Posted on 05/12/2016 4:22:37 PM PDT by Fai Mao
This is one of the funniest scenes from a very funny movie.
Ooops.... catches up with Phil Silvers.
That was probably the last film for a lot of Hollywood greats. Jack Benney, Rochester (Eddie Anderson), the Three Stooges, Jimmy Durante, and others I cannot remember right now. There were a lot of cameo appearances.
The “Chunky! What a chunk of chocolate” guy!
One of my favorite small scenes with the with great Buster Keaton when he is going to hide out Spencer Tracey. No dialogue, just Buster's classic "take".
Yeah somebody already called me on that. I get the two confused. I was only 3 years old when this movie came out so a lot of the comedians are before my time.
Those service station guys should have declared the place their safe space and Winters couldn’t have gotten to them.
Jonathan Winters was out of his ever loving mind...and one of the funniest guys to have ever lived!
With Arnold Stang as one of the gas station attendants.
Thank you. That scene always leaves me in tears.
Funniest scene ever in one of the funniest movies ever.
“It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World” is easily the funniest movie ever. And not a single filthy word or nude scene was in it.
“Some Like It Hot” may be as funny or close
Arnold Stang was a pretty big star in his own right, at the time this film was made. So many terrific comedians in that film, almost too many to count. I was lucky enough to see it in Cinerama (105mm).
One of my all time favorite movies!!!
ROFL! I had forgotten that scene!
About the time the two guys were hitting him over the head with the bottles, I realized what a perfect portrayal of TED CRUZ!! HE KEEPS COMING BACK! CAN’T STOP HIM!! AND HE HAS A WRECKING BAR!!! He also steals the truck.... can anyone say “delegates???”
That and “The Great Race”.
They don’t make ‘em like that any more.
Bush is cruising along, smiling at his sudden good fortune. Suddenly, he spots a building in the distance.
BUSH: Aha! Jose y Hector - mi amigos!
He checks his rearview mirror nervously, but decides that he has put plenty of distance between himself and Pat Buchanan. He turns into the parking lot for Jose and Hector’s bodega, pulls his car around back and out of sight.
Tony Blair has a vacant grin on his face, as he motors down the highway. Chelsea and Stephanopoulis are seated next to him in the front seat. Hillary is leaning forward from the rear seat, when she is suddenly struck by a revelation. She smacks Blair in the back of the head.
HILLARY: Carville!!!!
BLAIR: (angrily rubbing his head) Madam! I rally must insist you refrain from this habit of physical assault upon my person!
HILLARY: Toughen up, limey! Carville! Why the hell didn’t I think of him sooner!
STEPHANOPOULIS: What are you talking about, Hillary?
HILLARY: James Carville! He lives in Tennessee! Bald Rock, Tennessee! He’s convalescing from his breakdown... hunts muskrat by night, with his bare hands! (she pulls her map out of her purse and quickly unfolds it) There it is! It’s only about fifteen miles from Pigeon Forge!
BLAIR: I’m not entirely certain...
HILLARY: Shut up and get me to a phone, you pasty white sponge!
The wide camera angle focuses on the rear of the bodega, where Bush’s Cadillac is sitting, out of sight from the road. The camera sweeps across the bodega, its attached chicken coop, the Chevy Impala lowrider, and the small fruit stand. As the roadway comes into view, we see Buchanan pedaling his China-made, little-girl’s bike with astonishing speed. On the verge of total dehydration, he turns into the parking lot, drops the bike, and plods into the bodega.
Panting heavily, dripping with sweat, and seething with rage, Buchanan saunters over to the counter, behind which two men sit.
BUCHANAN: Give me a soda please.
JOSE: No hablar inglesa, mi amigo.
BUCHANAN: Don’t give me that Latino mumbo jumbo!! This is freakin’ West Virginia for godsakes! (muttering under his breath) ya open the door an inch... (loud again) Give me a goddamned Coke! You know - (derisively) drinky drinky... (lifting an imaginary glass to his mouth) A Coke!! Are you listening to me?! COKE! COKE!
Jose appears to finally understand. He motions to the second clerk, Hector, who glances quickly to the left and right, then reaches under the counter and pulls out a small folded envelope.
HECTOR: Doscientos dólares - americano.
Suddenly the door to the men’s room opens. Bush steps out, not immediately spotting Buchanan, who is turning purple with rage.
BUSH: Está bueno, Jose! Muy bueno, de costumbre!
