Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

But, um, Dad, l want you to know that I'm behind you all the way.
Not likely.
-He's got a girdle! -This is not a girdle.
-Hey. Hey, hey, hey, Riggs. -What?
A dumdum wound can be serious.
I know. I'm sorry, son.
Riggs.
-You lost. -l conceded.
-She's lnfernal Affairs, Rog. How'd you know?
-That's closer than you ever got. -Close, Riggs?
No brains, but they got automatic weapons.
-You motherfucker. -Don't be stupid.
Where's Sergeant Murtaugh?
-What? -l know that kid.
- You do? It's been completely replaced. - Oh, why was that?
You're a very poor loser.
Forget school.
- Something's wrong here. - What?
I did take it to Chin over in Alpine. Look at it. It's shrunk all up in here.
Those bullets came from the gun of a suspect we arrested yesterday.
-Make friends? -Yeah.
Mind and body strong now, grasshopper.
-l need the good stuff. -You'll get the ammo. The good stuff.
-She has a gift. Watch this. -A gift?
...and, uh, when I try and lick my balls, I keep falling off the couch.
Hey, Riggs.
Why don't we spread out?
That's why Internal Affairs is on this. They think it's an inside job.
"The good stuff." Jesus. Pfft!
-lt's not gonna keep anything out. -Gonna keep my stomach in.
-They make girdles for men? -They make girdles for men.
-Word, Nick. -Word, Dad.
Riggs, talk to me. Riggs.
He's dead, Rog. Rog, he's dead.
Bullets aren't covered in normal road hazard. That's why.
-Hey, hey, hey. Just take it easy, man. Okay.
Hey, word Riggs
You know, maybe some peroxide. I can patch it up myself.
-No! This is a film. There are not-- -What?
Stupid. Take a right. No, left!
-Come on, come on, check it out. Beautiful lawn.
-Sergeant Cole. -Hey, how are you? Leo Getz.
-Why me? You guys should be wearing. -Mr. Murtaugh, let me assist you.
-Why? Tell me why. -l can't tell you.
-You and l have to talk. -Talking to you is bad for my image.
Take your mama to the car.
Time, 5:1 5.
Where is the pursuit?
-Okay? l love it. That it? That say it all? Oh, yeah.
-Morning, guys. Daddy. Hey.
Wazzupguys you selfish bastard!
Ow!
-Relax. They'll be there when you get out. I'm fine.
Goddamn you, Travis. Fuck.
In the car. Get them up there. Let me see both of them. Come on!
I mean, if Trish finds out about it-- I didn't-- I didn't--
-Right? Right? -Right!
They're gone. Leo Getz, I guess I'm gonna kill him.
-Full of guns. Grab one.
Cover me. Cover me.
-Who is that guy? lt's a long story.
-Have you evacuated the building? -lt's clean.
- Your insurance paid up? - Yeah, of course. Why?
Gently coax the flavors out.
Hey. You know l love you.
-You must have heard of it. -l'm a cop. l'm the law.
- There could be a bomb in here. - Oh, God.
-You meet my partner? -No.
Wearing a girdle, man.
-What's Internal Affairs doing here? -Don't start. I just found out myself.
Hey, hey! -Hold on! Hold on! We got you.
Get rid of Murphy, now!
-How can you be so sure? -Oh, it's just a hunch.
Stacy
-Oh, come on. -Get off my boat.
-Hold the hair. -Heh, heh.
Stop! Hold it!
And when they're done...
-Let's check it out. -Let's go.
-Know where that is? -Sure. Been there a lot.
-Moving bullet. -Moving bullet?
Drunk at noon, bullet in the brain by evening. Well, not for this kid.
Who? -Lieutenant Jack Edward Travis.
-Armor-piercing bullets? Jesus. -Yeah, cop killers.
-You hit me. -Cool it, will you?
I thought I could. l wanted to.
They got my guns. They'll be coming after me next.
Call an ambulance. Riggs, call an ambulance. Breathe.
They fuck you in the hospital! First they drug you, then they fuck you.
Hey, did Rianne get her job back? Did she get a raise? Did she?
Pension.
I didn't lose, Riggs.
Your involvement in this case ended when Billy Phelps hit the floor.
You could be experiencing some transitional anger caused by the shooting.
Clip any wrong wires lately? -No, I haven't done that for a couple days.
-Hey. -What's that?
Stay, stay.
See how quiet it is here? Listen, listen.
I can get faster results than that real-estate broker.
Ah, we ain't seen nothing yet, though, Rog.
I don't care. You can't be on the ice.
How you doing? Taking your vitamins?
Son of a bitch. I'm gonna cut him off at the--
-That's why l'm numb, huh? -That's why you're numb.
-Here's your target. All right? -Okay.
Drop it, miss.
Sergeant Cole from Traffic?
Los Angeles, shorthanded goal.
Termites get-- Okay, okay. No more!
-All you perverts, turn your heads. Take it off.
I'm out of business without ammo.
-What dog-biscuit problem? -l've been chasing more cars lately...
Uh, probably by the glass. Around the glass.
Really good work.
-Wanna see? Here's my pass. -l do.
-Stay where you are. -Smart son of a bitch.
Central, keep me in touch with motorcycle pursuit.
-Let's go. Let's go. Watch.
You'll be needing these.
Son of a bitch, just look at it.
-Hey, you can't get closer? -l am. l'm getting closer.
-You wanna go for a ride? -Sure, where we going?
Hey, did you do this?
Riggs! Get up! Get up, Riggs! Get up! Get up!
There is no bomb.
-l don't care! -You do so care!
I can't belie-- l can't believe you did that.