Marla Singer: A condom is the glass slipper for our generation. You slip one on when you meet a stranger. You dance all night, and then you throw it away. The condom, I mean, not the stranger.
Narrator: What?
Marla Singer: I got this dress at a thrift store for one dollar.
Narrator: It was worth every penny.
Marla Singer: It's a bridesmaid's dress. Someone loved it intensely for one day, and then tossed it. Like a Christmas tree. So special. Then, bam, it's on the side of the road.
[Grabs Narrator's crotch]
Marla Singer: Tinsel still clinging to it. Like a sex crime victim. Underwear inside out. Bound with electrical tape.
Narrator: Well, then it suits you.
Marla Singer: You can borrow it sometime.
Tyler Durden: We're consumers. We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty, these things don't concern me. What concerns me are celebrity magazines, television with 500 channels, some guy's name on my underwear. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra.
Narrator: Martha Stewart.
Tyler Durden: Fuck Martha Stewart. Martha's polishing the brass on the Titanic. It's all going down, man. So fuck off with your sofa units and Strinne green stripe patterns.
[Of Marla]
Tyler Durden: She's a predator posing as a house pet.
Narrator: Marla... the little scratch on the roof of your mouth that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it, but you can't.
Narrator: You had to give it to him: he had a plan. And it started to make sense, in a Tyler sort of way. No fear. No distractions. The ability to let that which does not matter truly slide.
[Pointing at an emergency instruction manual on a plane]
Tyler Durden: Emergency water landing, 600 miles an hour: blank faces, calm as Hindu cows.
Members of Fight Club: [chanting] His name is Robert Paulson.
Tyler Durden: [His face is soaked in blood. He is shaking it over Lou and screaming] You don't know where I've been. You don't know where I've been. Just let us have the basement Lou.
[while the narrator is on the phone with the police]
Tyler Durden: Tell him. Tell him, The liberator who destroyed my property has realigned my perceptions.
Narrator: And then, Tyler was gone.
Marla Singer: You're the worst thing that's ever happened to me.
Richard Chesler: [Reading a piece of paper] The first rule of Fight Club is you don't talk about Fight Club?
Narrator: [Voice-over] I'm half asleep again; I must've left the original in the copy machine.
Richard Chesler: The second rule of Fight Club - is this yours?
Narrator: Huh?
Richard Chesler: Pretend you're me, make a managerial decision: you find this, what would you do?
Narrator: [pauses] Well, I gotta tell you: I'd be very, very careful who you talk to about that, because the person who wrote that... is dangerous.
[Gets up from the chair]
Narrator: [Talking slowly] And this button-down, Oxford-cloth psycho might just snap, and then stalk from office to office with an Armalite AR-10 carbine gas-powered semi-automatic weapon, pumping round after round into colleagues and co-workers. This might be someone you've known for years. Someone very, very close to you.
Narrator: [Voice-over] Tyler's words coming out of my mouth.
[Snatches the piece of paper from boss' hands]
Narrator: [Voice-over] And I used to be such a nice guy.
Narrator: Or maybe you shouldn't bring me every little piece of trash you happen to pick up.
[Phone rings]
Narrator: [Into phone] Compliance and Liability...?
Marla Singer: My tit's gonna rot off.
Narrator: [to boss] Would you excuse me? I need to take this.
Tyler Durden: Self improvement is masturbation. Now self destruction...
Narrator: What are we doing tonight?
Tyler Durden: Tonight? We make soap.
Narrator: Really.
Tyler Durden: To make soap, first we render fat.
Narrator: Hello?
Tyler Durden: [Eating breakfast cereal] Who is this?
Narrator: Tyler?
Tyler Durden: Who is this?
Narrator: Uh... we met... we met on the airplane. We had the same suitcase. Uh... the clever guy?
Tyler Durden: Oh yeah, right.
[Snickers]
Tyler Durden: Ok?
Narrator: I called a second ago, th - there was no answer, I'm at the payphone...
Tyler Durden: - yeah, I *69ed you, I never pick up my phone.
[Crunch, crunch]
Tyler Durden: So what's up, huh?
Narrator: Uh, well... You're not gonna believe this...
Narrator: I know it seems like I have more than one side sometimes...
Marla Singer: More than one side? You're Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Jackass!
Narrator: I flipped through catalogs and wondered: What kind of dining set defines me as a person?
Narrator: Marla's philosophy of life is that she might die at any moment. The tragedy, she said, was that she didn't.
Narrator: I can't get married - I'm a thirty-year-old boy.
Marla Singer: [after taking a bottle of sleeping pills] This isn't a real suicide-thing. This is probably one of those cry-for-help things.
