We are floating up a steep scrubby slope.  We hear male voices
               gently singing "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" and a deep, affable,
               Western-accented voice--Sam Elliot's, perhaps:

                                     VOICE-OVER
                         A way out west there was a fella,
                         fella I want to tell you about, fella
                         by the name of Jeff Lebowski.  At
                         least, that was the handle his lovin'
                         parents gave him, but he never had
                         much use for it himself.  This
                         Lebowski, he called himself the Dude.  
                         Now, Dude, that's a name no one would
                         self-apply where I come from.  But
                         then, there was a lot about the Dude
                         that didn't make a whole lot of sense
                         to me.  And a lot about where he
                         lived, like- wise.  But then again,
                         maybe that's why I found the place
                         s'durned innarestin'.

               We top the rise and the smoggy vastness of Los Angeles at
               twilight stretches out before us.

                                     VOICE-OVER
                         They call Los Angeles the City of
                         Angels.  I didn't find it to be that
                         exactly, but I'll allow as there are
                         some nice folks there.  'Course, I
                         can't say I seen London, and I never
                         been to France, and I ain't never
                         seen no queen in her damn undies as
                         the fella says.  But I'll tell you
                         what, after seeing Los Angeles and
                         thisahere story I'm about to unfold--
                         wal, I guess I seen somethin' ever'
                         bit as stupefyin' as ya'd see in any
                         a those other places, and in English
                         too, so I can die with a smile on my
                         face without feelin' like the good
                         Lord gypped me.
               INTERIOR   RALPH'S

               It is late, the supermarket all but deserted.  We are tracking
               in on a fortyish man in Bermuda shorts and sunglasses at the
               dairy case.  He is the Dude.  His rumpled look and relaxed
               manner suggest a man in whom casualness runs deep.

               He is feeling quarts of milk for coldness and examining their
               expiration dates.

                                     VOICE-OVER
                         Now this story I'm about to unfold
                         took place back in the early nineties--
                         just about the time of our conflict
                         with Sad'm and the Eye-rackies.  I
                         only mention it 'cause some- times
                         there's a man--I won't say a hee-ro,
                         'cause what's a hee-ro?--but sometimes
                         there's a man.

               The Dude glances furtively about and then opens a quart of
               milk.  He sticks his nose in the spout and sniffs.

                                     VOICE-OVER
                         And I'm talkin' about the Dude here--
                         sometimes there's a man who, wal,
                         he's the man for his time'n place,
                         he fits right in there--and that's
                         the Dude, in Los Angeles.

               CHECKOUT GIRL

               She waits, arms folded.  A small black-and white TV next to
               her register shows George Bush on the White House lawn with
               helicopter rotors spinning behind him.

                                     GEORGE BUSH
                         This aggression will not stand. . .
                         This will not stand!

               The Dude, peeking over his shades, scribbles something at
               the little customer's lectern.  Milk beads his mustache.

                                     VOICE-OVER
                         ...and even if he's a lazy man, and
                         the Dude was certainly that--quite
                         possibly the laziest in Los Angeles
                         County.

               The Dude has his Ralph's Shopper's Club card to one side and
               is making out a check to Ralph's for sixty-nine cents.

                                     VOICE-OVER
                         ...which would place him high in the
                         runnin' for laziest worldwide--but
                         sometimes there's a man. . . sometimes
                         there's a man.

               EXTERIOR  RALPH'S

               Long shot of the glowing Ralph's.  There are only two or
               three cars parked in the huge lot.

                                     VOICE-OVER
                         Wal, I lost m'train of thought here.  
                         But--aw hell, I done innerduced him
                         enough.

               The Dude is a small figure walking across the vast lot.  
               Next to him walks a Mexican carry-out boy in a red apron and
               cap carrying a small brown bag holding the quart of milk.  
               The two men's footsteps echo in the still of the night.

               After a beat of walking the Dude offhandedly points.

                                     DUDE
                         It's the LeBaron.

               DUDE'S HOUSE

               The Dude is going up the walkway of a small Venice bungalow
               court.  He holds the paper sack in one hand and a small
               leatherette satchel in the other.  He awkwardly hugs the
               grocery bag against his chest as he turns a key in his door.

               INSIDE

               The Dude enters and flicks on a light.

               His head is grabbed from behind and tucked into an armpit.  
               We track with him as he is rushed through the living room,
               his arm holding the satchel flailing away from his body.  
               Going into the bedroom the outflung satchel catches a piece
               of doorframe and wallboard and rips through it, leaving a
               hole.

