Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose (3x04)
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: "I foresee a rocky romance between superstar Madonna and super-witness Kato Kaelin." Well, that's a gimme, that's not really going out on a limb, is it? "I foresee Author J. D. Salinger finally publishing a new novel and hitting the talk show circuit to promote it." Hmmm... that's just playing the odds. "I foresee the revelation that not Elvis, but rather Buddy Holly is still alive, having faked his own death so many years ago. Holly will not only reemerge but also regroup with the Crickets and they will headline in next year's Lalapalaza..." Lalapaz... pazoola? What the hell is Lalapalazo?
CLERK: Who's Buddy Holly?
PUPPET: I would just like for you to be able to tell me why I am going to be doing the things I'm going to be doing?
MADAME ZELMA: Madame Zelma, she is a palm reader, not a psychologist.
PUPPET: I know, I know, it's just... I think I've somehow caught a glimpse of my own future, myself. And I see me doing things that... that just seem so out of character for me. I mean, these are things that not only do I not want to be doing, but I can't even imagine myself capable of doing and yet, there I am. I'm doing them.
MADAME ZELMA: Mister... please, you're hurting me.
PUPPET: I know, I know... and I'm sorry. But you're a fortune teller.
MADAME ZELMA: No...
PUPPET: You should've seen this coming.
PHOTOGRAPHER: They say the eyes capture the last image the murder victim sees before they're killed.
CLINE: So what do they say about the entrails?
CLINE: Who the hell are you?
MULDER: I'm Agent Mulder. This is Agent Scully.
HAVEZ: We're thinking this guy might be a satanist, what with the eyeballs.
MULDER: Satanists take the eyeballs and leave the body, not vice-versa. Not in anything but modern myths.
CLINE: He's gouging eyes for no reason?
SCULLY: No, nobody does anything without a reason.
CLINE: Does it explain the entrails?
MULDER: Anthropomancy. It was once believed that you could divine your future by vivisecting a human being and studying the entrails.
MULDER: Well, let me impress you with my psychic ability. Mister Yappi proclaimed the victim's body would be found near water, he saw a church or a school in the vicinity, he got a flash of the letter "S" and/or the number "seven."
CLINE: So what's your point?
MULDER: Well, his leads are so vague as to be practically useless yet easily interpreted to be correct after the fact.
SCULLY: He said the killer doesn't feel in control of his own life but that's true of everyone at times.
CLINE: Look, all I know is that so far, Yappi has provided more solid, concrete leads on this case than you have. Now, if you don't mind, I have to get an A.P.B. out on a white male, age seventeen to thirty-four, with or without a beard, maybe a tattoo... who's impotent.
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: Mister Gordon, uh, as a young husband, I think you're going to find that your new responsibilities to your family take precedent over your recreational needs.
YOUNG HUSBAND: But this is a really good boat.
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: You don't get it, do you, kid? Two years from now, while driving down Route 91... coming home to your wife and baby daughter... you're going to be hit head-on by a drunk... driving a blue '87 mustang. You'll end up looking worse than sixty feet of bad road your body slides across... after flying out your front windshield.
YOUNG HUSBAND: Mister... you really need to work on your closing technique.
CLINE: It's kind of creepy, isn't it? The Stupendous Yappi said the first victim's body would be dumped somewhere, then we find it in a dumpster.
MULDER: Oooh, I just got a chill down my spine.
MULDER: How had the eyes been cut out?
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: By a piece of crystal ball, of all cockamamie things.
MULDER: We did find some crystal shards on the body, how do you know it was from a crystal ball?
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: Well, well, it just, it just figures, I mean, uh... if a guy goes to kill a fortune teller, uh, he's obviously going to assault her with her own crystal ball and, uh, use the shattered piece as a sort of lance. Isn't he?
SCULLY: Mulder, the human mind naturally seeks meaningful patterns and configurations in things that don't inherently have any. Given the suggestion of a particular image, you can't help but see that shape somewhere. If that tank weren't there, you'd see it in a, in a rock or in a tree...
MULDER: But you do admit to having this gift.
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: Oh, I got it, all right. The only problem is, it's non-returnable.
MULDER: Mister Bruckman, you possess an ability that not only has staggering implications upon physics and human consciousness, but it's one which most people, myself included, would be envious of. Yet you seem to treat it with disdain.
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: Do you want to know how you're going to die?
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: How can I see the future if it didn't already exist?
MULDER: Then if the future is written, then why bother to do anything?
MULDER: I can't stand by and watch people die without doing everything in my, albeit unsupernatural, power to interfere with that fate.
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: Well, you see, that's another reason I can't help you catch this guy. I might adversely affect the fate of the future. I mean, his next victim might be the mother of the daughter whose son invents the time machine. Then the son goes back in time and changes world history and then Columbus never discovers America, man never lands on the moon, the U.S. never invades Grenada... Or something less significant... resulting in the fact that my father never meets my mother and consequently, I'm never born.
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: I don't know what it [statue] is but it belonged to one of the victims.
MULDER: That's a hit. In psychical research parlance, a correct answer's a "hit," an incorrect answer's a "miss."
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: The guy who cast the mold for this will die of prostate cancer at the age of eighty-two. Hit or miss?
MULDER: I have no way of verifying that information.
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: Then why'd you ask me?
MULDER: Do you receive any other impressions from it?
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: It's ugly.
SCULLY: I managed to trace the insignia to an investment firm called Uranus Unlimited. They provide market strategies based on astrological forecasts. And the company is owned by a man named...
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: Claude Dukenfield. Age forty-three. 316 Roundview Lane. Divorced with two children. Makes about eighty-seven thousand a year. Non-smoker.
MULDER: Is that a hit or a miss?
SCULLY: As far as I know, that's correct.
MULDER: You got all that information just by handling that keychain?
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: Oh, no. I sold him a policy a couple of months ago.
SCULLY: You prognosticated Buddy Holly's death?
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: Oh, God, no. Why would I want to do that? But I did have a ticket to see him perform the next night. Actually, I was a bigger fan of the Big Bopper than Buddy Holly. "Chantilly Lace," that was the song.
MULDER: I'm not following.
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: There's... the Big Bopper was not supposed to be on the plane with Buddy Holly. He won the seat from somebody else by flipping a coin for it.
MULDER: I'm still not following.
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: Imagine all the things that had to occur, not only in his life, but in everybody else's, to arrange it so on that particular night, the Big Bopper would be in a position to live or die depending on a flipping coin. I became so obsessed with that idea that I gradually became capable of seeing the specifics of everybody's death.
MULDER: If coincidences are just coincidences, why do they feel so contrived?
MULDER: Well, I've had dreams in my life where I had a vision and then later on, I've seen that vision in reality and then... and as a psychic, have you ever had prophetic dreams like that?
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: I have only one dream. I dream it ever night. You're not one of those people who turns everything into a sexual symbol, are you?
MULDER: No, no, I'm not a Freudian, no.
CLYDE BRUCKMAN: I'm lying naked in a field of red tulips. I'm not concerned with where I am or how I got there. I'm at peace and it's then that I realize I'm dead. My body begins to turn a greenish-white with spots of purple. Next, the insects arrive. The inevitable follows, putridity and liquescence. Before I know it, I'm nothing but bones. When I start fading to dust, I lose whatever care I still might have had about where my clothes are and as I begin to feel myself slipping away towards I know not what...
MULDER: If my Miss Manners serves me right, that protrusion from his left cornea is a salad fork.
SCULLY: It's the bellhop. He's the killer, the bellhop at the hotel!
CLINE: How the hell does she know that?
MULDER: Woman's intuition.