Inglourious Basterds

My name is Lt. Aldo Raine and I'm putting together a special team, and I need me eight soldiers. Eight Jewish-American soldiers.
Now, y'all might've heard rumors about the armada happening soon. Well, we'll be leaving a little earlier. We're gonna be dropped into France, dressed as civilians. And once we're in enemy territory, as a bushwhackin' guerrilla army, we're gonna be doin' one thing and one thing only... killin' Nazis.
Now, I don't know about y'all, but I sure as hell didn't come down from the goddamn Smoky Mountains, cross five thousand miles of water, fight my way through half of Sicily and jump out of a fuckin' air-o-plane to teach the Nazis lessons in humanity.
Nazi ain't got no humanity. They're the foot soldiers of a Jew-hatin', mass murderin' maniac and they need to be dee-stroyed. That's why any and every every son of a bitch we find wearin' a Nazi uniform, they're gonna die.
Now, I'm the direct descendant of the mountain man Jim Bridger. That means I got a little Injun in me. And our battle plan will be that of an Apache resistance.
We will be cruel to the Germans, and through our cruelty they will know who we are. And they will find the evidence of our cruelty in the disemboweled, dismembered, and disfigured bodies of their brothers we leave behind us.
And the German won't not be able to help themselves but to imagine the cruelty their brothers endured at our hands, and our boot heels, and the edge of our knives.
And the German will be sickened by us, and the German will talk about us, and the German will fear us. And when the German closes their eyes at night and they're tortured by their subconscious for the evil they have done, it will be with thoughts of us they are tortured with.
Sound good?

But I got a word of warning to all would be warriors. When you join my command, you take on debit. A debit you owe me, personally.
Each and every man under my command, owes me, one hundred Nazi scalps.
And I want my scalps. And all y'all will git me, one hundred Nazi scalps, taken from the heads of one hundred dead Nazi's or you will die trying.

You probably heard we ain't in the prisoner-takin' business; we in the killin' Nazi business. And cousin, business is a-boomin'.

Frankly, watchin' Donny beat Nazis to death is is the closest we ever get to goin' to the movies.
We got a German here who wants to die for his country! Oblige him!

There's a special rung in hell reserved for people who waste good scotch. And seeing as I might be rapping on the door momentarily...

I love rumors! Facts can be so misleading, where rumors, true or false, are often revealing.

Whiskey, straight. No junk in it.

The doggie doc’s gonna dig that slug outta your gam. Then he’s gonna wrap it in a cast and you’ve got a good how-I-broke-my-leg-mountain-climbing story. That’s German, ain’t it? Y’all like climbing mountains, dontcha?
I don’t. I like smoking, drinking, and ordering in restaurants. But I see your point.

I know this is a silly question before I ask it, but can you Americans speak any other language besides English?

We have all our rotten eggs in one basket. The objective of the operation: blow up the basket.

And 999 point 999 times out of a million, you would be correct. But in the pages of history, every once in a while, fate reaches out and extends its hand.

Enormous changes at the last minute? That's not very Germatic. Why the hell is Goebbels doin' stuff so damn peculiar.