Fight Club Script - Dialogue Transcript

Voila! Finally, the Fight Club script is here for all you quotes spouting fans of the David Fincher movie with Edward Norton, Brad Pitt, and Helena Bonham-Carter.  This script is a transcript that was painstakingly transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Fight Club. I know, I know, I still need to get the cast names in there and I'll be eternally tweaking it, so if you have any corrections, feel free to drop me a line. You won't hurt my feelings. Honest.

Swing on back to Drew's Script-O-Rama afterwards for more free movie scripts!

Fight Club Script

  
  
 
                   
People always ask me
if I know Tyler Durden.

 
                   
Three minutes.

 
                   
This is it. Ground zero.

 
                   
Do you have a speech for the occasion?

 
                   
With a gun barrel between your teeth,
you speak only in vowels.

 
                   
I can't think of anything.

 
                   
For a second, I forget about
Tyler's controlled demolition thing

 
                   
and I wonder how clean that gun is.

 
                   
It's getting exciting now.

  
                   
That old thing,
how you always hurt the one you love.

  
                   
Well, it works both ways.

  
                   
We have front-row seats
for this theatre of mass destruction.

  
                   
The Demolitions Committee
of Project Mayhem

  
                   
wrapped the foundations
of    buildings with explosives.

  
                   
In two minutes,
primary charges will blow base charges

  
                   
and a few blocks will be reduced
to smouldering rubble.

  
                   
I know this because Tyler knows this.

  
                   
Two and a half.
Think of everything we've accomplished.

  
                   
Suddenly I realise 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 moosie slobbering all over me,
that was Bob.

  
                   
We're still men.

  
                   
Yes, we're men.

  
                   
Men is what we are.

  
                   
Bob had had his testicles removed.
Then hormone therapy.

  
                   
He developed bitch tits because
his testosterone was too high

  
                   
and his body upped the oestrogen.

  
                   
- That was where I fit...
- They'll have to drain my pecs again.

  
                   
... 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 six 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 IBM Stellar Sphere.

  
                   
The Microsoft Galaxy.

  
                   
The Planet Starbucks.

  
                   
I need you out of town this week
to cover some red flags.

  
                   
It must have been Tuesday.
He had on his cornflower blue tie.

  
                   
You want me to deprioritise my reports
until you advise of a status upgrade?

  
                   
Prioritise these. Here's your flight coupons.
Call me 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 lkea nesting instinct.

  
                   
Yes. I'd like to order

  
                   
the Erika Pekkari dust ruffles.

  
                   
- Please hold.
- Anything clever,

  
                   
like a coffee table in the shape of a yin-yang,
I had to have it.

  
                   
The Klipsk personal office unit.

  
                   
The Hovetrekke home exerbike.

  
                   
Or the Ohamshab sofa
with the Strinne green stripe pattern.

  
                   
Even the Ryslampa wire lamps of
environmentally-friendly unbleached paper.

  
                   
I'd flip through catalogues 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,
hard-working, indigenous peoples of...

  
                   
- Please hold.
...wherever.

  
                   
We used to read pornography.

  
                   
Now it was the Horchow collection.

  
                   
- No. You can't die of 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 give me something?

  
                   
Red and blue Tuinals, 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 three kids...
two boys and a girl.

  
                   
Mindy wanted two girls and a boy.

  
                   
We never could agree on anything.

  
                   
Well, I... She...

  
                   
She had her first child last week.

  
                   
A girl.

  
                   
With... With her... With her new husband.

  
                   
Fuck!

  
                   
Thank God, you know...

  
                   
I'm glad for her.

  
                   
She deserves...

  
                   
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 follow Thomas's example
and really open ourselves up.

  
                   
Could you find a partner?

  
                   
And this is how I met the big moosie.

  
                   
His eyes already shrink-wrapped in tears.

  
                   
Knees together. Those awkward little steps.

   
                   
- My name is Bob.
- Bob?

   
                   
Bob had been a champion bodybuilder.

   
                   
You know that chest expansion programme
on late-night TV?

   
                   
That was his idea.

   
                   
I was ajuicer.

   
                   
You know, using steroids?

   
                   
Diabonal and

   
                   
Wisterol.

   
                   
Oh, they use that on racehorses,
for Christ sakes.

   
                   
And now I'm bankrupt.

   
                   
I'm divorced.

   
                   
My two 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.

   
                   
If I didn't say anything

   
                   
people always assumed the worst.

   
                   
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 centre
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 bitch,
Marla Singer, and scream.

   
                   
Marla, you liar!
You big tourist, I need this! Now, get out!

   
                   
I hadn't slept in four days.

   
                   
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 walk around

   
                   
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 nitrite.
- Thank you, Chloe.

   
                   
Everyone, let's thank Chloe.

   
                   
Thank you, Chloe.

   
                   
Now, let's ready ourselves
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 tumour, I'd name it Marla.

   
                   
Marla.

   
                   
The scratch on the roof of your mouth
that would heal if you could stop tonguing it.

   
                   
But you can't.

   
                   
... deeper into your cave as you walk.

   
                   
You feel a healing energy all around you.

   
                   
Now find your power animal.

   
                   
Slide.

   
                   
OK. 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 dying.

   
                   
- But you're not dying the way Chloe is.
- So?

   
                   
So you're a tourist.

   
                   
I've seen you. I saw you at melanoma,
I saw you at tuberculosis.

   
                   
I saw you at testicular cancer!

   
                   
I saw you practising this.

   
                   
- Practising what?
- Telling me off.

   
                   
Is it going as well as you hoped... Rupert?

   
                   
I'll expose you.

   
                   
Go ahead. I'll expose you.

   
                   
Come together. Let yourselves cry.

   
                   
Oh, God. Why are you doing this?

   
                   
It's cheaper than a movie
and there's free coffee.

   
                   
Look, this is important.
These are my groups.

   
                   
I've been coming for over a year.

   
                   
- Why do you do it?
- I don't know.

   
                   
When people think you're dying,
they listen to you instead of...

   
                   
Instead of waiting for their turn to speak.

   
                   
Yeah. Yeah.

   
                   
Share yourself... completely.

   
                   
Look, you don't want to get into this.

   
                   
- It becomes an addiction.
- Really?

   
                   
I'm not kidding. I can't cry
if another faker is present, and I need this.

   
                   
You gotta find somewhere else to go.

   
                   
Candystripe a cancer ward.
It's not my problem.

   
                   
No, wait a second. Hold on.

   
                   
We'll 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.

   
                   
Technically, I have more right to be there.
You still have your balls.

   
                   
- You're kidding.
- I dunno. Am I?

   
                   
No. No.

   
                   
- What do you want?
- I'll take the parasites.

   
                   
You can't have both.
Take the blood parasites.

   
                   
- I want brain parasites.
- I'll take the blood but I want brain dementia.

   
                   
- I want that.
- You can't have the whole brain.

   
                   
So far, you have four. I only have two.

   
                   
OK. Take both the parasites. They're yours.

   
                   
Now we both have three...

   
                   
Hey! You left half your clothes.

   
                   
- What, are you selling those?
- Yes!

   
                   
I'm selling some clothes!

   
                   
So! We each have three. That's six.

   
                   
What about the seventh day?
I want bowel cancer.

   
                   
The girl had done her homework.

   
                   
No. No. I want bowel cancer.

   
                   
That's your favourite too?

   
                   
- Tried to slip it by me, eh?
- Look, we'll split it.

   
                   
Take the first and third Sunday.

   
                   
Deal.

   
                   
Looks like this is goodbye.

   
                   
Let's not make a big thing out of it.

   
                   
How's this for not making a big thing?

   
                   
Hey, Marla!

   
                   
Marla!

   
                   
Maybe we should exchange numbers.

   
                   
Should we?

   
                   
- We might wanna 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.

   
                   
SFO. LAX.

   
                   
You wake up at O'Hare.

   
                   
Dallas Fort Worth.

   
                   
BWI.

   
                   
Pacific. Mountain. Central.
Lose an hour. Gain an hour.

   
                   
The check-in for that flight
isn't for another two hours, sir.

   
                   
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?

   
                   
Everywhere I travel,

   
                   
tiny life.

   
                   
Single-serving sugar and cream.

   
                   
Single pat of butter.

   
                   
The 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.

   
                   
That's all we get.

   
                   
Welcome!

   
                   
On a long enough time line,
the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.

   
                   
I was a recall coordinator.
My job was to apply the formula.

   
                   
The infant went through the windshield.

   
                   
A new car built by my company
leaves somewhere travelling at   mph.

