Émilien Coutant-Kerbalec

I could write a dictionary of stupidity.

— You can't sing too loud. The limit's 50 here.
— Those signs? Aren't they for skateboards?

— Will they be mad?
— If a chick turns up 17 hours late, what do you do?
— I kill her.
— That answers your question.
— We brought flowers though. Pretty flowers!

— ls it my baby?
— Well for now it's mine. If you want a share of it, you'll better wake up!

— Émilien! I am pregnant.
— Well yes, of course... But how long have you been...?
— For 8 months, Émilien!
— And you... you're gonna keep it?
— It's a bit too late to ask that question!

— Come on... I've got a new record for you. A cab, by the port... Guess how fast.
— 85?
— At first, then he changed gears. 135 mph, pal!

— Not all cops are morons.
— I bet some are drunkards, crooks or idiots.

— You'd have made a good cop.
— Is that a compliment?

— At the end of the street, we'll turn... We'll turn left! Left, Mr. Kermadec! Fucking turn! Are you stupid? I don't fucking believe it! I've never met a moron like you! You can't tell right from left?
— You said it too late.
— I'll fax you next time! Left is fucking left! Turning a wheel is simple enough!
— To each his own...
— What does a cretin like you do? Circus clown? Zoo-keeper? Dole officer?
— All three.
— You should've said...
— I'll fax you next time?

— OK, one more time, I can see the head!
— The head...?

— It's hard to talk with a ball-gag in.
— Excuses! If he wanted to, he could.

Oh no, not the ball...! Oh no, not the taxi!