cue mark AKA 'Cigarette Burn' At the start of the movie Fight Club there is an FBI warning followed by an Attention warning and then


If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you
read of this useless fine print is another second of your life. Don't you
have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't
think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so
impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all
who claim it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do
you think everything you're supposed to think? Buy what you're told
you should want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the
opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit
your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If you don't claim your
humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned.......Tyler.

cue mark AKA 'Cigarette Burn'


The people you are after are the people you depend on.!
We cook your meals,
we drive your ambulances.
We connect your calls,
we guard you while you sleep....

Do . not . fuck with us.

cue mark AKA 'Cigarette Burn' Project Mayhem Fight Club movie, , Slide.

[Tyler points a gun into the Narrator's mouth]
Narrator: [voiceover] People are always asking me if I know Tyler Durden.
Tyler Durden: Three minutes. This is it - ground zero. Would you like to say a few words to mark the occasion?
Narrator: ...i... ann... iinn... ff... nnyin...
Narrator: [voiceover] With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels.
[Tyler removes the gun from the Narrator's mouth] Narrator: I can't think of anything.
Narrator: [voiceover] For a second I totally forgot about Tyler's whole controlled demolition thing and I wonder how clean that gun is.

You wake up at Seatac, SFO, LAX. You wake up at O'Hare, Dallas-Fort Worth, BWI. Pacific, mountain, central. Lose an hour, gain an hour. This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time. You wake up at Air Harbor International. If you wake up at a different time, in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?
Everywhere I travel, tiny life. Single-serving sugar, single-serving cream, single pat of butter. The microwave Cordon Bleu hobby kit. Shampoo-conditioner combos, sample-packaged mouthwash, tiny bars of soap. The people I meet on each flight? They're single-serving friends, You are by far the most interesting single-serving friend I've ever met
A question of etiquette; as I pass, do I give you the ass or the crotch...?
Oxygen gets you high. In a catastrophic emergency, you're taking giant panicked breaths. Suddenly you become euphoric, docile. You accept your fate. It's all right here. Emergency water landing - 600 miles an hour. Blank faces, calm as Hindu cows.
A new car built by my company leaves somewhere traveling at 60 mph. The rear differential locks up. The car crashes and burns with everyone trapped inside. Now, should we initiate a recall? Take the number of vehicles in the field, A, multiply by the probable rate of failure, B, multiply by the average out-of-court settlement, C. A times B times C equals X. If X is less than the cost of a recall, we don't do one.
He was the guerilla terrorist in the food service industry. Apart from seasoning the lobster bisque, he farted on the meringue, sneezed on braised endive, and as for the cream of mushroom soup, well... //Go ahead. Tell 'em. // get the idea.
Is Tyler my bad dream? Or am I Tyler's?
How embarrassing - a house full of condiments and no food
I am Jack's complete lack of surprise
To make soap, first we render fat. The salt balance has to be just right, so the best fat for making soap comes from humans./Wait. What is this place? / A liposuction clinic.
It was beautiful. We were selling rich women their own fat asses back to them
I am Jack's raging bile duct.
paper street soap co all natural hand made
I flipped through catalogs and wondered: What kind of dining set defines me as a person?
The things you own end up owning you.
Worker bees can leave Even drones can fly away The queen is their slave.
Suddenly I felt nothing. I couldn't cry, so once again I couldn't sleep.
I can't get married - I'm a thirty-year-old boy.
We're a generation of men raised by women. I'm wondering if another woman is really the answer we need.
We don't have a great war in our generation, or a great depression, but we do, we have a great war of the spirit. We have a great revolution against the culture. The great depression is our lives. We have a spiritual depression.
We're consumers. We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty, these things don't concern me. What concerns me are celebrity magazines, television with 500 channels, some guy's name on my underwear. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra. Fuck Martha Stewart. Martha's polishing the brass on the Titanic. It's all going down, man.
I see the strongest and the smartest men who have ever lived... and these men are pumping gas and waiting tables.
For thousands of years, human beings had screwed up and trashed and crapped on this planet, and now history expected me to clean up after everyone. I have to wash out and flatten my soup cans. And account for every drop of used motor oil. And I have to foot the bill for nuclear waste and buried gasoline tanks and landfilled toxic sludge dumped a generation before I was born.
We're designed to be hunters and we're in a society of shopping. There's nothing to kill anymore, there's nothing to fight, nothing to overcome, nothing to explore. In that societal emasculation this everyman is created.
talking about that moment in time when you have this world of possibilities, all these expectations, and you don't know who it is you're supposed to be. And you choose this one path, and it turns out to be bleak, but it's part of your initiation, your trial by fire. And then, by choosing the wrong path, you find your way onto the right path, but you've created this mess
a seminal coming of age for people who are coming of age in their 30s instead of their late teens or early 20s. In our society, kids are much more sophisticated at an earlier age and much less emotionally capable at a later age. Those two things are sort of moving against each other.
I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.
The gyms you go to are crowded with guys trying to look like men, as if being a man means looking the way a sculptor or an art director says.
Is that what a real man is supposed to look like? (while looking at a Calvin Klein-esque ad on the bus)
Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken.
Fight club wasn't about winning or losing. It wasn't about words. The hysterical shouting was in tongues, like at a Pentecostal Church.
every Saturday night we were finding something out: we were finding out more and more that we were not alone.
Reject the basic assumptions of civilization, especially the importance of materiel possessions.
I am the all-singing, all-dancing crap of this world.... I am the toxic waste by-product of God's creation.
Hitting bottom isn't a weekend retreat. It's not a goddamn seminar. Stop trying to control everything and just let go! LET GO!
The first rule of Fight Club is - you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is - you DO NOT talk about Fight Club. Third rule of Fight Club, someone yells Stop!, goes limp, taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule, only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule, one fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule, no shirt, no shoes. Seventh rule, fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule, if this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight
After fighting, everything else in your life got the volume turned down.
Hey, even the Mona Lisa's falling apart.
I want you to hit me as hard as you can
How much can you know about yourself, you've never been in a fight? I don't wanna die without any scars. So come on; hit me before I lose my nerve.
Listen up, maggots. You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You're the same decaying organic matter as everything else. You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world

