This is a true story about friendship that runs deeper than blood. This is my story and that of the only three friends in my life that truly mattered. Two of them were killers who never made it past the age of 30.
I was 12 going on 13 the first time I saw a dead human being. It happened in the summer of 1959. A long time ago. But only if you measure in terms of years.
I am the police. And I’m here to arrest you. You’ve broken the law.
Oh, America. I wish I could tell you that this was still America, but I’ve come to realize that you can’t have a country without people. And there are no people here. No, my friends. This is now the United States of Zombieland.
People have always trusted me with their secrets. But who do I trust with mine? You, only you.
3 billion human lives ended on August 29th, 1997. The survivors of the nuclear fire called the war Judgement Day. They lived only to face a new nightmare: The War Against The Machines.
When you love someone, you’ve gotta trust them. There’s no other way. You’ve got to give them the key to everything that’s yours. Otherwise, what’s the point? And for a while, I believed that’s the kind of love I had.
Now, I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country.
She shivers in the wind like the last leaf on a dying tree. I let her hear my footsteps. She only goes stiff for a moment.
Listen, here’s the thing: If you can’t spot the sucker in your first half hour at the table… then you are the sucker.
I am Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, your senior drill instructor. From now on you will speak only when spoken to, and the first and last words out of your filthy sewers will be “Sir”. Do you maggots understand that?
I only ever met one man I wouldn’t want to fight.
With the coming of the Second World War, many eyes in imprisoned Europe turned hopefully, or desperately toward the freedom of the Americas.
There are over 550 million firearms in worldwide circulation. That’s one firearm for every 12 people on the planet. The only question is: How do we arm the other 11?
No son, never. The blood stays on the blade. One day you’ll understand.