   
                   
The rear differential locks up.

   
                   
The teenager's braces
are stuck to the ashtray.

   
                   
Might make a good anti-smoking ad.

   
                   
The car crashes and burns
with everyone trapped inside.

   
                   
Now, should we initiate a recall?

   
                   
The father must have been huge.

   
                   
See where the fat burned to the seat?
The polyester shirt?

   
                   
Very modern art.

   
                   
Take the number of vehicles in the field, A.

   
                   
Multiply it by the probable rate of failure, B.

   
                   
Multiply the result by
the average out-of-court settlement, C.

   
                   
A x B x 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

   
                   
and 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 particularjob.

   
                   
An exit-door procedure at      ft.

   
                   
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 take giant panic breaths.

   
                   
Suddenly you become euphoric, docile.

   
                   
You accept your fate.

   
                   
It's all right here.

   
                   
Emergency water landing,    mph.

   
                   
Blank faces. Calm as Hindu cows.

   
                   
That's...

   
                   
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 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 civilisation.

   
                   
And this is how I met...

   
                   
Tyler Durden.

   
                   
Did you know if you mix gasoline and
frozen orange juice, you can make napalm?

   
                   
- No, I did not. Is that true?
- That's right.

   
                   
One can make all kinds of explosives
with simple household items.

   
                   
- Really?
- If one was so inclined.

   
                   
Tyler, you are by far the most interesting
single-serving friend I have ever met.

   
                   
- Everything on a plane is single-serving...
- Oh, I get it. Very clever.

   
                   
Thank you.

   
                   
How's it working out for you?

   
                   
- What?
- Being clever?

   
                   
Great.

   
                   
Keep it up, then. Right up.

   
                   
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 it ticking?
- Throwers know modern bombs don't tick.

   
                   
- Sorry, throwers?
- Baggage handlers.

   
                   
But when a suitcase vibrates,

   
                   
the throwers have got to call the police.

   
                   
- My suitcase was vibrating?
- Nine times out of ten

   
                   
it's an electric razor.

   
                   
But... every once in a while

   
                   
it's a dildo.

   
                   
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...

   
                   
I had everything in that suitcase.
My CK shirts.

   
                   
My DKNYshoes. My AX ties.

   
                   
Never mind.

   
                   
Hey! That's my car!

   
                   
Home was a condo on the   th floor

   
                   
of a filing cabinet
for widows and professionals.

   
                   
The walls were solid concrete.

   
                   
A foot of concrete is important

   
                   
when your next-door neighbour
has to watch game shows at full volume.

   
                   
Or when a blast of debris
that used to be your personal effects

   
                   
blows out of your 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 houseful of condiments and no food.

   
                   
The police later told me
the pilot light might have gone out

   
                   
letting out just a little bit of gas.

   
                   
That gas could have filled the condo.

   
                   
     square feet with high ceilings
for days and days.

   
                   
Then the refrigerator's compressor
could have clicked on.

   
                   
Yeah?

   
                   
I can hear you breathing...

   
                   
If you ask me now,
I couldn't tell you why I called him.

   
                   
- Hello?
- Who's this?

   
                   
- Tyler?
- Who is this?

   
                   
We met... We met on the airplane.

   
                   
We had the same suitcase?

   
                   
The clever guy?

   
                   
Oh, yeah. Right.

   
                   
I called a second ago. There was no answer.

   
                   
- I'm at a payphone.
- Yeah, I *  'd you. I never pick up my phone.

   
                   
So what's up?

   
                   
Well.

   
                   
You're not gonna believe this.

   
                   
You know, it could be worse.

   
                   
A woman could cut off your penis
while you sleep and toss it out of a car.

   
                   
There's always that. I don't know.

   
                   
When you buy furniture,
you tell yourself, that's it.

   
                   
That's the last sofa I'll need.

   
                   
Whatever happens,
that sofa problem is 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.

   
                   
All gone.

   
                   
Do you know what a duvet is?

   
                   
- A 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?

   
                   
No.

   
                   
What are we, then?

   
                   
I dunno. 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     channels,

   
                   
some guy's name on my underwear. Rogaine.

   
                   
Viagra. Olestra.

   
                   
- Martha Stewart.
- Fuck Martha Stewart.

   
                   
She's polishing the brass on the Titanic.
It's all going down.

   
                   
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 evolve.

   
                   
Let the chips fall where they may.

   
                   
But that's me, and I could be wrong.

   
                   
Maybe it's a terrible tragedy.

   
                   
It's just stuff. Not a tragedy...

   
                   
You did lose a lot of versatile solutions
for modern living.

   
                   
Fuck, you're right. I don't smoke.

   
                   
My insurance is probably gonna cover it, so...

   
                   
What?

   
                   
The things you own end up owning you.

   
                   
Do what you like, man.

   
                   
Oh, it's late.

   
                   
- Hey, thanks for the beer.
- Yeah, man.

   
                   
I should find a hotel.

   
                   
What?

   
                   
What?

   
                   
- A hotel?
- Yeah.

   
                   
- Just ask, man.
- What are you talking about?

   
                   
Oh, God. Three pitchers of beer
and you still can't ask.

   
                   
What?

   
                   
You called me
because 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... 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 favour.
- 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 slept, he worked.

   
                   
He had one part-time job as a projectionist.

   
                   
A movie doesn't come all on one big reel.
It comes on a few.

   
                   
Someone has to switch the projectors
at the exact moment

   
                   
that one reel ends and the next one begins.

   
                   
You can see little dots come into
the upper right corner of the screen.

   
                   
In the industry, we call them cigarette burns.

   
                   
That's the cue for a changeover.

   
                   
He flips the projectors, movie keeps
going and the audience has no idea.

   
                   
Why would anyone want this shitjob?

   
                   
Because it affords him
interesting opportunities.

   
                   
Like splicing a frame of pornography
into family films.

   
                   
So when the snooty cat and the courageous
dog with the celebrity voices first meet,

   
                   
that's when you'll catch a flash
of Tyler's contribution to the film.

   
                   
Nobody knows that they saw it but they did.

   
                   
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 guerrilla 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,

   
                   
and as for the cream of mushroom soup...

   
                   
Go ahead, tell 'em.

   
                   
You get the idea.

   
                   
- You just want me to hit you?
- Come on. Do me this one favour.

   
                   
- Why?
- I don't know. Never been in a fight. You?

   
                   
- No. But that's a good thing.
- You can't know yourself if you haven't!

   
                   
I don't wanna die without any scars.

   
                   
- Come on. Hit me, before I lose my nerve.
- Oh, God. This is crazy.

   
                   
So go crazy! Let it rip.

   
                   
- I don't know about this.
- I don't either.

   
                   
Who gives a shit? No-one's watching.
What do you care?

   
                   
This is crazy. You want me to hit you?!

   
                   
That's right.

   
                   
- Where? Like, in the face?
- Surprise me.

   
                   
This is so fucking stupid.

   
                   
Motherfucker!

   
                   
He hit me in the ear!

   
                   
- Well, Jesus, I'm sorry.
- Ow, Christ!

   
                   
- Why the ear, man?
- I fucked it up.

   
                   
No, that was perfect.

   
                   
No, it's all right.

   
                   
It 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 was squatting.

   
                   
Neither would have surprised me.

   
                   
Yep. 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 neighbours.
Just warehouses and a paper mill.

   
                   
That fart smell of steam.
The hamster-cage smell of wood chips.

   
                   
What have we here?

   
                   
- Hey, guys.
- Hey.

   
                   
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.

   
                   
At night, Tyler and I were alone
for 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 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 or breathing."

   
                   
There's a whole series of these.

   
                   
"I Am Jill's Nipples."

   
                   
- "I Am Jack's Colon."
- "I Get Cancer. I Kill Jack."

   
                   
After fighting, everything else
in life got the volume turned down.

   
                   
What?

   
                   
- You could deal with anything.
- Have you finished those reports?

   
                   
If you could choose,
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, six years old.

   
                   
Married this other woman
and had some other kids.

   
                   
He did this every six years.

   
                   
- He changes city and starts a new family.
- Fucker's setting up franchises!

   
                   
My dad never went to college.

   
                   
- So it was real important that I go.
- That sounds familiar.

   
                   
So I graduate. Call him up long-distance
and say, "Dad, now what?"

   
                   
- He says, "Get ajob."
- Same here.

   
                   
Now I'm   . Make my yearly call again.

   
                   
"Dad, now what?"

   
                   
He says, "I dunno. Get married."

   
                   
You can't get married.

