Original subtitles

There you are!

You're just in time.

I'm trying out a few recipes from my new Betty Croaker Cookbook.

I hope you like shish kebab.

Damn! It isn't ready yet.

Bob's still moving.

Tonight's foul feast...

will begin with mashed potatoes...

then move on to some shrieking duck...

and finish with a nice kill-basa.

I call this tasty tidbit...

""Mournin' Mess.""

I brought you some fresh bed sheets.

Evening edition.

Shit, look at that.

Oh, fuck the hooch, man. I'm taking you to a hospital.

-Come on. -No. I hate fucking hospitals.

I got too many good rounds left in me yet.

Fuck it, Dancer. You're going down for the count, and I'm calling for help.

Bubba?

That you, man?

Who's out there?

Listen here. I'm a former middleweight.

Fucking doctor.

Dancer?

Shit! Dancer!

Okay, I got you. I got you!

What the hell is going on down there?

I'm calling the police!

Oh, shit.

What's wrong?

You got to leave now.

I thought we were gonna spend the day together.

Well, that was Jack Daniel's talking.

Dale Sweeney's telling you to cop a broom.

What?

Oh, shit.

You think you can just chew women up at night...

and spit them out in the morning!

Baby, in my line of work, you don't have time for long meals.

Keep your paws off of me!

You make me sick!

You motherfucker!

Fuck you!

You should be living in a mobile home 'cause you have no class, you idiot!

None ofthe problems which plague our society...

can be fully overcome without the cooperation ofprivate enterprise.

I and six of my fellow citizens are here today...

not simply because we believe that statement...

but also because we share a common past.

We were all once homeless...

and are homeless no longer.

We feel it is time to repay our city...

for providing us with the opportunity to help ourselves.

Therefore, we ha ve banded together to form...

the Grateful Homeless Outcasts and Unwanteds Layaway Society.

The Grateful Homeless Society, for short.

You're late again. I guess the great Dale Sweeney really has lost his touch.

I could lose my eyesight and still run circles around you, Climsky.

Who broke the insurance scandal last month?

Friends are starting to call me Scoop Climsky.

I didn't know your friends could read.

Face it, Sweeney, your days are numbered, and I'm on your ass.

Stay on your own ass for a while, putz.

So, after a lifetime ofpain...

there will be an eternity of dignity.

Now, in keeping with my usual demure nature, I will...

defer all questions to our society's spokesperson...

Ms. Jess Gilchrist.

Excuse me. Ms. Gilchrist?

Thank you, Mr. Copard.

Shouldn't you be spending money above the ground...

instead of underneath it?

We don 't think so.

Why throw money at the dead...

when you could use it to help the homeless who are living?

That's a good point.

The Grateful Homeless Society feels...

that there are many existing organizations...

that currently provide aid to the living.

Beacons in the night, as Mr. Copard liked to--

Would it be safe to say that there aren't enough of these...

beacons to keep you from opening up this place?

That is your interpretation of the situation. Yes.

How many members does the society have, anyway?

I only wish you could be the first recipient...

of the Grateful Homeless Society's generosity.

They cut my electricity. My alarm did not go off.

Well, maybe you should buy an alcohol-powered generator.

That way you could urinate into it every morning and have...

-enough electricity for the whole day. -That's hilarious.

Give me a break, Tillman.

No, ""break"" isn't exactly the term, Mr. Sweeney.

Try severance.

-Severance? -Yes.

I'm not gonna play this crap game with you anymore.

Will Sweeney show up, or is he too busy getting his oil changed?

Please, don't do this to me now. Please.

All right. How about five seconds from now?

Elaine...

I mean, come on.

Time's up. You're fired.

Okay. Fine.

It's no skin off my nose. I'll just go hit up The Herald.

Great. You want a recommendation?

I mean, it's a great chance to cripple the competition.

Nice place you got here.

It makes the street look like the fucking White House.

Look, man. I got nothing to give you, man.

You got fingers. You got a hand.

What's the matter?

Don't you recognize the homeless killer?

Shit.

I need you to use those fingers and those hands of yours...

to do a little ink-slinging for me.

I need you to write an article.

-What about? -I ain't no killer.

The only thing I am is hard up.

If you're not the killer, then who is?

If I told you what's going on you'd think I had a kink in my Slinky.

Tomorrow, they're having their first planting...

at the Grateful Homeless Cemetery.

-Cemetery? -Go there.

Hang out till sunset.

You'll see.

Do it and I'll spill the rest like a fucking floodgate.

I'll even throw in a few names.

-Names? -Yeah.

City officials with their mitts in the Grateful Homeless.

Meet me tomorrow night, 25th and Tivoli.

Okay.

Wait a minute, wait a minute.