Tyler Durden: Hitting bottom isn't a weekend retreat. It's not a goddamn seminar. Stop trying to control everything and just let go! LET GO!
[to the Narrator who has just fired a warning shot into the window of an explosives filled van]
Tyler Durden: WHOA! WHOA! WHOA! Ok, you are now firing a gun at your 'imaginary friend' near 400 GALLONS OF NITROGLYCERINE!
Narrator: Deja vu - all over again.
Tyler Durden: I'll bring us through this. As always. I'll carry you - kicking and screaming - and in the end you'll thank me.
Narrator: He was full of pep. Must've had his grande-latte enema.
Narrator: Every evening I died, and every evening I was born again, resurrected.
Narrator: We have just lost cabin pressure.
[about Tyler splicing frames of pornography into family films]
Narrator: So when the snoody cat, and the courageous dog, with the celebrity voices meet for the first time in reel three, that's when you'll catch a flash of Tyler's contribution to the film.
[the audience is watching the film, the pornography flashes for a split second]
Narrator: Nobody knows that they saw it, but they did...
Tyler Durden: A nice, big, cock...
[several audience members look rattled, a little girl is crying]
Narrator: Even a hummingbird couldn't catch Tyler at work.
Tyler Durden: [to club owner] Ahhh... okay, okay, okay, I got it, I got it, I got it. Shit, I lost it.
[Club owner punches Tyler in the face]
Tyler Durden: [to the police chief] Hi. You're going to call off your rigorous investigation. You're going to publicly state that there is no underground group. Or... these guys are going to take your balls. They're going to send one to the New York Times, one to the LA Times press-release style. Look, the people you are after are the people you depend on. We cook your meals, we haul your trash, we connect your calls, we drive your ambulances. We guard you while you sleep. Do not... fuck with us.
Narrator: You're insane.
Tyler Durden: No, you're insane.
Narrator: Bob loved me because he thought my testicles were removed too. Being there, pressed against his tits, ready to cry. This was my vacation... and she ruined *everything*.
Marla Singer: This is cancer right?
Narrator: This chick Marla singer did not have testicular cancer. She was a liar. She had no diseases at all. I had seen her at Free and Clear my blood parasite group Thursdays. Then at Hope, my bi-monthly sickle cell circle. And again at Seize the Day, my tuberculous Friday night. Marla... the big tourist. Her lie reflected my lie. Suddenly I felt nothing. I couldn't cry, so once again I couldn't sleep.
Narrator: Bob had bitch tits.
Narrator: Tyler was a night person. While the rest of us were sleeping, he worked. He had one part time job as a projectionist. See, a movie doesn't come all on one big reel. It comes on a few. So someone has to be there to switch the projectors at the exact moment that one reel ends and the next one begins. If you look for it, you can see these little dots come into the upper right-hand corner of the screen.
Tyler Durden: In the industry, we call them "cigarette burns."
Narrator: That's the cue for a changeover. He flips the projectors, the movie keeps right on going, and nobody in the audience has any idea.
Tyler Durden: Why would anyone want this shit job?
Narrator: Because it affords him other interesting opportunities.
Tyler Durden: Like splicing single frames of pornography into family films.
[while narrator is on the phone]
Tyler Durden: Reject the basic assumptions of civilization, especially the importance of material possessions.
Lou: I'm fucking Lou. Who the fuck are you?
Tyler Durden: You're too old, fat man. Your tits are too big.
[Tyler walks away, throwing his cigarette]
Tyler Durden: Get the fuck off my porch.
Narrator: We have front row seats for this theatre of mass destruction. The demolitions committee of Project Mayhem wrapped the foundation columns of a dozen buildings with blasting gelatin. In two minutes primary charges will blow base charges and a few square blocks will be reduced to smoldering rubble. I know this, because Tyler knows this.
Narrator: Tyler, I'm grateful to you; for everything that you've done for me. But this is too much. I don't want this.
Tyler Durden: What do you want? Wanna go back to the shit job, fuckin' condo world, watching sitcoms? Fuck you, I won't do it.
[the Narrator's apartment has just been blown to pieces]
Narrator: I had it all. I had a stereo that was very decent, a wardrobe that was getting very respectable. I was close to being complete.
Tyler Durden: Shit man, now it's all gone.
Narrator: Clean food, please.
Waiter: In that case, sir, may I advise against the lady eating clam chowder?
Narrator: No clam chowder, thank you.
Marla Singer: Listen. I tried Tyler. I really tried. There are things about you that I like, you're smart, you're funny, you're spectacular in bed. But you are intolerable. You have serious emotional problems, deep seated problems for which you should seek professional help.