               The Dude is propelled across the bedroom and on into a small
               bathroom, the satchel once again taking away a piece of
               doorframe.  His head is plunged into the toilet.  The paper
               bag hugged to his chest explodes milk as it hits the toilet
               rim and the satchel pulverizes tile as it crashes to the
               floor.

               The Dude blows bubbles.

                                     VOICE
                         We want that money, Lebowski.  Bunny
                         said you were good for it.

               Hands haul the Dude out of the toilet. The Dude blubbers and
               gasps for air.

                                     VOICE
                         Where's the money, Lebowski!

               His head is plunged back into the toilet.

                                     VOICE
                         Where's the money, Lebowski!

               The hands haul him out again, dripping and gasping.

                                     VOICE
                         WHERE'S THE FUCKING MONEY, SHITHEAD!

                                     DUDE
                         It's uh, it's down there somewhere.  
                         Lemme take another look.

               His head is plunged back in.

                                     VOICE
                         Don't fuck with us.  If your wife
                         owes money to Jackie Treehorn, that
                         means you owe money to Jackie
                         Treehorn.

               The inquisitor hauls the Dude's head out one last time and
               flops him over so that he sits on the floor, back against
               the toilet.

               The Dude gropes back in the toilet with one hand.

               Looming over him is a strapping blond man.

               Beyond in the living room a young Chinese man unzips his fly
               and walks over to a rug.

                                     CHINESE MAN
                         Ever thus to deadbeats, Lebowski.

               He starts peeing on the rug.

               The Dude's hand comes out of the toilet bowl with his
               sunglasses.

                                     DUDE
                         Oh, man.  Don't do--

                                     BLOND MAN
                         You see what happens?  You see what
                         happens, Lebowski?

               The Dude puts on his dripping sunglasses.

                                     DUDE
                         Look, nobody calls me Lebowski.  You
                         got the wrong guy.  I'm the Dude,
                         man.

                                     BLOND MAN
                         Your name is Lebowski.  Your wife is
                         Bunny.

                                     DUDE
                         Bunny?  Look, moron.

               He holds up his hands.

                                     DUDE
                         You see a wedding ring?  Does this
                         place look like I'm fucking married?  
                   The toilet seat's up!

               The blond man stoops to unzip the satchel.  He pulls out a
               bowling ball and examines it in the manner of a superstitious
               native.

                                     BLOND MAN
                         The fuck is this?

               The Dude pats at his pockets, takes out a joint and lights
               it.

                                     DUDE
                         Obviously you're not a golfer.

               The blond man drops the ball which pulverizes more tile.

                                     BLOND MAN
                         Woo?

               The Chinese man is zipping his fly.

                                     WOO
                         Yeah?

                                     BLOND MAN
                         Wasn't this guy supposed to be a
                         millionaire?

                                     WOO
                         Uh?

               They both look around.

                                     WOO
                         Fuck.

                                     BLOND MAN
                         What do you think?

                                     WOO
                         He looks like a fuckin' loser.

               The Dude pulls his sunglasses down his nose with one finger
               and peeks over them.

                                     DUDE
                         Hey.  At least I'm housebroken.

               The two men look at each other.  They turn to leave.

                                     WOO
                         Fuckin' waste of time.

               The blond man turns testily at the door.

                                     BLOND MAN
                         Thanks a lot, asshole.

                                                ON THE DOOR SLAM WE CUT TO:

               BOWLING PINS

               Scattered by a strike.

               Music and head credits play over various bowling shots--pins
               flying, bowlers hoisting balls, balls gliding down lanes,
               sliding feet, graceful releases, ball return spinning up a
               ball, fingers sliding into fingerholes, etc.

               The music turns into boomy source music, coming from a distant
               jukebox, as the credits end over a clattering strike.

               A lanky blonde man with stringy hair tied back in a ponytail
               turns from the strike to walk back to the bench.

                                     MAN
                         Hot damn, I'm throwin' rocks tonight.  
                         Mark it, Dude.

               We are tracking in on the circular bench towards a big man
               nursing a large plastic cup of Bud.  He has dark worried
               eyes and a goatee.  Hairy legs emerge from his khaki shorts.  
               He also wears a khaki army surplus shirt with the sleeves
               cut off over an old bowling shirt.  This is Walter.  He
               squints through the smoke from his own cigarette as he
               addresses the Dude at the scoring table.

               The Dude, also holding a large plastic cup of Bud, wears
               some of its foam on his mustache.

                                     WALTER
                         This was a valued rug.

               He elaborately clears his throat.