Why me?

Because you look hungrier than I do.

""A time to keep and a time to cast away, a time to rend and a time to sew.

""A time to keep silence and a time to speak.

""The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.""

Yeah. Sometimes he forgets that first part.

That's a pretty jaded view of life.

Well, maybe coming from you. I mean...

the Lord giveth you plenty.

You've taken quite an interest in this place.

I'm just following up a story.

Looking for anything out of the ordinary.

There's nothing here but the dead.

Why not let them rest in peace?

-And dignity. -That, too.

Hey, look, I hope I didn't rattle you too much the other day.

It takes a lot more than that to rattle me.

Oh, well, I would give anything to find out just what that could be.

Well, stick around. You're working up to it.

I was kind of hoping to buy you lunch.

Now, why would I want to have lunch with you?

Because I'm far more interesting...

than whatever Gumby you might be seeing right now.

And, you also might be interested to see the story...

that I'm writing on that little society of yours.

What do you say?

I love telling stories.

You know, I was thinking more along the lines...

of a nice, quiet restaurant.

This is quiet.

And you don't have to leave a tip.

At least, not money.

So, I thought you were gonna tell me a story.

Well, actually, I thought it would be better...

if we waited until we finished eating.

Why is that?

I lied.

It was just a routine notice.

I needed the company.

You're not gonna storm out of here?

You've already killed my afternoon.

Besides, it never hurts to improve press relations.

You know...

the Grateful Homeless Society...

is very fortunate to have you for its spokesperson.

Are we working up to a compliment?

No, it's just that most spokespersons don't have a sense of humor...

nor do they look like you.

Now I am rattled.

Sure you don't want a bite?

I don't eat meat.

Oh, God. You're not one of those, are you?

Not exactly.

You look good enough to eat.

I have never met anybody like you before.

You wear me out.

Do you really want to see me again?

Oh, yes. I really would like that.

You know, I'm not the type of guy who...

believes in love at first sight, but I think I'm about to convert.

You're the type of girl that I could spend a lifetime with.

Hey, let me ask you something.

Off the record.

What do you think about the Grateful Homeless Society?

Who cares?

-Off the record? -Yeah. Wait--

Is this your own private press conference?

Is that what this is?

Okay, just go easy with that, will you?

Well, I've just declared a news blackout.

Look, you know, I'm only doing my job.

You don't want to see me do mine.

So, I'm the kind of girl that you could spend a lifetime with?

I lied. I was just pumping you for information.

What the hell.

More where that came from.

Jesus Christ.

Roebuck?

Did you go? Did you see?

All I saw was graves.

Who the hell did this to you?

You fucking dickhead. You didn't stay long enough.

You're gonna tell me your story.

You're gonna tell me what you know.

Names. You were gonna give me names!

I need that fucking story, you fucking bum!

Don't die on me!

Don't fucking die!

Oh, come on, you son of a bitch!

Fucking bum.

I need help.

Help?

Mr. Sweeney, you need burial.

I need an assignment, Tillman.

You must be joking.

I'm gonna have to hire somebody...

to come in and clean up the mess you made just walking in here.

-You wanted to see me, Chief? -Wait a minute. Wait.

You gave my job to this lowlife?

Yeah. I thought it was about time I had a writer doing it.

I want you to head out to the Grateful Homeless Cemetery.

-They're burying that homeless killer. -Today?

That's right. You better hurry if you want a spot.

Now, look. I don't want to have to call security.

What am I saying? I'd love to call security.

Norma, get security up here.

Never mind, Norma. Just call a janitor.

And so, we commit this soul to eternity.

Son of a bitch.

Crazy bastard was right.

Let me out of here!

You fucks, let me the fuck out of here!

Let me out! You fucks!

Good evening, Mr. Sweeney.

Nice of you to drop by for dinner.

Who the hell are you people?

Well, that depends.

Until recently, we were known as...

the infamous Homeless Killer.

But now, you may refer to us as...

the Grateful Homeless Outcasts and Unwanteds Layaway Society.

Ghouls?

It's been so long since we've had fresh meat.

No!

Oh, God. Climsky!

Don't mind me, Sweeney. I just stopped in for a scoop.

I'm not really hungry.

I'll just pick.

Jess.

I know. I said I don't eat meat.

-I lied. -Help me.

If you don't mind, I think I'll just help myself.

I knew you'd be good enough to eat.

Pretty tasteless, wouldn't you say?

I guess, in the end, Mr. Sweeney learned...

not to go digging into other people's business.

Although, you'll be happy to hear, he's found himself a new career.

As a ghost writer.

So, still hungry for dessert?

I hope you like Cannibal's Soup.

It's M'm! M'm! Good!

English