The conveniance store BACK DOOR opens and Tyler brings the STORE CLERK RAYMOND out at gunpoint,
forces him to his knees. Jack follows, freaked. Tyler points the gun at the Clerk.
JACK (V.O.):On a long enough time line, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.
RAYMOND :Please... don't...
TYLER:Give me your wallet.
RAYMOND:(fumbles his wallet out of his pocket and Tyler snatches it. Tyler pulls out the DRIVER'S LICENCE.)
TYLER: Raymond K. Hessel. 1320 SE Benning,apartment A. A small, cramped basement apartment.
RAYMOND:How'd you know?
TYLER:They give basement apartments letters instead of numbers. Raymond, you're going to die.
Tyler:(rummages through the wallet.)
TYLER:Is this a picture of Mom and Dad?
TYLER:Your mom and dad will have to call kindly doctor so-and-so to dig up your dental records, because there won't be much left of your face.
RAYMOND:Please, God, no...
Raymond: (begins to weep, shoulders heaving.)
TYLER:An expired community college student ID card. What did you used to study, Raymond K. Hessel?
TYLER:"Stuff." Were the mid-terms hard?
Tyler: (rams the gun barrel against Raymond's temple.)
TYLER:I asked you what you studied.
JACK:Tell him!
RAYMOND:Biology, mostly.
RAYMOND:I... I don't know...
TYLER:What did you want to be, Raymond K.Hessel?
Raymond: (weeps and says nothing. )
Tyler: (COCKS the gun.)
Raymond: (GASPS.)
TYLER:The question, Raymond, was "what did you want to be?"
JACK:Answer him!
RAYMOND:A veterinarian!
RAYMOND:Yeah ... animals and s-s-s ---
TYLER:Stuff. That means you have to get more schooling.
RAYMOND:Too much school.
Tyler: (shoves Raymond's wallet back into Raymond's pocket.)
TYLER:Would you rather be dead?
RAYMOND:No, please, no, God, no!
Tyler: (moves the gun right between Raymond's eyes.)
Tyler: (UNCOCKS the gun, lowers it.)
TYLER:I'm keeping your license. I know where you live. I'm going to check on you. If you aren't back in school and on your way to being a veterinarian in six weeks, you will be dead. Get the hell out of here.
Raymond:( staggers to his feet, heads down an alleyway.)
Jack and Tyler: (watch Raymond flee, then Tyler looks at Jack.)
JACK:I feel sick.
TYLER:Imagine how he feels.
Tyler:( brings the gun to his own head, pulls the trigger --CLICK. Empty.)
JACK:I don't care, that was horrible.
Tyler: (walks away saying) Tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of Raymond K. Hessle's life. His breakfast will taste better than any meal you and I have ever had.

