Chris Farley: Mike Donnelly

Black Sheep

Mike Donnelly

Mike: [on stage making a fool of himself] That's one small step for man! One giant... I have a dream!

Mike: [cold calling voters] Hi! This is Mike Donnelly. I work over here at the Recreational Center. To be honest, I pretty much run the place; hahaha! Is this, uh, Pat..Giles? Good, good! Hey, I hope everything's going great in your fine town of, uh, Avery..Atwood! Hahaha. Say, the reason I'm calling is I wanted to tell you about the candidacy of Al Donnelly. Al Donnelly's a guy with a dream. His dream is to be the governor of this great State of Washington. Hell, every guy's got his dream; am I right? Between you, me, and the wall, I had a doozy myself last night!
[chortles]
Mike: Get this: A hooker, a nun, a Flemish peasant woman, whips, chains, whistles, yo-yo's, a circus midget, my grandmother riding by on a bicycle giving me the finger, and a duck! Hahahahaha! Now, I don't know -- Are you crying?
[gasps]
Mike: Oh, my Lord! I am sorry, honey; please don't -- could you get your daddy on the phone? No! Don't hang up, please, I --
[click. Mike hangs up]
Mike: ... Whoa.

[Mike is pretending to be a cop, Steve is pretending to be a prisoner]
Steve: Ro-ads. Ro-ods.
Mike: Quiet back there! I've taken enough guff from you for one day!
[turns to state trooper]
Mike: Raving psycho! Butchered 400 chickens and screwed a beagle. I'm taking him back to Nevada where he's wanted for banging horses!

Mike: [dressed as security guard] Please move away from this vector and get into another coordinate, pronto. There's no access for you in this quadrant.
Teen: Man, why don't you goose-step on down to the women and children over there and give them your little power trip, because they may be impressed by it. Asshole!
Mike: Young man, I'm gonna twist off your head and spike it onto the floors of a nightmare you can't even imagine! I will dance with you inside the six-sided ring of fire, unless you move from this area, far and fast!
[steam shoots out of his ears]
Mike: NOW!
Teen: ...WOW.
[scurries off]

Mike: Man! This place is trashed!
Steve: Check this out! This whole fridge is held up here just by this plug!
[unplugs the fridge, letting it slide toward Mike, pinning him against the wall]
Steve: You OK?
Mike: [groaning in pain] I'm just dandy! I got a bowl of chocolate pudding in my underpants!
Steve: ... We didn't have any pudding in there, buddy.

Mike: We've all been screwed by Governor Tracy, and now, I'm going to screw her!

Steve: This is great! I've never won three games in a row. I hardly ever play checkers.
Mike: [muttering] Yeah. Yeah. Well. You know. It's kinda easy to win when you... um...
[shouting]
Mike: NEVER MOVE YOUR BACK ROW! EVER! GOD! COME ONNNN!

[Steve comes back sprayed with a fire extinguisher]
Mike: Whoa, what happened to you? Did you fall into some mud or something?
Steve: Yeah, I did. And now I'm gonna be famous because I'm the only one in the world who knows where you can find *white* mud.

Mike: [on stage making a fool of himself] Voting kicks ass right! Cause, uh, if voting kicks ass, you got some kick ass shit!

[the roof has blown off the house and it begins to hail all over Mike who is in the top bunk]
Steve: Hey Mike! 'I got dibs on top bunk!' Ha ha ha ha.
Mike: Shut up!
Steve: Ha ha ha ha ha. Oh, I love it.
Mike: Why don't you shut up?
Steve: 'Hellooooo Washington'. Ha ha ha.
Mike: SHUT! UP!
Steve: Hahahahahahahaaaa. Ohhh, no.
[Mike's bed, with the added weight of the hail, collapses from above]
Mike: Oh!
Steve: Aaaooow!

Motorcycle Cop: Could you take him through here a little faster than seven miles per hour, Officer...
Mike: Meoff, Jack.
[turns to Steve and mouths "Jack Meoff"]

Motorcycle Cop: [Steve and Mike are high on nitrous oxide and have been pulled over] Tell me, Officer: Do you have any idea how fast you were going?
Mike: [Mike licks lips nervously] Wellll... I got a 426 Hemi in her. Three-quarter cams, nitro boosters. I can get 'er up to as good as 155.
[reassuringly]
Mike: Never do, though. Of course, I'm chasing a cute chick in a Ferrari!
[slaps Officer on the arm and laughs uproariously, until he sees the other Officer is seething in anger and not laughing]
Mike: ... I guess I was going about 65... tops?
Motorcycle Cop: SEVEN!
[Mike reacts]
Motorcycle Cop: Seven miles an hour.
Motorcycle Cop: And normally, when I stop people, they pull on the shoulder!
[Mike looks out the window, then cringes when he realizes he's parked on the center line]

Mike: [holding onto a small plant on a steep hill] Oh, thank you, little roots! Please stay strong!