BUCHANAN: Junior! (fists clenched, stomping towards him) You sniveling son of a bitch! I’m gonna tear your heart out!!
Bush lets out a little scream and runs behind a magazine rack. As Buchanan throws the rack across the store, Bush runs down a grocery aisle knocking things down behind him, trying to slow his attacker. He begins yelling at Jose and Hector.
BUSH: Ayuda! Ayuda! Él está un loco hombre! Él quiere a matar mí!
HECTOR: El grande loco es destruir el bodega!
JOSE: El grande hombre es loco! Váyase! Váyase!
BUCHANAN: Shut the hell up ya little Mexicans! When I get my hands on you Bush, they’ll need a mop to pick you up!
BUSH: Ayuda Jose!
Bush is on one side of an aisle, while Buchanan is on the other. When Buchanan runs north, Bush runs south. When Buchanan turns south, Bush runs north. Exasperated, Buchanan runs straight ahead and crashes into the grocery aisle. Bush jumps out of the way, as the grocery rack tumbles over. Like dominos, the aisles tip over on top of each other, smashing bottles and spilling all sorts of food on the bodega floor. Buchanan stands back up and begins hurling large cans of Goya beans at Bush. Deftly avoiding the cans, which smash windows and cases all around the store, Bush is backed into a corner. Now that his nemesis is trapped, Buchanan leaps over the toppled aisles and grabs him by the neck. Bush’s turns bright red, as Buchanan lifts him by the throat and chokes him. Suddenly Jose appears behind them and smashes Buchanan in the back of the head with a baseball bat. Buchanan drops Bush and turns on Jose.
BUCHANAN: Now what’d ya wanna go and do that for?!
JOSE: No matar mí, loco hombre!!
Buchanan scrambles after Jose as Bush rises and tries to sneak away. Jose is now cornered. The shot switches to Jose’s perspective as Buchanan moves in for the kill.
BUCHANAN: I wasn’t gonna hurt ya, ya little Mexican, but what’d ya have ta hit me for?
He reaches out for Jose, who is now screaming. But before he grabs him, Buchanan starts shaking violently. His eyes roll back, spittle flies from his mouth, and he collapses in a lump. Now we see Hector standing behind him, holding an electric cattle prod.
HECTOR: El loco toro es punto!
JOSE: Gracias Hector! Muchos Gracias!
BUSH: Great work, Hector! Now tie him up before he wakes up! I’ll go get the police!! Oh.... Corbata le arriba! Iré al policía!
JOSE: Sí! Sí! Policía! Obtener el Policía! Hector - toma el cocaína lejos aquí!
BUSH: I gotta get the hell out of here. (running for the door) Adiós amigos! Gracias por lo ayuda! Corbata arriba el grande loco hombre, ahora! Adiós! Adiós! (he is gone)
JOSE: Cabo! Nosotros necesidad cabo!
HECTOR: No cabo... (holds up a roll of duct tape) tenemos fuerte cinta!
After sitting Buchanan in a chair, they gather more duct tape from the smashed shelves. Buchanan starts to stir. They zap him again with the cattle prod, and begin wrapping the duct tape around him, the chair, and one of the bodega’s support beams.
Janet Reno is standing at his map, surrounded by a half-dozen agents. The tracking lines have grown longer, with a couple of them now reaching into Virginia.
RENO: Well, they all appear to be heading towards this corner of Virginia, maybe into West Virginia. The Mondale/Dukakis Cessna is farthest away from Clinton’s crash site, but they appear to be out of fuel, and headed for certain death.
FIRST AGENT: For once - a fatal plane crash that we had nothing to with it! (laughter all around)
RENO: Not far behind, are the Gores. They are leading a pack of geese over southwest Virginia as we speak. The gang in Blair’s Land Rover is about 20 miles from the West Virginia/Virginia border, while Buchanan is tied up in a bodega. Bush, who seems to have joined the quest, is traveling in the same direction, but has taken a smaller road... more rural, but seems to be a straight line to this area (pointing)
SECOND AGENT: We are moving agents in that direction. We should have a dozen agents scattered from here (pointing) to here within the hour...
RECEPTIONIST: Attorney General Reno, your wife is on line three.
RENO: Thanks, I’ll take it in my office...
Hillary is on the payphone. She frantically dials James Carville’s phone number. We can hear the phone ring once, twice, three times. The shot switches to Tony Blair and George Stephanopoulis, though we can still see Hillary on the phone in the background.
BLAIR: I must say, Georgie, I rally don’t agree with the course of action we have embarked upon...