A guy who came to Fight Club for the first time, his ass was a wad of cookie dough. After a few weeks, he was carved out of wood.
Skinny guys fight 'til they're burger.
You can swallow a pint of blood before you get sick.
What would you wish you'd done before you died?
With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels.
You have to know the answer to this question! If you died right now, how would you feel about your life?
Listen to me! You have to consider the possibility that God does not like you. He never wanted you. In all probability, he hates you. This is not the worst thing that can happen.
First you have to give up, first you have to *know*... not fear... *know*... that someday you're gonna die.
I felt like putting a bullet between the eyes of every Panda that wouldn't screw to save its species. I wanted to open the dump valves on oil tankers and smother all the French beaches I'd never see. I wanted to breathe smoke.I felt like destroying something beautiful
Tell him. Tell him, The liberator who destroyed my property has realigned my perceptions.
Its not until you lose everything that you are free to do anything
By the end of the first month, I didn't miss TV.
In the world I see - you are stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You'll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life. You'll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. And when you look down, you'll see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway.
I say never be complete, I say stop being perfect, I say let... lets evolve, let the chips fall where they may.
May I never be complete. May I never be content. May I never be perfect.
The collapse of financial history. One step closer to economic equilibrium.
All the ways you wish you could be, that's me. I look like you wanna look, I fuck like you wanna fuck, I am smart, capable, and most importantly, I am free in all the ways that you are not.
I am Jack's smirking revenge.
Cut the foreplay and just ask.
She's a predator posing as a house pet. the little scratch on the roof of your mouth that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it, but you can't
My God. I haven't been fucked like that since grade school.
When people think you're dying, they really, really listen to you, instead of just waiting for their turn to speak
I'll bring us through this. As always. I'll carry you - kicking and screaming - and in the end you'll thank me.

WHOA! WHOA! WHOA! Ok, you are now firing a gun at your 'imaginary friend' near 400 GALLONS OF NITROGLYCERINE!

Tyler Durden: Would you like to say a few words to mark the occasion? Tyler Rips the web page from your hand
Narrator: mumbles...
Tyler Durden: I'm sorry...
Narrator: I still can't think of anything.
Tyler Durden: Ah... flashback humor.

What's that smell? [And then, Tyler was gone.]

Narrator/Tyler Durden to marla :You met me at a very strange time in my life.

Are you finished reading this web page?!

Well, I gotta tell you: I'd be very, very careful who you talk to about that, because the person who wrote that... is dangerous. And this button-down, Oxford-cloth psycho might just snap, and then stalk from office to office with an Armalite AR-10 carbine gas-powered semi-automatic weapon, pumping round after round into colleagues and co-workers. This might be someone you've known for years. Someone very, very close to you.