Words in a Row

Spelling and grammer and all that stuff--supposibly its like, real important!

Good Scotch

If you’ll all indulge me for a moment, I’d like to share the very coolest movie scene involv­ing good Scotch ever set to film.

It’s from Inglou­ri­ous Bas­ter­ds (and be advised, if you haven’t seen Inglou­ri­ous Bas­ter­ds, that it’s a Quentin Taran­ti­no movie with lots of vio­lence and mean, nasty words):

Michael Fass­ben­der plays Lt. Archie Hicox, a British spy car­ry­ing out a Rube Gold­ber­gian mis­sion to assas­si­nate Hitler. He and his co-con­spir­a­tors have the bad luck to bump into Dieter Hell­strom, a Gestapo Major, but also have the good luck to catch him in a friend­ly mood.

Hell­strom buys every­one a round of 33-year-old Scotch, but just before they all par­take the Gestapo offi­cer real­izes Fass­ben­der is a British spy, and the fol­low­ing con­ver­sa­tion ensues in German:

Hell­strom: “You hear that? That is the sound of my Walther, which is point­ed at your testicles.”

Hicox: “Why do you have your Walther point­ed at my testicles?”

Hell­strom: “Because you’re no more Ger­man than that Scotch.”

Hicox: “That’s interesting.”

Hell­strom: “Why?”

Hicox: “Because I’ve had a gun point­ed at your balls since you sat down.”

The oth­er spy, Sgt. Hugo Stiglitz, who is sit­ting next to Hell­strom, help­ful­ly points HIS gun at Hellstrom’s balls too.

Hell­strom: “Looks like we have a bit of a sticky sit­u­a­tion here.”

Hicox: “What’s going to hap­pen, Major, is you’re going to stand up and walk out that door with us.”

Hell­strom: “No no no no no. We both know, Cap­tain, no mat­ter what hap­pens to any­one else in this room, the two of us aren’t going anywhere.”

Hicox (switch­ing to Eng­lish): “Well, if this is it, old boy, I hope you don’t mind if I go out speak­ing the King’s.”

Hell­strom: “By all means, Captain.”

Hicox: “There’s a spe­cial rung in hell reserved for peo­ple who waste good Scotch. See­ing as I may be rap­ping on the door momentarily…”

(He drinks the Scotch.)

Hicox: “I must say—damned good stuff, sir. Now, about this pick­le we find our­selves in: It would appear there’s only one thing for you to do.”

Hell­strom: “And what would that be?”

Stiglitz: “Say ‘Auf Wieder­se­hen’ to your Nazi balls!”

And then he shoots Hellstrom’s balls off, and the Gestapo offi­cer shoots Hicox’s balls off, and Hicox shoot’s Hellstrom’s balls off again, and every­one else in the bar also starts shoot­ing, and a few sec­onds lat­er they’re all dead.

I sus­pect Hicox went straight to heav­en, giv­en his prop­er respect for good Scotch.

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