may not.
he's gonna do it! the man is gonna do it!
he's heading for the goddamn mountains!
gimme that! you tell me, buckaroo, what in the hell is this going- through-solid-matter-and rendering-all-conventional-defense-perimeters- useless-over-night bullshit?
this'll be the president of me?
thank you for coming. before i answer any questions, i think buckaroo owes us all a few explanations for yesterday's antics.
which is not a helluva lot to sink your teeth into.
now wait a minute here.
sure, sure, but what about the fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh dimensions?
it's not buckaroo banzai per se, mr. president. it's his men. some of then foreigners. asiatics, their names changed, their true backgrounds shrouded in secrecy! i mean, when you come right up against it, what do we really know about any of 'em?
we've never had a weapon like the jet car in the past, mr. president. light-weight, highly mobile, stick on some anti-tank missiles, a couple grenade launchers, hell, we could buy ourselves two hundred jet cars for the price of ten tanks, send 'em swarming all over ivan like bumble bees, sir, right clear through their precious little iron curtain like it was swiss cheese! they gotta be just scared shitless!
that's some kind of spider, isn't it?
get me john bigboote at yoyodyne propulsion systems, inc. then.  . the fbi. let's see if this spade's wanted. what the hell's his name again? jackson?
john? john bigboote? right, bigboot, sorry. anyway, hey, guy, how's everything over there at yoyodyne? how's my big bomber coming? nothing out of the, you know, ordinary? spiders? i know you're busy. lunch? sounds good. when's good for you? next tuesday? i'm writing it down in my book. see you then. uncle sam's treat.
well, if it wasn't buckaroo banzai, i'd say commit the man.
who the hell are those guys? where's buckaroo?
anybody got a report-anybody got anything? or are we still blacked out?
damn buckaroo! i'm the eyes and ears of the president of these united states of america! in loco presidentis! which means i'm in charge here!
who the hell do you think you are?
well let me tell you something, mr. perfect tommy: i don't need this shit. i could be on easy street with a cushy job in the private sector. but instead, i got me a nine-hundred-million-dollar way-the- hell-behind-schedule top-secret bomber being built down there by yoyodyne propulsion systems and i don't intend to set twiddling thumbs in a bus while buckaroo banzai goes crashing around my airplane looking for his damn girlfriend, driving a car that itself is probably worth more to this country than all the tea in china! i'm talking national security risk and we are going in there like gentlemen and straighten this thing out before somebody gets hurt! you got that?
hit it, soldier boy! move this buggy! that's a goddamn executive order!
that's far enough, black boy.
i'll handle the negotiations here.  slow her down.
you fellas got a phone? ring ahead and get me john bigboote. tell him.
what? hell, i'll do it yourself if i want it done right, huh?
now you get this straight. you're up to your ass in alligators, and i'm here to drain the swamp. so i'm gonna use this phone. because it is all over for you, baby blue.  this is the secretary of defense at the poorly guarded west gate. i wanna speak to john bigboot, person to person. okay, okay. bigboot.
bigboote!
what the hell. that ain't no truncheon bomber, my friend. i never approved that!
bigboote!
bigboote?! you can run, but you can't hide. i want some facts!
operator. operator. how the hell does a person get an outside line around here?
oh, lord. never mind. forget it.
what the hell's is going on here, bigboote? where's my bomber?
i don't give a flying handshake what it is! where's my bomber?
your private life's your own concern, pal. where the hell is my bomber? look at this place. where's your pride? it's like a pigsty down here!
it's not over yet. i'll bounce back. always have. i'll come through this thing smelling like a goddamn rose-just watch me.
coming through! clear it!
can opener. just a.