Quotes / Dastardly Whiplash


I mean, threatening innocents to get the Good Guy to cave? I might as well grow a mustache and twirl the end while I'm at it.
Redcloak, The Order of the Stick

Crichton: Haven't you read the Super Villain's Handbook? This is where you're supposed to twirl your moustache and gloat!
Maldis: I don't have a moustache, John.

The good guys are always stalwart and true. The bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and, uh, we always defeat them and save the day.
Giles, Buffy the Vampire Slayer ("Lie to Me")

Book: I forgot, you're moonlighting as a criminal mastermind now. Got your next heist planned?
Simon: No. But I'm thinking of growing a big black mustache. I'm a traditionalist.
Firefly ("Ariel")

Every plot twist came with the twirl of a moustache and ended in an exclamation mark.

Real Life

Yes, the Romney campaign's reboot was spoiled by footage from last May of Governor Romney at a $50,000 a plate fundraiser talking to rich people about poor people in a manner you'd imagine cartoon rich people talk about cartoon poor people.
Jon Stewart, The Daily Show, on Mitt Romney's "47%" speech.

As is fairly typical of Resident Evil, the plot manages to be both ridiculously convoluted and childishly predictable, because the bloke that turns out to be behind it all can be isolated as the guy who delivers every line like he's criticizing the blowjobs of a nun whose orphanage he's already decided to foreclose on regardless.

Was the idea to make the Master look as ridiculous as possible in this story? ‘You will be cremated…alive!’ are the sort of lines that a character spits when he has not only jumped the shark but given the ocean a wide berth too. Add ‘Infinitely superior, as I am to that galactic philanthropist!’ to the list. Remember when the Master was the epitome of cool during the Pertwee era, puffing on cigars in a chauffeur driven car and tossing out one-liners? Those days are long past. ‘Allow me to introduce the Tissue Compression Eliminator!’ he announces as though advertising the latest toy for Christmas. Why does this fella have to end every sentence on a threat? ‘You escaped from my slave but you will obey me…or die!’ I can’t take him remotely seriously...Why exactly is the Master’s TARDIS black? Why would you advertise the fact that you are evil with interior decoration? Isn’t the satanic beard and all in one black jumpsuit enough?

The standard-bearer for all worldwide sleaziness. Racist? Yes. Cheap? Oh yes. Horny Neanderthal? Oh God, yes, yes! A landlord? Check—and by the way, if you don't have a check for him and you are a Latino, he will evict you three days early. He's like a Voltron of shitbags fused together. This is a man who once negotiated buying a fur coat for a mistress in front of the mistress's mom. There is no introspection with Donald Sterling. There is no remorse. There is no shred of decency tucked inside of him that will engender some measure of sympathy. There is only this, taken from his deposition: "If you are having sex with a woman you are paying for, you always call her honey because you can't remember her name." Pure class, kids.
Drew Magary, "The 25 Biggest Sleazebags in Sports!"

In 2002, four little girls lost both their parents in a car crash. Attorney John Milton Merritt stepped in and did what any good public servant would do in that situation: He sued the shit out of those responsible for the tragic accident — namely, a 'tire manufacturer' and an 'auto maker' — secured the girls a settlement that would make Charles Dickens proud, and ... then he freaking stole it. Let's say that one more time: He stole a fortune from four little orphan girls. Then he promptly spent the blood money on his firm, presumably on avant-garde coffee mugs made out of human skulls. By 2007, two years after his first 'withdrawal,' the account was empty. Merritt, however, told the orphans and their grandmother that there was still 'several hundred thousand dollars' left before laughing maniacally and making his merry way to his secret volcano lair for a comfortable retirement spent alternately wringing his hands and stroking an unamused lap cat.
Cat: Pet all you want; I'm not gonna cosign on that orphan shit, John.

Seeing his loan going to waste, Slade starts literally ripping books apart. The story being told here is that the leather that binds the books is worth more than the books themselves. I prefer to think that Slade is a Nazi. Remember that scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade where they throw books on the fire in Munich? Imagine how much better than would have been with Fonzie in old man makeup.