   
                   
I'm a   -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.

   
                   
It used to be that when I came home angry
or depressed, I'd just clean my condo.

   
                   
Polish my Scandinavian furniture.

   
                   
I should have been looking for a new condo
or haggling with my insurance company.

   
                   
I should have been upset
about my nice flaming little shit.

   
                   
But I wasn't.

   
                   
The premise of cybernetting an office
is make things more efficient.

   
                   
Monday mornings,
I just thought about next week.

   
                   
Can I get the icon in cornflower blue?

   
                   
Absolutely.

   
                   
Efficiency is priority No.  people.

   
                   
Because waste is a thief.

   
                   
I showed this 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, you've 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 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 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.

   
                   
But Ricky was a god for ten minutes

   
                   
when he 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 gasped 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 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 outside of it.

   
                   
A guy 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?
- 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?

   
                   
Oh, self-improvement is masturbation.

   
                   
Now, self-destruction...

   
                   
Excuse me.

   
                   
Fight Club wasn't about winning or losing.

   
                   
It wasn't about words.

   
                   
The hysterical shouting was in tongues

   
                   
like at a Pentecostal Church.

   
                   
- Is that it?
- Stop!

   
                   
When the fight was over, nothing was solved.

   
                   
But nothing mattered.

   
                   
Cool.

   
                   
Afterwards, we all felt saved.

   
                   
Hey, man. How about next week?

   
                   
How about next month?!

   
                   
Everybody here 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?

   
                   
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 eight weeks?

   
                   
Marla?

   
                   
- How did you find me?
- You left a forwarding number.

   
                   
I haven't seen you at any support groups.

   
                   
We split 'em 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?

   
                   
Look, this is a bad time.

   
                   
I've been going to Debtors Anonymous.

   
                   
- They're really fucked-up people...
- I'm on my way out.

   
                   
Me too. I've got a stomach full of Xanax.

   
                   
I took what was left of a bottle.

   
                   
It might have been too much.

   
                   
Picture Marla Singer throw herself
around her crummy apartment.

   
                   
This isn't a for-real suicide thing.
This is probably a cry-for-help thing.

   
                   
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 here for
two months and his door was never closed.

   
                   
You won't believe this dream
I had last night.

   
                   
I can hardly believe anything about last night.

   
                   
What are you doing here?

   
                   
What?

   
                   
This is my house.
What are you doing here?

   
                   
Fuck you!

   
                   
Oh, you've got some fucked-up friends!

   
                   
Limber, though.

   
                   
Silly cooze.

   
                   
I come in last night. Phone's off the hook.

   
                   
Guess who's on the other end?

   
                   
I knew the story before he told 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.

   
                   
Ten,

   
                   
nine... eight...

   
                   
How could Tyler, of all people,

   
                   
think it was a bad thing
that Marla Singer was about to die?

   
                   
Five,

   
                   
four...

   
                   
Hang on.

   
                   
You got here fast.

   
                   
Did I call you?

   
                   
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    ?
- End of the hall.

   
                   
The girl who lives there
used to be a charming, lovely girl.

   
                   
She has lost faith in herself.

   
                   
- Miss Singer, let us help you!
- 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 spray my brains.
- That's good.

   
                   
She's a predator posing as a house pet.
Stay away.

   
                   
The shit that came out of
this woman's mouth, I had never heard!

   
                   
My God.

   
                   
I haven't been fucked like that
since grade school.

   
                   
How could Tyler not go for that?

   
                   
The other night,
he was splicing sex organs into Cinderella.

   
                   
Marla doesn't need a lover,
just a caseworker.

   
                   
Or a wash.
This isn't love, it's sport fucking.

   
                   
She invaded my support groups
and now my home.

   
                   
Hey, hey. Sit down.

   
                   
Now, listen.
I can't have you talking to her about me.

   
                   
Why would I...

   
                   
Say anything about me or what goes on
in this house to her or anybody... we're done.

   
                   
- Now promise me. You promise?
- OK.

   
                   
- Yeah, I promise.
- Promise?

   
                   
- I just said, I promise! What...
- That's three times you promised.

   
                   
If only I had wasted a few minutes
and gone to watch Marla Singer die,

   
                   
none of this would have happened.

   
                   
Harder, yes! Oh, harder, harder!

   
                   
I could have moved to another room.

   
                   
On the third floor
where I might not have heard them.

   
                   
But I didn't.

   
                   
- What are you doing?
- Just going to bed.

   
                   
Wanna finish her off?

   
                   
- No. No, thank you.
- I've found a cigarette.

   
                   
- Who were you talking to?
- Shut up.

   
                   
I became the calm little centre of the world.

   
                   
I was the Zen master.

   
                   
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 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,

   
                   
move to a dilapidated house
in a toxic waste area,

   
                   
and you have to come home to this.

   
                   
- Hello.
- 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 someone
sprayed Freon into your front-door lock.

   
                   
They used a chisel to shatter the cylinder.

   
                   
No, I wasn't aware of that.

   
                   
I am Jack's cold sweat.

   
                   
Does this sound strange to you?

   
                   
Yes, sir, strange. Very strange.

   
                   
- The dynamite
- Dynamite?

   
                   
Left a residue
of ammonium oxalate potassium perchloride.

   
                   
- Do you know what this means?
- No, what does it mean?

   
                   
It means it was home-made.

   
                   
I'm sorry. This is just coming
as quite a shock to me, sir.

   
                   
Whoever set this dynamite could have blown
out your pilot light days before the explosion.

   
                   
- The gas was just a detonator.
- Who would go and do that?

   
                   
- I'll ask the questions.
- Tell him.

   
                   
Tell him the liberator who destroyed
my property realigned my perceptions.

   
                   
Excuse me. Are you there?

   
                   
I am listening.
It's hard to know what to make of this.

   
                   
Have you recently made enemies who might
have access to home-made dynamite?

   
                   
- Enemies?
- Reject civilisation,

   
                   
especially 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 fucking did it!

   
                   
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. I may need to talk to you, so you
let 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 $ .

   
                   
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.

   
                   
- What? You get rid of her!
- Don't mention me.

   
                   
I am six years old again,
passing messages between parents.

   
                   
- I really think it's time you left.
- Don't worry, I'm leaving.

   
                   
- Not that we don't love your visits.
- You are such a nutcase. I can't keep up.

   
                   
Gotta get off

   
                   
Thanks. Bye.

   
                   
Gotta get off of this merry-go-round

   
                   
Gonna get, need to get...

   
                   
Gotta get...

   
                   
You kids!

   
                   
Why do you still waste time with her?

   
                   
I'll say this about Marla.

   
                   
At least she's trying to hit bottom.

   
                   
And I'm not?

   
                   
Feathers up your butt
do not make you a chicken.

   
                   
What are we doing tonight?

   
                   
Tonight... we make soap.

   
                   
Really?

   
                   
To make soap, first we render fat.

   
                   
The salt balance has to be just right

   
                   
so the best fat for soap comes from humans.

   
                   
- Wait, what is this place?
- A liposuction clinic.

   
                   
Pay dirt!

   
                   
Richest, creamiest fat in the world.
Fat of the land!

   
                   
No! Don't pull it, don't pull it!

   
                   
- Oh, God!
- Give me another one.

   
                   
As the fat renders,
the tallows float to the surface.

   
                   
Like in Boy Scouts.

   
                   
- It's hard to imagine you as a Boy Scout.
- Keep stirring.

   
                   
Once the tallow hardens,
you skim off a layer of glycerin.

   
                   
Add nitric acid, you've got nitroglycerin.

   
                   
Then add sodium nitrate and sawdust,
you've got dynamite.

   
                   
Yeah, with enough soap,
one could blow up just about anything.

   
                   
Tyler was full of useful information.

   
                   
People found clothes got cleaner
when washed at a certain point in the river.

   
                   
- You know why?
- No.

   
                   
Human sacrifices were once made
on the hills above this river.

   
                   
Bodies burnt.
Water permeated the ashes to create lye.

   
                   
This is lye. The crucial ingredient.

   
                   
Once it mixed with the melted body fat,
a white soapy discharge crept into the river.

   
                   
May I see your hand, please?

   
                   
What is this?

   
                   
This is a chemical burn.

   
                   
It will hurt more than any burn
and it will leave a scar.

   
                   
Meditation worked for cancer,
it could work now.

   
                   
- Don't shut the pain out.
- Oh, God!

   
                   
The first soap was made from heroes' ashes,
like the first monkey shot into space.

   
                   
Without pain or sacrifice,
we would have nothing.