Narrator: By the end of the first month, I didn't miss TV.
Tyler Durden: Would you like to say a few words to mark the occasion?
Narrator: [with Tyler's gun in his mouth] mm mm mm mm mm mmmmmm.
[Tyler removes the gun]
Narrator: I still can't think of anything.
Tyler Durden: Ah. Flashback humor.
Narrator: [on phone with Marla] Marla, did we ever have sex?
Marla Singer: What? Do you mean did I think we were just having sex or making love?
Narrator: Marla just answer the question. Did we ever have sex.
Marla Singer: Ok. You fuck me, then snub me. You love me, you hate me. You show me a sensitive side, then you turn into a total asshole. Is this a pretty accurate description of our relationship, Tyler?
Narrator: Wait. What did you just call me?
Marla Singer: Tyler. Tyler Durden. Tyler Durden, you crazy fuck!
Narrator: If I didn't say anything, people always assumed the worst.
Narrator: I wasn't really dying. I wasn't host to cancer or parasites. I was the warm little center that the life of this world crowded around.
Narrator: Most of the week we were Ozzie and Harriet, but every Saturday night we were finding something out: we were finding out more and more that we were not alone. It used to be that when I came home angry and depressed I'd just clean my condo, polish my Scandinavian furniture. I should have been looking for a new condo. I should have been haggling with my insurance company. I should have been upset about my nice, neat, flaming little shit. But I wasn't.
[after beating an 'applicant' with a broom]
Narrator: I'm gonna go inside and I'm gonna get a shovel.
Tyler Durden: Just tell him you fuckin' did it. Tell him you blew it all up. That's what he wants to hear.
Marla Singer: I've been going to Debtor's Anonymous. You want to see some really fucked-up people...
Narrator: You're making a big mistake, fellas!
Police Officer: You said you would say that.
Narrator: I'm not Tyler Durden!
Police Officer: You told us you'd say that, too.
Narrator: All right then, I'm Tyler Durden. Listen to me, I'm giving you a direct order. We're aborting this mission right now.
Police Officer: You said you would definitely say that.
Police Officer: You said that if anyone ever interferes with Project Mayhem, even you, we gotta get his balls.
Narrator: Tyler was now involved in a class action lawsuit against the Pressman Hotel over the urine content of their soup.
Tyler Durden: We're a generation of men raised by women. I'm wondering if another woman is really the answer we need.
Narrator: Home was a condo on the fifteenth floor of a filing cabinet for widows and young professionals. The walls were solid concrete. A foot of concrete is important when your next-door neighbor lets their hearing aid go and have to watch game-shows at full volume. Or when a volcanic blast of debris that used to be your furniture and personal effects blows out of your floor-to-ceiling windows and sails flaming into the night. I suppose these things happen.
Narrator: You can swallow a pint of blood before you get sick.
Richard Chesler: Get the fuck out of here, you're fired!
Narrator: I have a better solution. You keep me on the payroll as an outside consultant and in exchange for my salary, my job will be never to tell people these things that I know. I don't even have to come into the office, I can do this job from home.
Narrator: It's just, when you buy furniture, you tell yourself, that's it. That's the last sofa I'm gonna need. Whatever else happens, I've got that sofa problem handled.
[after giving Marla a breast exam]
Marla Singer: I wish I could return the favor.
Narrator: There's not a lot of breast cancer in the men in my family.
Marla Singer: I could check your prostate.
Narrator: When deep space exploration ramps up, it'll be the corporations that name everything, the IBM Stellar Sphere, the Microsoft Galaxy, Planet Starbucks.
Tyler Durden: Well you did lose a lot of versatile solutions for modern living
Narrator: Bob is dead, they shot him in the head!
Tyler Durden: You wanna make an omelet, you gotta break some eggs.
Narrator: It's called a changeover. The movie goes on, and nobody in the audience has any idea.
Tyler Durden: Now why would you want to put a gun to your head?
Narrator: Not my head, Tyler. Our head.
Tyler Durden: [the Narrator places the gun under his chin and cocks back the hammer] Now why would you want to go and blow your head off?
Narrator: Not my head, Tyler, *our* head.
Tyler Durden: [the Narrator is trying to disarm a car bomb of nitroglycerin] You don't know which wire to pull.
Narrator: I know everything you do, so if you know I know.
Tyler Durden: Or maybe, since I knew you'd know I spent all days thinking about the wrong wires.
[Narrator pauses]
Narrator: I want you to listen to me very carefully, Tyler.
Tyler Durden: Okay...
Narrator: My eyes are open.
[the Narrator puts the gun into his mouth and pulls trigger]
Doctor: You wanna see pain? Swing by First Methodist Tuesday nights. See the guys with testicular cancer. That's pain.
