1: Good Morning Vietnaaaaam [Richie sits bolt upright in bed, his mouth opening almost before his eyes as he gropes for his glasses]
Yes, that's right, gooooood morning folks, and a beeee-YOU-tiful one it is too, here in lovely Where The Fuck Are We Land! I just flew in from your Mom's house, and boy are my arms tired!
[he's already looking around, grinning, because you guys, that was funny, right? RIGHT?
2: ZE FRAHGS
[Richie's baited a container with the biggest, nastiest dead bugs he could find and is perched behind a nearby bush, container lid at the ready. it's actually a pretty square plan, save for one thing: his ridiculous French accent]
Awright, now we wait for zee leetle frahggeh to come into zeh trahp, oui? Eet should not take mo-hoar zen a vew meenutes, zen ve win all ze teee-KETS, HOH-HOHHH, eh? Oui-oui. Oah-hoh-hoohhhhn. [he drops it for just long enough to crow] Jesus, lookit the warts on that one!
5. We're Gonna Have A Problem Here
[Richie's standing up on his bench log, arm stretched up as high as it can go, hollering after the nearest counselor. whether they care or not is NOT HIS PROBLEM]
Uh, excuse me? EXCUSE ME. WHO THE FUCK THOUGHT THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA? Do I look like Judge Wapner to you? Do I look like Columbo to you or Murder She Wrote or like, I don't know, Sherlock fucking Holmes to you? NO! I look like I should be burning marshmallows and flinging them at trees to see how long they stick. THIS IS NOT WHOLESOME CAMP SHIT, this is fucking murder and it is SO not cool and you need. To Call. THE GODDAMN POLICE. I don't care how Irish they are, m'boyos, you get them right an' up herr, pronto, me fine fellers! That glorified outhouse isn't gonna do shit!
[you get it? shit? outhouse? HE SLAYS HIMSELF. wait. bad choice of words]
Richie Tozier | IT (2017)
[Richie sits bolt upright in bed, his mouth opening almost before his eyes as he gropes for his glasses]
Yes, that's right, gooooood morning folks, and a beeee-YOU-tiful one it is too, here in lovely Where The Fuck Are We Land! I just flew in from your Mom's house, and boy are my arms tired!
[he's already looking around, grinning, because you guys, that was funny, right? RIGHT?
2: ZE FRAHGS
[Richie's baited a container with the biggest, nastiest dead bugs he could find and is perched behind a nearby bush, container lid at the ready. it's actually a pretty square plan, save for one thing: his ridiculous French accent]
Awright, now we wait for zee leetle frahggeh to come into zeh trahp, oui? Eet should not take mo-hoar zen a vew meenutes, zen ve win all ze teee-KETS, HOH-HOHHH, eh? Oui-oui. Oah-hoh-hoohhhhn. [he drops it for just long enough to crow] Jesus, lookit the warts on that one!
5. We're Gonna Have A Problem Here
[Richie's standing up on his bench log, arm stretched up as high as it can go, hollering after the nearest counselor. whether they care or not is NOT HIS PROBLEM]
Uh, excuse me? EXCUSE ME. WHO THE FUCK THOUGHT THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA? Do I look like Judge Wapner to you? Do I look like Columbo to you or Murder She Wrote or like, I don't know, Sherlock fucking Holmes to you? NO! I look like I should be burning marshmallows and flinging them at trees to see how long they stick. THIS IS NOT WHOLESOME CAMP SHIT, this is fucking murder and it is SO not cool and you need. To Call. THE GODDAMN POLICE. I don't care how Irish they are, m'boyos, you get them right an' up herr, pronto, me fine fellers! That glorified outhouse isn't gonna do shit!
[you get it? shit? outhouse? HE SLAYS HIMSELF. wait. bad choice of words]