   
                   
I tried not to think
of the word searing of flesh.

   
                   
Stop it!
This is your pain, this is your burning hand.

   
                   
I'm going to my cave
to find my power animal.

   
                   
No! Don't deal with this
the way those dead people do! Come on!

   
                   
- I get the point!
- No! You're feeling premature enlightenment.

   
                   
It's the greatest moment of your life,
and you're off somewhere else!

   
                   
I am not!

   
                   
Shut up!
Our fathers were our models for God.

   
                   
If our fathers bailed,
what does that tell you about God?

   
                   
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!

   
                   
- I agree!
- Fuck damnation, fuck redemption.

   
                   
We are God's unwanted children? So be it!

   
                   
- I'm getting water!
- You can use water and make it worse or...

   
                   
- Or use vinegar to neutralise the burn.
- Please let me up!

   
                   
First, you have to give up.

   
                   
First, you have to know, not fear,

   
                   
know that some day, 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 the bottom.

   
                   
Tyler sold his soap
to department stores at $   a bar.

   
                   
God knows what they charged.

   
                   
- This is the best soap.
- Why, thank you, Susan.

   
                   
It was beautiful.

   
                   
We were selling rich women
their own fat asses back to them.

   
                   
He was wearing his yellow tie.

   
                   
I didn't wear a tie to work any more.

   
                   
"The first rule of Fight Club
is don't talk about Fight Club."

   
                   
I'm half-asleep again.
I must have left it in the copy machine.

   
                   
"The second rule..." Is this yours?

   
                   
Pretend you're me.
Make a managerial decision.

   
                   
You find this. What would you do?

   
                   
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.

   
                   
And this button-down, Oxford-cloth psycho
might just snap

   
                   
and then stalk from office to office

   
                   
with an Armalite AR   carbine gas-powered
semiautomatic 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.

   
                   
Tyler's words coming out of my mouth.

   
                   
And I used to be such a nice guy.

   
                   
Or maybe you shouldn't bring me
every piece of trash you pick up.

   
                   
- Compliance and Liability.
- My tit's gonna rot off.

   
                   
Will you excuse me? I need to take this.

   
                   
- What do you mean?
- I need you to check for a lump in my breast.

   
                   
- Go to a hospital.
- I can't afford to waste money 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 Haniver and Mrs Raines.

   
                   
Where are they, exactly?

   
                   
Tragically, they're dead.
I'm alive and I'm in poverty. Want any?

   
                   
- No, no.
- I got one for you.

   
                   
Thanks for the thought.

   
                   
What happened to your hand?

   
                   
Oh, nothing.

   
                   
Right there?

   
                   
- Feel anything?
- No.

   
                   
Well, make sure.

   
                   
OK, I'm pretty sure.

   
                   
You feel nothing?

   
                   
No, nothing.

   
                   
Well, that's a relief. Thank you.

   
                   
- No problem.
- I wish I could return the favour.

   
                   
Breast cancer doesn't run in my family.

   
                   
- I 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.

   
                   
- 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? Still remaining men together?
- No, no.

   
                   
- I got something so much better now.
- Really, what is it?

   
                   
Well...

   
                   
The 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 fucking... fucking great.

 
                   
- 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 it?

 
                   
- Yeah, actually...
- 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.

  
                   
Do you know about Tyler Durden?

  
                   
I didn't hurt you, did I?

  
                   
Actually, you did.

  
                   
Thank you for this.

  
                   
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

  
                   
Fight Club.

  
                   
This was mine and Tyler's gift.

  
                   
Our gift to the world.

  
                   
Our gift to the world.

  
                   
I look around, I look around,
I see a lot of new faces.

  
                   
Shut up!

  
                   
Which means a lot of people have been
breaking the first two rules of Fight Club.

  
                   
I see in Fight Club the strongest
and smartest men who've ever lived.

  
                   
I see all this potential.

  
                   
And I see it squandered.

  
                   
Goddamn 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.

  
                   
No purpose or place.

  
                   
We have no Great War.

  
                   
No Great Depression.

  
                   
Our great war is a spiritual war.

  
                   
Our great depression is our lives.

  
                   
We've all been raised
on television to believe

  
                   
that one day we'd be millionaires
and movie gods and rock stars.

  
                   
But we won't.

  
                   
We're slowly learning that fact.

  
                   
And we're very, very pissed off.

  
                   
Yeah!

  
                   
- First rule of Fight Club is, do not talk...

  
                   
Who are you?

  
                   
- Who am I?
- Yeah.

  
                   
There's a sign on the front
that says Lou's Tavern.

  
                   
I'm fucking Lou. Who the fuck are you?

  
                   
Tyler Durden.

  
                   
Who told you motherfuckers
that you could use my place?

  
                   
We have a deal worked out with Irvine.

  
                   
Irvine's at home with a broken collarbone.

  
                   
He don't own this place. I do.

  
                   
- How much money's he getting for this?
- There is no money.

  
                   
- Free to all.
- Ain't that something?

  
                   
It is, actually.

  
                   
Look, stupid fuck!

  
                   
- I want everybody out of here right now.
- Hey!

  
                   
You should join our club.

  
                   
Did you hear what I just said?

  
                   
You and your friend.

  
                   
You hear me now?

  
                   
No, I didn't quite catch that, Lou.

  
                   
Still not getting it.

  
                   
OK, OK, I got it.

  
                   
I got it, I got it. Shit, I lost it.

  
                   
Back! All of you!

  
                   
Everybody back!

  
                   
Ah, Lou!

  
                   
Come on, man!
We really like this place.

  
                   
- That's right, Lou. Get it out.
- Shut the fuck up.

  
                   
Oh, yeah!

  
                   
Is that fucking funny?

  
                   
Fucking guy is a loony, I'm telling you.

  
                   
Unbelievable.

  
                   
- You don't know where I've been, Lou.
- Oh, my God!

  
                   
You don't know where I've been!

  
                   
Please let us keep it, Lou! Please, Lou!

  
                   
Fucking use the basement! Christ!

  
                   
I want your word, Lou! I want your word!

  
                   
On my mother's eyes.

  
                   
Thanks, Lou.

  
                   
You too, big guy.

  
                   
We'll see you next week.

  
                   
This week, each one of you
has a homework assignment.

  
                   
You're gonna go out. You're gonna
start a fight with a total stranger.

  
                   
You're gonna start a fight

  
                   
and you're gonna lose.

  
                   
Excellent choice, sir.

  
                   
Excellent choice, sir.

  
                   
Hey! Watch out, jackass! Come on!

  
                   
Now, this is not as easy as it sounds.

  
                   
Son of a bitch!

  
                   
Most people, normal people,
do just about anything to avoid a fight.

  
                   
Excuse me!

  
                   
You sprayed me with your hose.
That's not necessary...

  
                   
Jay! Go call    !

  
                   
Put the hose down.

  
                   
Stop it! Stop it!

   
                   
Sorry.

   
                   
We need to talk.

   
                   
OK.

   
                   
Where to begin?

   
                   
With your constant absenteeism?

   
                   
With your unpresentable appearance?

   
                   
You're up for review.

   
                   
I am Jack's complete lack of surprise.

   
                   
- What?
- Let's pretend.

   
                   
You're the Department of Transportation,
OK?

   
                   
Someone informs you that this company

   
                   
installs front-seat mounting brackets
that failed collision tests,

   
                   
brake linings that fail after      miles,

   
                   
and fuel injectors
that explode and burn people alive.

   
                   
What then?

   
                   
Are you threatening me?

   
                   
- No...
- Get the fuck out of here. You're fired!

   
                   
I have a better solution. Keep me
on the payroll as an outside consultant.

   
                   
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.

   
                   
Who... Who the fuck do you think you are,
you crazy little shit?

   
                   
- Security!
- I am Jack's smirking revenge.

   
                   
What the hell are you doing?

   
                   
That hurt.

   
                   
Why would you do that?

   
                   
Oh, my God! No! Please stop!

   
                   
What are you doing?

   
                   
Oh, God, no! Please! No!

   
                   
For some reason,
I thought of my first fight, with Tyler.

   
                   
No!

   
                   
Under and behind and inside
everything this man took for granted,

   
                   
something horrible had been growing.

   
                   
Look.

   
                   
Give me the paychecks, like I asked,
and you won't ever see me again.

   
                   
Then, at our most excellent
moment together...

   
                   
Thank God!
Please don't hit me again.

   
                   
Telephone, computer,

   
                   
fax machine,    weekly paychecks
and    airline flight coupons.