Tyler Durden: We are all part of the same compost heap.
Tyler Durden: Now, ancient people found their clothes got cleaner if they washed them at a certain spot in the river. You know why?
Narrator: No.
Tyler Durden: Human sacrifices were once made on the hills above this river. Bodies burnt, water speeded through the wood ashes to create lye.
[holds up a bottle]
Tyler Durden: This is lye - the crucial ingredient. The lye combined with the melted fat of the bodies, till a thick white soapy discharge crept into the river. May I see your hand, please?
[Tyler licks his lips until they're gleaming wet - he takes the Narrator's hand and kisses the back of it]
Narrator: What is this?
Tyler Durden: This...
[pours the lye on the Narrator's hand]
Tyler Durden: ... is chemical burn.
Ricky: [to Bob, while interviewing for applicants] You're too old fat man.
[to Angel Face]
Ricky: And you, you are too fucking... *blonde*!
Narrator: Tyler's not here. Tyler went away. Tyler's gone.
Narrator: Fuck you! Fuck Fight Club! Fuck Marla! I am sick of all your shit!
Narrator: You're fucking Marla, Tyler.
Tyler Durden: Uh, technically, you're fucking Marla, but it's all the same to her.
Tyler Durden: Something on your mind, Dear?
Angel Face: Bury him in the garden. Come on people, let's go!
Narrator: Get away from him! Get the fuck away!
Angel Face: He was killed serving Project Mayhem, sir.
Narrator: This is Bob. He was a decent man and we're not gonna bury him in the fucking garden!
Narrator: A house full of condiments and no food... how embarrassing.
Ricky: I can't believe he's still standing.
Thomas: One tough motherfucker.
Tyler Durden: This is a chemical burn. It will hurt more than you've ever been burned before. You will have a scar.
Narrator: I had it all. Even the glass dishes with tiny bubbles and imperfections, proof they were crafted by the honest, simple, hard-working indigenous peoples of... wherever.
Tyler Durden: If you could fight anyone, who would you fight?
Narrator: I'd fight my boss, prob'ly.
Tyler Durden: Really.
Narrator: Yeah, why, who would you fight?
Tyler Durden: I'd fight my dad.
Narrator: I don't know my dad. I mean, I know him, but... he left when I was like six years old. Married this other woman, had some other kids. He like did this every six years, he goes to a new city and starts a new family.
Tyler Durden: Fucker's setting up franchises.
Angel Face: [the Narrator is about to look at some files but Angel Face stops him] Don't worry. It's all taken care of, sir.
Tyler Durden: Warning: If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life. Don't you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all that claim it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think every thing you're supposed to think? Buy what you're told to want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If you don't claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned- Tyler.
Narrator: When the fight was over, nothing was solved, but nothing mattered. We all felt saved.
Narrator: [voiceover] It must've been Tuesday. He was wearing his cornflower-blue tie.
Narrator: [as he holds a gun to his mouth] Do something for me.
Tyler Durden: What?
Narrator: Appreciate something.
Tyler Durden: What?
Narrator: Look at me...
Tyler Durden: What?
Narrator: My eyes are open.
Narrator: If you could be either God's worst enemy or nothing, which would you choose? We're the middle children of history, we have no special purpose or place, and unless we get God's attention, we have no hope of damnation or redemption. Which is worse, hell or nothing? Burn the museums, wipe your ass with the Mona Lisa. This way, at least God will know your name.
Narrator: Like so many others, I had become a slave to the Ikea nesting instinct.
Tyler Durden: My dad never went to college, so it was real important that I go.
Narrator: Sounds familiar.
Tyler Durden: So I graduate, I call him up long distance, I say "Dad, now what?" He says, "Get a job."
Narrator: Same here.
Tyler Durden: Now I'm 25, make my yearly call again. I say Dad, "Now what?" He says, "I don't know, get married."
Narrator: I can't get married, I'm a 30 year old boy.
Tyler Durden: We're a generation of men raised by women. I'm wondering if another woman is really the answer we need.
Narrator: I’ve found a new one. For men *only*.
Marla Singer: Oh, is it a testicle thing?
Narrator: With insomnia, nothing's real. Everything's far away, everything's a copy
Narrator: What do you do?
Tyler Durden: What do you mean?
Narrator: What do you do for a living?
Tyler Durden: Why? So you can pretend like you're interested?
Narrator: Why wasn't I told about Project Mayhem?
Tyler Durden: What are you talking about?
Narrator: Why didn't you include me, in the beginning?
Tyler Durden: Fight Club *was* the beginning.
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