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Sam Whitemoon: Look at this. Look at this sweetheart. Tell me this ain't a movie star. What're you, kiddin'? They gotta make me a movie star. Hey. As soon as they see this hair they gonna say, Sam, get over here. Get in front of these cameras. There's a hundred million women out there just waitin' to run that hair between their legs.
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Sam Whitemoon: It's okay. There's nobody else around. We're outta here. We're outta here, Fatso! We're outta here, man! We're outta here for good!
[aims his shotgun at the general store]
Sam Whitemoon: No more of this baloney, man.
[shoots a section of the store]
Sam Whitemoon: No more eatin' dust for a living.
[shoots another section of the store]
Sam Whitemoon: There ain't no dust in Hollywood, man.
[shoots another section of the store]
Sam Whitemoon: And there ain't no damn tribe of Tommin', wimpy red men, neither!
[aims his shotgun at the Chief Wood'nhead statue and not only shoots a little piece off, but also spills the can of red paint]
David Beecroft
Extended Reading
