anything out. -Gonna keep my stomach in.
You'll be needing these.
Riggs! Get up! Get up, Riggs! Get up! Get up!
They got my guns. They'll be coming after me next.
Hey, did you do this?
-Let's check it out. -Let's go.
-Let's go. Let's go. Watch.
Mind and body strong now, grasshopper.
- Something's wrong here. - What?
How you doing? Taking your vitamins?
Hey, Riggs.
And when they're done...
-Right? Right? -Right!
See how quiet it is here? Listen, listen.
Goddamn you, Travis. Fuck.
I thought I could. l wanted to.
Riggs.
-Who is that guy? lt's a long story.
-Make friends? -Yeah.
-That's closer than you ever got. -Close, Riggs?
-That's why l'm numb, huh? -That's why you're numb.
I can get faster results than that real-estate broker.
-No! This is a film. There are not-- -What?
But, um, Dad, l want you to know that I'm behind you all the way.
Uh, probably by the glass. Around the glass.
-Armor-piercing bullets? Jesus. -Yeah, cop killers.
Son of a bitch, just look at it.
-Here's your target. All right? -Okay.
-Hey, you can't get closer? -l am. l'm getting closer.
- You do? It's been completely replaced. - Oh, why was that?
-He's got a girdle! -This is not a girdle.
-Moving bullet. -Moving bullet?
-You wanna go for a ride? -Sure, where we going?
Wearing a girdle, man.
Who? -Lieutenant Jack Edward Travis.
Gently coax the flavors out.
Hey, word Riggs
-Wanna see? Here's my pass. -l do.
Wazzupguys you selfish bastard!
Stay, stay.
A dumdum wound can be serious.
I did take it to Chin over in Alpine. Look at it. It's shrunk all up in here.
-What's Internal Affairs doing here? -Don't start. I just found out myself.