Gus: I don't know why you wouldn't let me kill that prick.
Ace: Stop it. Stop it.
Gus: Hypothetic. I'm saying hypothetic.
Ace: That's enough. And it's hypothetically.

Maybe broke and alone is what you're afraid of, and maybe that's why you're carrying what you're carrying in that fucking laundry bag.

Jerry [to Marcus]

Kentucky Quality killed his daddy. When the colonel died, they took over his farm and they spent all the money until there was nothing left. They took out an insurance policy on Delphi for 30 million. They killed him. They broke his legs. They said it was his fault. You know what breaking legs sounds like? Branches snapping. I always wondered if maybe I could'a done something. Heard something.


Gus: Hey Ace, what is a claiming race?
Ace: They set a price where you can buy any horse in the race.
Gus: When do you put up your dough?
Ace: Before the race you gotta put your claim in.
Gus: And then after he runs, you can pull your offer?
Ace: No, you own him no matter what. Unless there's more than one claim. But you knew that.

In California, established and passed by the legislature, horse racing is legal, and casino gaming isn't, leaving aside for a second the fucking rain dancers, and, like the whole state economy, the track is desperate for new streams of revenue. The perfect fucking Trojan horse.


The U.S. economy is in the fuckin' toilet. NY bankers with their three-card monte bond swaps have brought all the walls down. Tremendous structural damage to the tax base, plus unemployment plus, my impression, tremendous, tremendous compression of the leisure gaming dollar.

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