   
                   
We now had corporate sponsorship.

   
                   
This is how Tyler and I were able to have
Fight Club every night of the week.

   
                   
Now, the centre of Fight Club
became the two men fighting.

   
                   
The leader walked through the crowd,
out in the darkness.

   
                   
Tyler was now involved in
a lawsuit with the Pressman Hotel

   
                   
over the urine content of their soup.

   
                   
I am Jack's wasted life.

   
                   
Thank you, sir.

   
                   
Tyler dreamed up
new homework assignments.

   
                   
He handed them out in sealed envelopes.

   
                   
- There's a Fight Club up in Delaware City.
- Yeah, I heard.

   
                   
There's one in Penns Grove too.

   
                   
Bob even found one up in New Castle.

   
                   
- Did you start that one?
- No, I thought you did.

   
                   
No.

   
                   
- Stop for a second.
- Hey, what are we doing?

   
                   
- Stop for a second.
- Hey, what are we doing?

   
                   
- Turn around.
- What are we doing?

   
                   
- Homework assignment.
- What kind?

   
                   
Human sacrifice.

   
                   
- Is that a gun? Please tell me it's not.
- It's a gun.

   
                   
- What are you doing?
- Meet me in the back.

   
                   
- Don't fuck around!
- Meet me in the back.

   
                   
On a long enough time line,

   
                   
the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.

   
                   
What are you doing? Come on!

   
                   
Hands behind your back.
Give me your wallet.

   
                   
Raymond K Hessel.
     SE Banning, Apartment A.

   
                   
- Small, cramped basement apartment?
- How did you know?

   
                   
They give shitty apartments letters.

   
                   
Raymond! You're going to die.

   
                   
No!

   
                   
Is that your mom and dad?
They're gonna have to call the kindly doctor.

   
                   
Pick up your dental records. Know why?

   
                   
- There'll be nothing left of your face.
- Oh, come on!

   
                   
An expired community college student ID.
What did you study, Raymond?

   
                   
- S... S... Stuff.
- Stuff?

   
                   
Were the midterms hard?

   
                   
- I asked you what you studied!
- Biology, mostly.

   
                   
- Why?
- I don't know.

   
                   
What did you wanna be, Raymond K Hessel?!

   
                   
The question, Raymond,
was what did you want to be?

   
                   
Answer him, Raymond, Jesus!

   
                   
- Veterinarian. Veterinarian.
- Animals.

   
                   
- Yeah. Animals and stuff.
- Stuff. Yeah, I got that.

   
                   
- So you need more schooling.
- Too much school.

   
                   
- Would you rather be dead?
- No, please...

   
                   
You'd rather die here, on your knees,
in the back of a convenience store?

   
                   
Please, no.

   
                   
I'm keeping your licence.

   
                   
Gonna check in on you.
I know where you live.

   
                   
If you're not working
to be a veterinarian in six weeks,

   
                   
you will be dead.

   
                   
Now run on home.

   
                   
Run, Forrest, run!

   
                   
I feel ill.

   
                   
Imagine how he feels.

   
                   
Come on, this isn't funny!

   
                   
What the fuck was the point of that?!

   
                   
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.

   
                   
You had to give it to him.

   
                   
- Come on.
- 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.

   
                   
You are 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 are the all-singing,
all-dancing crap of the world.

   
                   
I'll be out of your way in a sec.

   
                   
You don't have to go.

   
                   
Whatever.

   
                   
No, I mean... It's OK.

   
                   
Are you still going to groups?

   
                   
Yeah.

   
                   
Chloe's dead.

   
                   
Wow, Chloe.

   
                   
When did that happen?

   
                   
Do you care?

   
                   
I dunno. I haven't thought about it in a while.

   
                   
Yeah, well...

   
                   
It was the smart move on her part.

   
                   
Listen...

   
                   
What are you getting out of all this?

   
                   
What?

   
                   
I mean, all this. Why do you keep...

   
                   
Is this making you happy?

   
                   
Yeah, well, sometimes.

   
                   
I don't know. I don't understand.

   
                   
Why does a weaker person
need to latch on to a strong person?

   
                   
What is... What is that?

   
                   
What do you get out of it?

   
                   
No... That's not the same thing at all.

   
                   
It's totally different with us.

   
                   
Us?

   
                   
What do you mean by us?

   
                   
- I'm sorry. Do you hear this?
- Hear what?

   
                   
- All that noise. Hold on.
- No, wait!

   
                   
Don't change the subject!
I want to talk about this.

   
                   
- You're not talking about me, are you?
- No.

   
                   
- What?
- Playing doctor. What was going on there?

   
                   
- What are you talking about?
- Nothing. Nothing.

   
                   
- I don't think so.
- What do you want?

   
                   
- Look at me.
- No. What?

   
                   
- What is that?!
- It's nothing. Don't worry.

   
                   
My God. Who did this?

   
                   
- A person.
- Guy or girl?

   
                   
- What do you care?
- What do you care if I ask?

   
                   
- Leave me alone.
- You're afraid to say.

   
                   
- I am not. Let me go.
- No! Talk to me.

   
                   
Let go of me!

   
                   
- This conversation
- This conversation

   
                   
- is over.
- Is over.

   
                   
I just can't win with you, can I?

   
                   
Hey, this is getting a little old!

   
                   
What is... What is all this?

   
                   
What do you think?

   
                   
Hey, why do we need bunk beds?

   
                   
Hey!

   
                   
Too young.

   
                   
Sorry.

   
                   
What's all that?

   
                   
If the applicant is young,
tell him he's too young.

   
                   
- Old, too old. Fat, too fat.
- Applicant?

   
                   
If the applicant waits three days
without food or shelter,

   
                   
he may enter and begin training.

   
                   
Training for what?

   
                   
You think this is a game?

   
                   
You're too young to train here, end of story.

   
                   
Quit wasting our time.
Get the fuck out of here.

   
                   
Bad news, friend.

   
                   
It's not gonna happen.

   
                   
Sorry if there was a misunderstanding.

   
                   
It's not the end of the world.

   
                   
Just... go away.

   
                   
Go.

   
                   
You're trespassing
and I will have to call the police.

   
                   
Don't you look at me!

   
                   
You're never getting in this fucking house!

   
                   
Never. Now get the fuck off my porch!
Get off my porch!

   
                   
Sooner or later,
we all became what Tyler wanted us to be.

   
                   
I'm gonna go inside
and I'm gonna get a shovel.

   
                   
- Got two black shirts?
- Yes, sir.

   
                   
- Two pair of black pants?
- Yes, sir.

   
                   
- One pair black boots? Black socks?
- Yes, sir.

   
                   
- One blackjacket.
- Yes, sir.

   
                   
- $    personal burial money?
- Yes, sir.

   
                   
All right.

   
                   
You're too old, fat man.

   
                   
Your tits are too big.
Get the fuck off my porch.

   
                   
Bob! Bob!

   
                   
Like a monkey ready to be shot into space.

   
                   
Space monkey.

   
                   
Ready to sacrifice himself
for the greater good.

   
                   
You are too fucking old, fatty!

   
                   
And you... You're too fucking

   
                   
blond!

   
                   
Get out of here, the both of you!

   
                   
And so it went.

   
                   
Listen up, maggots.

   
                   
You are not special.

   
                   
You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake.

   
                   
You are the same decaying organic matter
as everything else.

   
                   
Tyler built himself an army.

   
                   
We are the all-singing,
all-dancing crap of the world.

   
                   
We are all part of the same compost heap.

   
                   
Why was Tyler Durden building an army?

   
                   
To what purpose?

   
                   
For what greater good?

   
                   
In Tyler we trusted.

   
                   
(man) When he was like,
"You are not yourjob",

   
                   
I was like, "Yeah!"

   
                   
Hey, what's all this?

   
                   
Hey!

   
                   
OK!

   
                   
- What's going on?
- We're celebrating.

   
                   
- What are we celebrating?
- Go on.

   
                   
- Hey.
- Let me get that for you.

   
                   
The same great taste, Pepsi.

   
                   
Ssh!

   
                   
Investigators are here.
The Police Commissioner has arrived.

   
                   
Could you tell us
what you think has happened here?

   
                   
We believe this is one of many
recent acts of vandalism in the city

   
                   
somehow related
to underground boxing clubs.

   
                   
We will be coordinating
a rigorous investigation.

   
                   
That was Police Commissioner Jacobs
who just arrived on the scene

   
                   
- of a four-alarm fire that broke out...
- She's hot.

   
                   
Back to you in the studio.

