Joe Dirt

Kickin’ Wing: You want me to put my ear to the ground and listen for hoof beats, check for footprints, look for broken twigs? This is the modern era. That stuff doesn't work anymore. Clem: [talking to fire extinguisher] You're talkin' to me all wrong... It's the wrong tone. You do it again and I'll stab you in the face with a soldering iron. Hey, tell me, does your mother sew? BOOM. Get her to sew that!

Joe Dirt, CC BY-SA 4.0

Joe Dirt: If I told you that you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me? Jill: Sure would. Do you wanna go back to my place? Joe Dirt: Sure do.

Joe Dirt, CC BY-SA 4.0

Robby: Did I get ya, Dirt? Joe Dirt: Nah, I'm cool. Robby: No you're not.

Joe Dirt, CC BY-SA 4.0

Joe Dirt: So you're gonna tell me that you don't have no black cats, roman candles, or screaming mimis? Kickin’ Wing: No. Joe Dirt: Oh come on, man. You don't got no lady fingers, fuzz buttles, snicker bombs, church burners, finger blasters, gut busters, zippity do das, or crap flappers? Kickin’ Wing: No, I don't. Joe Dirt: You're gonna stand there, owning a fireworks stand, and tell me you don't have no whistling bungholes, no spleen splitters, whisker biscuits, honkey lighters, hüsker düs, hüsker don'ts, cherry bombs, nipsy daisers, with or without the scooter stick, or one single whistling kitty chaser? Kickin’ Wing: No... because snakes and sparklers are the only ones I like. Joe Dirt: Well that might be your problem. It's not what you like, it's the consumer.

Joe Dirt, CC BY-SA 4.0

Joe Dirt: [Narrating] I checked my list of Rambler Wagons, and there it was: Nunamaker. Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I was finally home. Joe Dirt: [Joe comes up to his childhood house only to find it's been condemned] Sir? Hey mister! You know the people who live here, Nunamaker? Farmer Fran: [In a thick Cajun accent] They move. Joe Dirt: W-what's that? Farmer Fran: Move! They move! 'bout... 15 year ago. Had a lil' boy. Had same kinda haircut you got now. [laughs] God da', you outta date, boy. Joe Dirt: Yeah, man, that little boy, that's me. My parents were-this was my home. I though this was it this time. Farmer Fran: Nah, home is where you make it. Joe Dirt: Ya like to see homos naked? Farmer Fran: [repeats phrase, this time with a firmer tone of voice] Home is where you make it. Joe Dirt: You like to see homos naked. That's cool, man. Whatever. Farmer Fran: No no no no. Home is where you make it. Home, where you make it. Joe Dirt: Oh. Farmer Fran: Ev'body know dat. Goddamn, boy. Joe Dirt

Joe Dirt, CC BY-SA 4.0

Joe Dirt: Well today I'm gonna be pickin' up my Hemi Roadrunner. That's right, I said Hemi. Jill: Wow. A Hemi. Balls to the Wall. Joe Dirt: Yep, left it at a friend’s house. Joe Dirt: Actually it got towed away two years ago. Joe Dirt: But I'm pickin' it up this afternoon. I might need a pretty little lady to sit in the front seat while I break her in. The car I mean. So what do you say? Jill: That's a big ten-four.

Joe Dirt, CC BY-SA 4.0