STEPHANOPOULIS: What do you mean, Tony?
BLAIR: Well... how shall I put this... your man Carville appears to be a might "suspicious" if you gather my drift... rather unsavory or insane, don’t you agree?
STEPHANOPOULIS: I know what you mean... but he’s fiercely loyal to Hillary... he would never double-cross her...
BLAIR: I harbor no doubts about his loyalty to Madam Hillary... I rather think him apt to double-cross yourself and I...
STEPHANOPOULIS: He wouldn’t do that unless Hillary instructed him to...
After a very brief pause, both men run over to the phone booth to listen in on Hillary's conversation.
HILLARY: He hasn’t gone out in the daylight for months! He has to be home! (ringing is audible)
Reno has his feet up on his desk, the phone to his ear, and a proud smile on his face.
RENO: Well honey, how does it feel to be married to the greatest Attorney General the world has ever known?
MRS. RENO: (over the phone) Do I have a second husband I don’t know about?
RENO: Don’t be so sarcastic. In terms of pure financial gain, I am the greatest Attorney General ever.
MRS. RENO: Is this about that Cayman Island account you’ve never even seen? The one you threw away any integrity you ever had for? Spare me, old man.
RENO: I’ll get access to that account when I retire, next month! There should be twenty million in there by now, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about Clinton’s treason money! I’m talking about 750 million dollars!
MRS. RENO: I’m sure they’ll just take it all away, and tell you your cut’s been deposited. Janet, you idiot, they’re not gonna give you any of that money. As a matter of fact, the rumor among the Justice Department wives is that you’ve become suicidal...
RENO: You’re making that up! They wouldn’t screw me! I’ve been the most corrupt AG they could have asked for...
MRS. RENO: Yeah, they have such a history of loyalty around there... I don’t know why you trust them...
RENO: What do you gotta rain on my parade for?
Reno slams the phone down hard, jumps to his feet, and begins to walk away. But the safety pin on his skirt catches on his desk drawer and pulls it open. Looking down, he sees scraps of yellow notepad paper scattered in his drawer. He pulls them out, sits down and begins to assemble them like a jigsaw puzzle. After a few moments, he can read the top section.
RENO: Hey, this looks sorta like my handwriting... (reading) "When I took the job of Attorney General, I had no idea that, here in Washington, ruining people is considered sport. The public will never believe the innocence of the Justice Department's loyal staff, so I decided that the only way to restore my good name was to kill myself..." (he stops reading and looks up in horror and rage) THOSE BASTARDS!!
Reno sits back at his desk, thinks for a moment, and picks up the telephone as the scene fades.
Pat Buchanan is unconscious in a chair, which has been placed against a support beam. Jose and Hector are still wrapping duct tape around Buchanan, the chair and the beam. He slowly starts to awaken. Hector reaches for the cattle prod on the floor, but before he can grab it, Buchanan slams his foot down on top of it.
BUCHANAN: Oh no you don’t, Pedro! What the hell are you two up to?! Get this tape off me, before I really get angry!
Hector is now bending over Buchanan’s leg, trying to lift his foot up while Jose pulls on the cattle prod. His foot won’t bug.
BUCHANAN: I’ll give you wetbacks three seconds to let me go... uno... dos... three!
Enraged, Buchanan lifts the leg that Hector is pulling on. His knee hits Hector square in the face and sends him flying. Jose quickly picks up the cattle prod, but Buchanan kicks it out of his hand. The cattle prod skids across the floor and slides under the refrigerated soda case. With another kick, Buchanan sends Jose to the floor. Rubbing their bruises, Hector and Jose fearfully scramble backwards over the toppled grocery racks.
JOSE: Estoy asustada por el grande loco hombre!
HECTOR: Él está va a matar eu!
Buchanan is rocking back and forth, slowly loosening the tape that restrains him. Soon, he is free to stand, but he’s still attached to the chair and the support beam.
BUCHANAN: The big guy’s coming to get you, Cheech! You too, Chong! You got old Pat plenty mad!
With a loud crack, the support beam splits in two. Buchanan pulls free, as the ceiling sags precariously. With the chair still taped to his back, and his arms held by his sides, Buchanan charges Jose and Hector. Jose runs to the left, as Hector beans Buchanan in the forehead with a can of refried beans.
BUCHANAN: Ahhh! You shouldn’t a done that, Poncho!