   
                   
- Yeah!
- Yeah!

   
                   
- Holy shit!
- Yeah!

   
                   
What the fuck did you guys do?

   
                   
Arson investigators
are on the premises...

   
                   
Sir, the first rule of Project Mayhem
is you do not ask questions, sir.

   
                   
The victory in the war against crime

   
                   
will not come overnight.

   
                   
It will take dedication and commitment
and, most of all, cooperation.

   
                   
Streets are safer now.
There is hope in the inner city. However...

   
                   
I gotta take a piss.

   
                   
These are the first steps in a long journey.

   
                   
That is why we have created Project Hope.

   
                   
Bob.

   
                   
Project Hope will be ajoint effort

   
                   
between the police and community leaders.

   
                   
It will be a powerful new weapon
in the war against crime.

   
                   
- Wrap it around the top of his Hacky Sack.
- His balls are ice cold.

   
                   
Hi. You're gonna call off
your rigorous investigation.

   
                   
You will publicly state
there is no underground group or

   
                   
these guys are gonna take your balls.

   
                   
They'll send one to the New York Times
and one to the LA Times.

   
                   
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.

   
                   
Ball check!

   
                   
Bob, you're this way.

   
                   
Let's go.

   
                   
I am Jack's inflamed sense of rejection.

   
                   
Hey!

   
                   
Yeah!

   
                   
I felt like putting a bullet in every panda

   
                   
that wouldn't screw to save its species.

   
                   
I wanted to open the dump valves
on oil tankers

   
                   
and smother those French beaches
I'd never see.

   
                   
I wanted to breathe smoke.

   
                   
Where did you go, psycho boy?

   
                   
I felt like destroying something beautiful.

   
                   
Get him to a fucking hospital.

   
                   
Yeah.

   
                   
Don't worry, Mr Durden.
Airport parking. Long term.

   
                   
After you, Mr Durden.

   
                   
After you.

   
                   
- Something on your mind, dear?
- No.

   
                   
Yeah, why wasn't I told
about Project Mayhem?

   
                   
First rule of Project Mayhem
is you do not ask questions.

   
                   
Why didn't you include me in the beginning?

   
                   
Fight Club was the beginning. Now it's left
the basements and it's Project Mayhem.

   
                   
We started Fight Club together. Remember?
It's as much mine as it is yours.

   
                   
- Is this about you and me?
- Yeah. Weren't we doing this together?

   
                   
This does not belong to us.
We are not special.

   
                   
Fuck that. You should have told me.

   
                   
Hey, Tyler!

   
                   
- Goddamn it, Tyler!
- What do you want?!

   
                   
A statement of purpose?
Should I e-mail you?

   
                   
- Oh...
- You decide your level of involvement!

   
                   
I will! I wanna know certain things first!

   
                   
- The first rule of Project Mayhem...
- Shut up!

   
                   
- I wanna know what you're thinking.
- Fuck what you know!

   
                   
Forget about what you think you know
about life, friendship,

   
                   
and especially about you and me.

   
                   
What is that supposed to mean?

   
                   
What are you doing?

   
                   
What do you wish you'd done
before you died?

   
                   
- Paint a self-portrait.
- Build a house.

   
                   
- And you?
- I don't know. Nothing.

   
                   
- Get in the right lane.
- You have to know!

   
                   
If you died now,
how would you feel about your life?

   
                   
I don't know! Nothing good.
Is that what you want to hear?

   
                   
- Come on!
- Not good enough.

   
                   
Stop fucking around! Tyler!

   
                   
Jesus Christ!

   
                   
Goddamn it! Goddamn it! Fuck you!

   
                   
Fuck Fight Club. Fuck Marla!

   
                   
I am sick of all your shit!

   
                   
OK, man.

   
                   
- Quit screwing around. Steer!
- Look at you!

   
                   
- Steer!
- Look at you. You're fucking pathetic!

   
                   
- Why? Why? What are you talking about?
- Why do you think I blew up your condo?

   
                   
What?

   
                   
Hitting bottom isn't a weekend retreat.
It's not a goddamned seminar.

   
                   
Stop trying to control everything
and just let go!

   
                   
Let go!

   
                   
All right. Fine.

   
                   
Fine.

   
                   
I'd never been in a car accident.

   
                   
This must have been
what all those people felt like

   
                   
before I filed them
as statistics in my reports.

   
                   
Goddamn!

   
                   
We've just had a near-life experience!

   
                   
In the world I see,

   
                   
you're stalking elk
through the Grand 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 thick kudzu vines
that wrap the Sears Tower.

   
                   
And when you look down,
you'll see tiny figures pounding corn,

   
                   
laying strips of venison
in the empty car-pool lane

   
                   
of some abandoned superhighway.

   
                   
Feel better, champ.

   
                   
And then...

   
                   
Tyler?

   
                   
... Tyler was gone.

   
                   
Was I asleep?

   
                   
Had I slept?

   
                   
You are not a beautiful, unique snowflake...

   
                   
The house had become a living thing.

   
                   
Wet inside from so many people
sweating and breathing.

   
                   
So many people moving, the house moved.

   
                   
Planet Tyler.

   
                   
I had to hug the walls.

   
                   
Trapped inside
this clockwork of space monkeys.

   
                   
You shouldn't be smoking in here!
You know how much ether is here!

   
                   
Cooking and working and sleeping in teams.

   
                   
Hang on a second.

   
                   
It's under control, sir.

   
                   
Where's Tyler?

   
                   
Sir, the first rule of Project Mayhem
is you do not...

   
                   
Right... OK.

   
                   
I'm all alone.

   
                   
My father dumped me. Tyler dumped me.

   
                   
I am Jack's broken heart.

   
                   
What comes next in Project Mayhem
only Tyler knows.

   
                   
The second rule is you do not ask questions.

   
                   
Get the fuck away from me!
Get the fuck away!

   
                   
Who are all these people?

   
                   
The Paper Street Soap Company.

   
                   
Can I come in?

   
                   
He's not here.

   
                   
What?

   
                   
Tyler isn't here.

   
                   
Tyler went away.

   
                   
Tyler's gone.

   
                   
Get some help!

   
                   
Two gunshot wounds coming through!
Make some fucking room!

   
                   
What happened? What happened?

   
                   
We were on assignment. We were supposed
to kill two birds with one stone.

   
                   
Destroy a piece of corporate art...

   
                   
Operation Latte Thunder. Go!

   
                   
...and trash a franchise coffee bar.

   
                   
We had it all worked out, sir.

   
                   
- It went smooth until...
- Police! Freeze!

   
                   
- What?
- They shot Bob.

   
                   
- They shot him in the head.
- Fucking pigs!

   
                   
Oh, God!

   
                   
- Those motherfuckers!
- You morons.

   
                   
You're running around in ski masks
trying to blow things up?

   
                   
What did you think was gonna happen?!

   
                   
OK, quick! Get rid of the evidence.
We gotta get rid of this body!

   
                   
- Bury him.
- What?

   
                   
Take him to the garden and bury him.

   
                   
- Come on, people, let's go!
- Get the fuck off!

   
                   
Get away from him!
What are you talking about?

   
                   
This isn't fucking evidence.
This is a person.

   
                   
He's my friend
and you're not burying him in the garden!

   
                   
He was killed serving Project Mayhem, sir.

   
                   
- This is Bob.
- Sir, in...

   
                   
In Project Mayhem, we have no names.

   
                   
Now, you listen to me.

   
                   
This is a man and he has a name,
and it's Robert Paulsen, OK?

   
                   
- Robert Paulsen.
- He's a man

   
                   
and he's dead now because of us.
Do you understand that?

   
                   
I understand.

   
                   
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.

   
                   
Come on, guys. Please. Stop it.

   
                   
His name is Robert Paulsen.

   
                   
Shut up! This is all over with!

   
                   
Get the fuck out of here.

   
                   
- Tyler?
- No, this is Detective Stern of the Arson Unit.

   
                   
I need to see you...

   
                   
I went to all the cities
on Tyler's used ticket stubs, barhopping.

   
                   
I didn't know how or why, but I could look
at    different bars, and somehow I just knew.

   
                   
I'm looking for Tyler Durden.
It's very important that I talk to him.

   
                   
I wish I could help you,

   
                   
sir.

   
                   
Every city I went to,

   
                   
as soon as I set foot off the plane

   
                   
I knew a Fight Club was close.

   
                   
Hey! Hey!

   
                   
Taxi!

   
                   
Look at my face. I'm a member.

   
                   
Now, I just need to know if you've seen Tyler.