                                     WALTER
                         This was, uh--

                                     DUDE
                         Yeah man, it really tied the room
                         together--

                                     WALTER
                         This was a valued, uh.

               Donny, the strike-scoring bowler, enters and sits next Walter.

                                     DONNY
                         What tied the room together, Dude?

                                     WALTER
                         Were you listening to the story,
                         Donny?

                                     DONNY
                         What--

                                     WALTER
                         Were you listening to the Dude's
                         story?

                                     DONNY
                         I was bowling--

                                     WALTER
                         So you have no frame of reference,
                         Donny.  You're like a child who
                         wanders in in the middle of a movie
                         and wants to know--

                                     DUDE
                         What's your point, Walter?

                                     WALTER
                         There's no fucking reason--here's my
                         point, Dude--there's no fucking reason--

                                     DONNY
                         Yeah Walter, what's your point?

                                     WALTER
                         Huh?

                                     DUDE
                         What's the point of--we all know who
                         was at fault, so what the fuck are
                         you talking about?

                                     WALTER
                         Huh?  No!  What the fuck are you
                         talking--I'm not--we're talking about
                         unchecked aggression here--

                                     DONNY
                         What the fuck is he talking about?

                                     DUDE
                         My rug.

                                     WALTER
                         Forget it, Donny.  You're out of
                         your element.

                                     DUDE
                         This Chinaman who peed on my rug, I
                         can't go give him a bill so what the
                         fuck are you talking about?

                                     WALTER
                         What the fuck are you talking about?!  
                         This Chinaman is not the issue!  I'm
                         talking about drawing a line in the
                         sand, Dude.  Across this line you do
                         not, uh--and also, Dude, Chinaman is
                         not the preferred, uh. . . Asian-
                         American.  Please.

                                     DUDE
                         Walter, this is not a guy who built
                         the rail- roads, here, this is a guy
                         who peed on my--

                                     WALTER
                         What the fuck are you--

                                     DUDE
                         Walter, he peed on my rug--

                                     DONNY
                         He peed on the Dude's rug--

                                     WALTER
                         YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR ELEMENT!  This
                         Chinaman is not the issue, Dude.

                                     DUDE
                         So who--

                                     WALTER
                         Jeff Lebowski.  Come on.  This other
                         Jeffrey Lebowski.  The millionaire.  
                         He's gonna be easier to find anyway
                         than these two, uh. these two  . . .
                         And he has the wealth, uh, the
                         resources obviously, and there is no
                         reason, no FUCKING reason, why his
                         wife should go out and owe money and
                         they pee on your rug.  Am I wrong?

                                     DUDE
                         No, but--

                                     WALTER
                         Am I wrong!

                                     DUDE
                         Yeah, but--

                                     WALTER
                         Okay. That, uh.

               He elaborately clears his throat.

               That rap really tied the room together, did it not?

                                     DUDE
                         Fuckin' A.

                                     DONNY
                         And this guy peed on it.

                                     WALTER
                         Donny!  Please!

                                     DUDE
                         Yeah, I could find this Lebowski guy--

                                     DONNY
                         His name is Lebowski?  That's your
                         name, Dude!

                                     DUDE
                         Yeah, this is the guy, this guy should
                         compensate me for the fucking rug.  
                         I mean his wife goes out and owes
                         money and they pee on my rug.

                                     WALTER
                         Thaaat's right Dude; they pee on
                         your fucking Rug.

               CLOSE ON A PLAQUE

               We pull back from the name JEFFREY LEBOWSKI engraved in silver
               to reveal that the plaque, from Variety Clubs International,
               honors Lebowski as ACHIEVER OF THE YEAR.

               Reflected in the plaque we see the Dude entering the room
               with a YOUNG MAN.  We hear the two men talk:

                                     YOUNG MAN
                         And this is the study.  You can see
                         the various commendations, honorary
                         degrees, et cetera.

                                     DUDE
                         Yes, uh, very impressive.

                                     YOUNG MAN
                         Please, feel free to inspect them.

                                     DUDE
                         I'm not really, uh.

                                     YOUNG MAN
                         Please!  Please!

                                     DUDE
                         Uh-huh.

               We are panning the walls, looking at various citations and

               certificates unrelated to the ones being discussed offscreen:

                                     YOUNG MAN
                         That's the key to the city of
                         Pasadena, which Mr. Lebowski was
                         given two years ago in recognition
                         of his various civic, uh.

                                     DUDE
                         Uh-huh.

                                     YOUNG MAN
                         That's a Los Angeles Chamber of
                         Commerce Business Achiever award,
                         which is given--not necessarily given
                         every year!  Given only when there's
                         a worthy, somebody especially--

                                     DUDE
                         Hey, is this him with Nancy?

