Happy: Golfing requires goofy pants and a fat ass. You should talk to my neighbor, the accountant – huge ass.

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Shooter: Don’t turn your back on me. Let’s get one thing straight, this is Shooter’s tour. I’ve worked hard my whole life, paid my dues, and now it’s Shooter’s turn. And Shooter’s not about to let his reign at the top be spoiled by some freak, sideshow, clown.
Happy: Did you just call me a freak? I was on this tour for one reason: money. But, now I got a new reason: kickin’ your ass!
Shooter: Well, I’d like to see you try.
Happy: Let’s do it then!
(bottle breaks)
Shooter: My G-. I meant on a golf course.
Virginia: Hey! Hey, what is going on here, huh?
Happy: Oh, I was just, um… lookin’ for the other half of this bottle. An’ uh, oh there’s some of it right, there’s some right there, too.
Virginia: Why don’t you just put it down.
Happy: Yeah, I know.

Shooter: You better stay away, or you’re gonna pay. Listen to what I say.
Happy: Why don’t we go down to the bay, we could eat some hay, make things out of clay, what do you say? I just may!

Happy: So you wanna go grab something to eat?
Virginia: Sorry, I don’t date golfers.
Happy: Well, that’s good cause I’m a hockey player.

Happy: If I saw myself in clothes like that…I’d have to kick my own ass.

Chubs: I was supposed to be on that tour.
Happy: Well, what happened?
Chubs: They wouldn’t let me play!
Happy: Aw, I’m sorry man…cause you’re black?
Chubs: Hell no. Damn alligator bit my hand off.