   
                   
I'm not exposed to bespeak
any such information to you

   
                   
nor would I, even if I had
said information at this juncture... be able.

   
                   
- You're a moron.
- I'm gonna have to ask you to leave.

   
                   
Tyler had been busy...
setting up franchises all over the country.

   
                   
Was I asleep? Had I slept?

   
                   
Is Tyler my bad dream, or am I Tyler's?

   
                   
- We've just heard the stories.
- What kind of stories?

   
                   
- Nobody knows what he looks like.
- He has plastic surgery every three years.

   
                   
That's the stupidest thing
I've ever heard.

   
                   
- Is it true about Fight Club in Miami?
- Is Mr Durden building an army?

   
                   
I was living in a state of perpetual dj vu.

   
                   
Everywhere I went,

   
                   
I felt I'd already been there.

   
                   
It was like following an invisible man.

   
                   
The smell of dried blood,

   
                   
dirty, bare footprints circling each other.

   
                   
That aroma of old sweat, like fried chicken.

   
                   
The feel of a floor still warm
from a fight the night before.

   
                   
I was always just one step behind Tyler.

   
                   
His name is Robert Paulsen...

   
                   
Welcome back, sir.

   
                   
How have you been?

   
                   
Do you know me?

   
                   
Is this a test, sir?

   
                   
No. This is not a test.

   
                   
You were in here last Thursday.

   
                   
Thursday?

   
                   
You were standing where you are now,
asking how good security is.

   
                   
It's tight as a drum, sir.

   
                   
Who do you think I am?

   
                   
Are you sure this isn't a test?

   
                   
No, this is not a test.

   
                   
You're Mr Durden.

   
                   
You're the one who gave me this.

   
                   
Please return your seat backs
to their full upright and locked position.

   
                   
- Yeah?
- Marla, it's me.

   
                   
- Have we ever done it?
- Done what?

   
                   
Had sex?

   
                   
What kind of stupid question is that?

   
                   
Stupid because it's yes
or because it's no?

   
                   
- Is this a trick?
- No. I need to know...

   
                   
You wanna know if I think
we were just having sex or making love?

   
                   
- We did make love?
- Is that what you're calling it?

   
                   
Just answer the question!
Did we do it or not?!

   
                   
You fuck me, then snub me.
You love me, you hate me.

   
                   
You're sensitive,
then you turn into an asshole.

   
                   
Does that describe our relationship, Tyler?

   
                   
We just lost cabin pressure.

   
                   
What did you just say?

   
                   
- What is wrong with you?
- Say my name!

   
                   
Tyler Durden!
You fucking freak! What's going on?

   
                   
- I'm coming over!
- I'm not there!

   
                   
You broke your promise.

   
                   
Jesus, Tyler.

   
                   
- You fucking talked to her about me.
- What the fuck is going on?

   
                   
I asked you for one thing. One simple thing.

   
                   
Why do people think that I'm you?

   
                   
Answer me!

   
                   
Sit.

   
                   
Answer me. Why do people think I'm you?

   
                   
I think you know.

   
                   
- No, I don't.
- Yes, you do.

   
                   
Why would anyone
possibly confuse you with me?

   
                   
I... I don't know.

   
                   
- You got it.
- No.

   
                   
- Do not fuck with us!
- Say it.

   
                   
Because...

   
                   
Say it!

   
                   
Because we're the same person.

   
                   
That's right.

   
                   
We are the all-singing, all-dancing crap.

   
                   
- I don't understand this.
- You wanted a way to change your life.

   
                   
You could not do this on your own.

   
                   
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'm free in all the ways that you are not.

   
                   
Oh, no.

   
                   
- Tyler's not here. Tyler went away.
- What?

   
                   
This isn't possible. This is crazy.

   
                   
People do it every day.

   
                   
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.

   
                   
You still wrestle with it,
so sometimes you're still you.

   
                   
- We should do this again sometime.
- At times, you imagine you're watching me.

   
                   
If this is your first time, you have to fight.

   
                   
Little by little,
you're just letting yourself become

   
                   
Tyler Durden.

   
                   
You are not yourjob
or how much money you have!

   
                   
- No. You have a house.
- Rented in your name.

   
                   
- You have jobs, a life.
- You work nights because you can't sleep.

   
                   
Or you stay up and make soap.

   
                   
- You're fucking Marla, Tyler.
- Technically, you are. It's all the same to her.

   
                   
Oh, my God.

   
                   
Now you see our dilemma.

   
                   
She knows too much.

   
                   
I think we're gonna have to talk about
how this might compromise our goals.

   
                   
What... What are you saying?

   
                   
This is bullshit. This is bullshit,
I'm not listening to this!

   
                   
- You are insane!
- No. You're insane.

   
                   
We simply do not have time for this crap.

   
                   
It's called a changeover.

   
                   
The movie goes on

   
                   
and nobody in the audience has any idea.

   
                   
- Sir! Are you checking out?
- Yeah. Bill me.

   
                   
Can you initial this list of phone calls?

   
                   
- When were these made?
- Between  .   and  .   this morning.

   
                   
Have I been going to bed earlier every night?
Have I been sleeping later?

   
                   
Have I been Tyler longer and longer?

   
                   
Is anybody here?

   
                   
Dj vu all over again.

   
                   
With enough soap,
one could blow up anything.

   
                   
Oh, my God.

   
                   
-     .
- Who am I calling?

   
                   
     Franklin. This is maintenance. Hello?

   
                   
Hello?

   
                   
     Franklin Street?

   
                   
Yes. Can I help you?

   
                   
- Hello?
- Yeah, yeah.

   
                   
I need to talk to your supervisor right away.

   
                   
- Speaking.
- OK, listen to me.

   
                   
Something terrible
is about to happen to your building.

   
                   
It's under control, sir.

   
                   
- Excuse me?
- Don't worry about us, sir. We're solid.

   
                   
    .

   
                   
Marla! Marla! Hey, wait!

   
                   
Wait! I gotta talk to you! Marla! Marla!

   
                   
Your bald freaks hit me with a fucking broom!
They almost broke my arm!

   
                   
They were burning their fingertips with lye.

   
                   
This needs a tremendous act of faith
on your part, but hear me out.

   
                   
- Here comes an avalanche of bullshit.
- A little more faith than that.

   
                   
I don't wanna hear
anything you have to say.

   
                   
You have every right to be...

   
                   
I'll just have a coffee, thanks.

   
                   
Sir. Anything you order is free of charge, sir.

   
                   
Why is it free of charge?

   
                   
- Don't ask.
- Whatever.

   
                   
I'll have the clam chowder, fried chicken
and baked potato and a chocolate chiffon pie.

   
                   
Clean food, please.

   
                   
In that case,
may I advise against the clam chowder.

   
                   
No clam chowder. Thank you.

   
                   
You got about    seconds.

   
                   
I know I've been acting very strange, OK?

   
                   
- I know it seems there's two sides to me...
- Two sides?

   
                   
- You're Dr Jekyll and Mr Jackass.
- I know. But I realised something important.

   
                   
- What?
- The nature of our relationship wasn't clear

   
                   
to me for reasons I won't go into.

   
                   
- I know I haven't treated you well.
- Whatever.

   
                   
No, no. Fifteen seconds, please!

   
                   
Fifteen seconds,
don't open your mouth.

   
                   
I'm trying to tell you I'm sorry.

   
                   
What I've come to realise
is that I really like you, Marla.

   
                   
You do?

   
                   
I really do.

   
                   
I care about you and I don't want anything
bad to happen to you because of me.

   
                   
Marla, your life is in danger.

   
                   
What?

   
                   
You need to leave town for a while.
Get out of any major city.

   
                   
- Just go camping...
- You're an insane person.

   
                   
- No. I've involved you in something terrible.
- No. Shut up!

   
                   
- You're not safe.
- Shut up!

   
                   
- Listen, I tried, Tyler. I really tried.
- I know you did.

   
                   
There are things about you I like.
You're smart, 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.

   
                   
- I know, and I'm sorry.
- You're sorry, I'm sorry. Everyone's sorry.

   
                   
I can't do this any more.

   
                   
I can't.

   
                   
And I won't.

   
                   
I'm gone.

   
                   
You can't leave, Marla! You're not safe!

   
                   
- Marla, you don't understand!
- Leave me alone!

   
                   
- Marla, I am trying to protect you!
- Let go!

   
                   
- I don't ever wanna see you again!
- That's fine...

   
                   
Here, wait right here!

   
                   
Hold it right there! Shut up!

   
                   
Take this money and get on this bus.