He kicks Hector in the gut. Hector crashes through the glass door of the soda display. Hundreds of soda cans spill all around him. All the motion has loosened the tape further, and Buchanan finally frees his hand. Just as he frees his other arm and knocks the chair off, Jose runs up behind him and smashes him in the head with a fire extinguisher. Buchanan stumbles for a moment, then grows even angrier. He turns and grabs Jose with both arms. He lifts him over his head and tosses him through a window.
Two agents are sitting in an unmarked sedan, observing the bodega from a distance. As they watch, we see Jose fly out of the window in a hail of broken glass. He lands on the chicken coop, busting it open. A dozen or so chickens escape and begin running around the property. Jose rubs his head, then runs back in the front door to help Hector.
FIRST AGENT: Should we do anything... you know, before somebody gets killed?
SECOND AGENT: Nope. Reno said that we can’t interfere. I got twenty bucks that says Buchanan kills ‘em both.
FIRST AGENT: You’re on.
Hector and Jose pick up a very heavy, four-foot tall, CO2 canister, and pull off the hose that connects it to the soda fountain. Holding it like a battering ram, they charge Buchanan. At the last moment, he steps aside, and they crash through the wall of the bodega. Their momentum carries them into the vegetable stand. Hundreds of fruits and vegetables tumble from the shelves, as the whole structure collapses on top of them.
Buchanan steps out of the bodega and into the sunshine. Surveying the collapsed vegetable stand, he decides that his unseen adversaries are no longer a threat. He looks over at his China-made little-girl’s bike in disgust, then turns and eyes Jose’s garishly painted, purple and black Chevy Impala lowrider, with gold and silver hubcaps. He looks around, wrestling with his conscience, then runs over and peers into the car. Seeing the keys in the ignition, he hops in.
When he turns the key, the car starts up with the radio blaring music that sounds like a mix between mariachi and disco. In his haste to turn it off, Buchanan rips the volume knob off. Angrier still, he flails at the tuning dial, but it too snaps off in his adrenaline-pumped fingers. Furious, he slams the car into reverse. As he begins backing away from the bodega, the front of the car rises three feet in the air and begins hopping.
BUCHANAN: Goddamned crazy Mexicans!
The Impala lowrider is a hydraulic show car. Buchanan does not know how to make it stop bouncing, but impatiently puts the car into drive and crashes right through the bodega wall. As the front end lowers itself, he can see that he is partially inside the bodega. He slams the car into reverse and starts backing out as the car’s rear end rises up and begins bouncing. As the Impala backs out of the bodega, it knocks out the last remaining support beam, and the whole building crumbles into a two foot high pile of splinters and groceries.
The scene fades as Buchanan barrels off in his lowrider, bouncing up and down to the incessant beat of mariachi disco.
Mondale is sitting at the plane’s controls, pulling back on the steering column as hard as he can. Dukakis is slapping Hazelwood, trying desperately to revive him. Through the windows, we can see clouds whipping past the motionless propellers. A song ends on the radio, and we hear the DJ speak.
DJ: (over the radio) That was "La Bamba" by Ritchie Valens! Before that we heard Jim Croce's "Time in a Bottle", “Crazy” by Patsy Cline, “Annie’s Song” by John Denver, Buddy Holly's "Maybe Baby", “These Arms of Mine” by Otis Redding, and Lynyrd Skynyrd’s "That Smell"...
MONDALE: We’re gonna die, Duke!!!
DUKAKIS: If we pull together and think positively, Fritz, we can get through this difficult time intact...
MONDALE: (disgusted) That was such a Carterish thing to say.
DUKAKIS: Oh, screw you...
HILLARY: Stop at the nearest Piggly-Wiggly! I want to try to call Carville again, and I want to get a chili dog...
The *original* Cannonball Run .... :-)
Dom DeLuise in “The End”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mitF1kpMbvg
I can’t think of a single movie Dom DeLouise was in that wasn’t funny ...... ;-)
As far as I can see, American men have been totally emasculated. They’re like slaves! They die like flies from coronary thrombosis, while their women sit under hairdryers, eating chocolates and arranging for every second Tuesday to be some sort of Mother’s Day! And this positively infantile preoccupation with bosoms. In all my time in this wretched, godforsaken country, the one thing that has appalled me most of all is this preposterous preoccupation with bosoms. Don’t you realize they have become the dominant theme in American culture: in literature, advertising and all fields of entertainment and everything. I’ll wager you anything you like: if American women stopped wearing brassieres, your whole national economy would collapse overnight.
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