                                     YOUNG MAN
                         That is indeed Mr. Lebowski with the
                         first lady, yes, taken when--

                                     DUDE
                         Lebowski on the right?

                                     YOUNG MAN
                         Of course, Mr. Lebowski on the right,
                         Mrs.  Reagan on the left, taken when--

                                     DUDE
                         He's handicapped, huh?

                                     YOUNG MAN
                         Mr. Lebowski is disabled, yes.  And
                         this picture was taken when Mrs.
                         Reagan was first lady of the nation,
                         yes, yes? Not of California.

                                     DUDE
                         Far out.

                                     YOUNG MAN
                         And in fact he met privately with
                         the President, though unfortunately
                         there wasn't time for a photo
                         opportunity.

                                     DUDE
                         Nancy's pretty good.

                                     YOUNG MAN
                         Wonderful woman.  We were very--

                                     DUDE
                         Are these.

                                     YOUNG MAN
                         These are Mr. Lebowski's children,
                         so to speak--

                                     DUDE
                         Different mothers, huh?

                                     YOUNG MAN
                         No, they--

                                     DUDE
                         I guess he's pretty, uh, racially
                         pretty cool--

                                     YOUNG MAN
                         They're not his, heh-heh, they're
                         not literally his children; they're
                         the Little Lebowski Urban Achievers,
                         inner-city children of promise but
                         without the--

                                     DUDE
                         I see.

                                     YOUNG MAN
                         --without  the means  for higher  
                         education, so Mr. Lebowski  has
                         committed  to sending  all of them
                         to college.

                                     DUDE
                         Jeez.  Think he's got room for one
                         more?

                                     YOUNG MAN
                         One--oh!  Heh-heh.  You never went
                         to college?

                                     DUDE
                         Well, yeah I did, but I spent most
                         of my time occupying various, um,
                         administration buildings--

                                     YOUNG MAN
                         Heh-heh--

                                     DUDE
                         --smoking thai-stick, breaking into
                         the ROTC--

                                     YOUNG MAN
                         Yes, heh--

                                     DUDE
                         --and bowling.  I'll tell you the
                         truth, Brandt, I don't remember most
                         of it.--Jeez!  Fuck me!

               Our continuing track and pan have brought us onto a framed
               Life Magazine cover which is headlined ARE YOU A LEBOWSKI
               ACHIEVER?  Oddly, the Dude's sunglassed face is on it; we
               realize that, under the magazine's logo and headline, the
               display is mirrored.

               We hear the door open and the whine of a motor.  The Dude,
               wearing shorts and a bowling shirt, turns to look.

               So does Brandt, the young man we've been listening to.  He
               wears a suit and has his hands clasped in front of his groin.

               Entering the room is a fat sixtyish man in a motorized
               wheelchair--Jeff Lebowski.

                                     LEBOWSKI
                         Okay sir, you're a Lebowski, I'm a
                         Lebowski, that's terrific, I'm very
                         busy so what can I do for you?

               He wheels himself behind a desk.  The Dude sits facing him
               as Brandt withdraws.

Donny dies, the Dude doesn't get his rug replaced.

The end.

spoilers itt

they pissed on your fucking rug man
they pissed on your fucking rug

This aggression, will not stand, man.

quot from movie

Quote from: mC:/Sound.wav;1691198

that's literally my favorite line from the movie

ok

Quote from: FileCabinetClock;1691205that's literally my favorite line from the movie

Yeah, well, that's just, like, your opinion, man.

Quote from: ☠☠☠☠☠☠;1691208Yeah, well, that's just, like, your opinion, man.

Yeah, well, that's just, like, your opinion, man.

fuck it dude lets go bowling

Has the whole world gone CRAZY?!

Am I the only one around here who gives a SHIT ABOUT THE RULES?

Shut the fuck up Donny.

Quote from: mC:/Sound.wav;1691198

came here to post this

Last Friday my friend informed me he had never seen The Big Lebowski.  I immediately rectified this error.
True story.

I NEVER SAW THAT MOVIE

incidentally, if you guys are ever watching this with a friend who's never seen it and neither of you are drunk don't quote block segments of the movie when they come up

it hasn't happened to me but I've seen it happen and it's horrible

I hate it when friends quote movies they've seen as I watch them for the first time, or when they say "Oh, watch this part" or "Oh, I can't watch this part", but, yeah thanks, dick.

That's why I make sure to never do that when watching a movie I've seen before.