   
                   
I promise I won't bother you again.

   
                   
Shut up!

   
                   
Please get on the bus. Please get on the bus.

   
                   
Why are you doing this?

   
                   
They think you're a threat.
I can't explain it now, just trust me!

   
                   
- If I know where you are, you won't be safe.
- I'll keep this, it's asshole tax.

   
                   
- Fine. Remember, stay out of major cities.
- Tyler.

   
                   
You're the worst thing
that ever happened to me.

   
                   
Hello. I need you to arrest me.

   
                   
I am the leader of a terrorist organisation

   
                   
responsible for numerous acts
of vandalism and assault all over this city.

   
                   
In the metropolitan area,
we had probably     members.

   
                   
Chapters have sprung up
in five or six other major cities already.

   
                   
This is a tightly-regimented organisation

   
                   
with many cells capable of operating
independent of central leadership.

   
                   
Go to the house, OK?      Paper Street.

   
                   
That's our headquarters.

   
                   
In the back, buried in the garden,

   
                   
you'll find the body of Robert Paulsen.

   
                   
In the basement,
you're gonna find some bathtubs

   
                   
that have been used very recently
to make large quantities of nitroglycerin.

   
                   
I believe the plan is to blow up

   
                   
the headquarters
of these credit card companies

   
                   
and the TRW building.

   
                   
Why these buildings?
Why credit card companies?

   
                   
If you erase the debt record,
then we all go back to zero.

   
                   
You'll create total chaos.

   
                   
Keep him talking. I need to make a phone call.

   
                   
I really admire what you're doing.

   
                   
What?

   
                   
You're a brave man to order this.

   
                   
You're a genius, sir.

   
                   
You said if anyone ever interferes
with Project Mayhem, even you,

   
                   
we gotta get his balls.

   
                   
- Don't fight.
- It's a powerful gesture, Mr Durden.

   
                   
- It will set an example.
- You're making a big mistake!

   
                   
- You said you'd say that.
- I'm not Tyler Durden!

   
                   
- You told us you'd say that too.
- All right. I am Tyler Durden.

   
                   
Listen to me. I'm giving you a direct order.

   
                   
- We're aborting this mission now.
- You said you would definitely say that.

   
                   
Are you fucking out of your minds?
You're police officers!

   
                   
Is somebody timing this?

   
                   
Keep your mouth shut.

   
                   
Shit!

   
                   
Some of this information checks out.

   
                   
- Let's go to that house on Paper Street.
- Be right there.

   
                   
Hey, wait!

   
                   
- I got him.
- Sir, we have to do this.

   
                   
- Stop fighting!
- Where's the rubber band?

   
                   
Get away from me! Drop that fucking knife!

   
                   
Back up. Face down on the floor right now!

   
                   
Get down on the floor!

   
                   
The first person
that comes out of this door

   
                   
gets a lead salad! Understand?

   
                   
Get away! Stay away!

   
                   
I ran.

   
                   
I ran until my muscles burned
and my veins pumped battery acid.

   
                   
Then I ran some more.

   
                   
What the fuck are you doing?

   
                   
Running around in your underpants!
You look crazy!

   
                   
No. I'm onto you.
I know what's going on here.

   
                   
Come on, then. I got us a great place
to watch from. It'll be like pay-per-view.

   
                   
- Oh, Christ.
- Now what are you doing?

   
                   
- I'm stopping this.
- Why?

   
                   
- The greatest thing you've ever done.
- I can't let this happen.

   
                   
There are    other bombs
in    other buildings.

   
                   
Since when is Project Mayhem
about murder?

   
                   
The buildings are empty.

   
                   
We're not killing anyone.
We're setting 'em free!

   
                   
Bob is dead. They shot him in the head.

   
                   
You wanna make an omelette,
you gotta break some eggs.

   
                   
No. I'm not listening to you.
You're not even there.

   
                   
I wouldn't do that.
Not unless you knew which wires were what.

   
                   
If you know, I know.

   
                   
Or maybe I knew you'd know, so I spent
all day thinking about the wrong ones.

   
                   
You think?

   
                   
Oh, heavens, no. Not the green one.

   
                   
Pull any one but the green one.

   
                   
I asked you not to do that!

   
                   
Fuck!

   
                   
Tyler, get away from the van.

   
                   
Tyler, I'm not kidding!
Get away from the van!

   
                   
Goddamn it!

   
                   
OK.

   
                   
You are now firing a gun
at your imaginary friend

   
                   
near     gallons of nitroglycerin!

   
                   
Cool it, Tyler!

   
                   
Come on!

   
                   
Don't go!

   
                   
What?!

   
                   
Three minutes.

   
                   
Three minutes.

   
                   
This is it.

   
                   
The beginning.

   
                   
Ground zero.

   
                   
I think this is about where we came in.

   
                   
Do you have a speech for the occasion?

   
                   
I'm sorry?

   
                   
I still can't think of anything.

   
                   
Flashback humour.

   
                   
It's getting exciting now.

   
                   
Two and a half.

   
                   
Think of everything we've accomplished.

   
                   
Out these windows, we will view
the collapse of financial history.

   
                   
One step closer to economic equilibrium.

   
                   
Why is she here?

   
                   
Tying up loose ends.

   
                   
Put me down, you baldheaded fuck!

   
                   
- I beg you, please don't do this.
- I'm not doing this.

   
                   
- We are doing this. This is what we want.
- No.

   
                   
- I don't want this.
- Right. Except you is meaningless now.

   
                   
- We have to forget about you.
- You're a voice in my head.

   
                   
You're a voice in mine!

   
                   
- Why can't I get rid of you?
- You need me.

   
                   
No. I don't. I really don't any more.

   
                   
You created me. I didn't create some
loser alter ego to make me feel better.

   
                   
- Take some responsibility.
- I do. I am responsible for all of it

   
                   
and I accept that.

   
                   
So, please, I'm begging you,
please call this off.

   
                   
Have I ever let us down?

   
                   
How far have you come because of me?!

   
                   
I will bring us through this.

   
                   
As always, I will carry you
kicking and screaming

   
                   
and in the end you will thank me.

   
                   
Tyler. Tyler.

   
                   
I'm grateful to you.
For everything that you've done for me.

   
                   
But this is too much. I don't want this.

   
                   
What do you want? Your shitjob back?
Fucking condo world, watching sitcoms?

   
                   
Fuck you! I won't do it.

   
                   
- This can't be happening.
- It's already done, so shut up!

   
                   
   seconds till CRI.

   
                   
No.

   
                   
I can figure this out. This isn't even real.

   
                   
You're not real, that gun...
That gun isn't even in your hand.

   
                   
The gun's in my hand.

   
                   
Good for you. It doesn't change a thing.

   
                   
Why do you wanna put a gun to your head?

   
                   
Not my head, Tyler.

   
                   
Our head.

   
                   
Interesting.

   
                   
Where are you going with this, lkea boy?

   
                   
Hey. It's you and me.

   
                   
Friends?

   
                   
Tyler,

   
                   
I want you to really listen to me.

   
                   
OK.

   
                   
My eyes are open.

   
                   
What's that smell?

   
                   
- Where is everybody?
- Oh, no. What's going on?

   
                   
Mr Durden!

   
                   
Oh, my God!

   
                   
Are you... Are you all right, sir?

   
                   
- Oh, yeah, I'm OK.
- You look terrible, sir. What happened?

   
                   
- Nothing, it's no problem.
- No, no, no, sir. He's not kidding.

   
                   
- You look awful. You need assistance.
- I'm fine.

   
                   
Look, I'm fine... Everything's fine.

   
                   
Stop it!

   
                   
- Let her go.
- Christ Almighty!

   
                   
You!

   
                   
Hi, Marla.

   
                   
- Leave her with me. Meet me downstairs.
- Are you sure?

   
                   
Yes, I'm sure.

   
                   
You fucker! What kind of sick
fucking game are you playing at?!

   
                   
Putting me on a... Oh, my God, your face!

   
                   
Yeah, I know.

   
                   
What happened?

   
                   
- Don't ask.
- You're shot.

   
                   
- Yes, I'm shot.
- Oh, my God.

   
                   
- I can't believe he's standing.
- One tough motherfucker.

   
                   
Who did this?

   
                   
I did, actually.

   
                   
Find some gauze.

   
                   
You shot yourself?

   
                   
Yes, but it's OK. Marla, look at me.

   
                   
I'm really OK.

   
                   
Trust me. Everything's gonna be fine.

   
                   
You met me at a very strange time in my life.







  
 
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