Bunty Quotes in Chicken Run (2000)

[the chickens are panicking]

Ginger: Ladies, please. Let's not lose our heads.

Bunty: Lose our heads? Aaaahh!

Rocky: The name's Rocky. Rocky the Rhode Island Red. Rhodes for short.

Bunty: Rocky Rhodes?

Rocky: Catchy, ain't it?

Bunty: In all my life, I've never heard such a fantastic... load of tripe. Oh, face the facts, ducks. The chances of us getting out of here are a million to one.

Ginger: Then there's still a chance.

Ginger: Think, everyone, think. What *haven't* we tried yet?

Bunty: We haven't tried *not* trying to escape.

Babs: Hmm. *That* might work.

Fowler: Increase velocity!

Babs: What does that mean?

Bunty: It means pedal your flippin' giblets out!

[Edwina has been sent to the chop after she fails to produce any more eggs]

Ginger: Bunty, why didn't you give her some of yours?

Bunty: I would have. She didn't tell me. She didn't tell anyone.

[Fowler is hesitant about piloting the Crate]

Ginger: Fowler, you *have* to fly it. You're always talking about "back in your day"; well, *today* is your day.

[extends to Fowler his medal]

Bunty: You can do it, you old sausage.

Fowler: [stares at the medal for a moment, takes it, and salutes Ginger] Wing Commander T.I. Fowler, reporting for duty.

[after Rocky leaves]

Babs: Perhaps he just went on holiday.

Bunty: [grabbing Babs' knitting, throwing it on the ground, and stomping on it] Perhaps he just went to get away from your infernal knitting!

Mac: Well, you were the one that was always hitting him. Let's see how you like it.

[shoves Bunty]

Bunty: Don't push me, four-eyes.

[other chickens start fighting]

[walking in on a jazz party]

Fowler: Now see here! I, I don't recall authorising a hop!

Bunty: Oh, shut up and dance!

Mr. Tweedy: Me tools! Why you thieving little buggers!

Mac: What's the plan?

Ginger: ATTAAACK!

[tackles a startled Mr. Tweedy]

Bunty: [following suit] Nice plan!

Ginger: You know what the problem is? The fences aren't just round the farm. They're up here, in you heads. There's a better place out there, somewhere beyond that hill, and it has wide open places, and lots of trees... and grass. Can you imagine that? Cool, green grass.

Hen: Who feeds us?

Ginger: We feed ourselves.

Hen: Where's the farm?

Ginger: There is no farm.

Babs: Then, where does the farmer live?

Ginger: There is no farmer, Babs.

Babs: Is he on holiday?

Ginger: He isn't anywhere! Don't you get it? There's no morning head count, no farmers, no dogs and coops and keys, and no fences.

Bunty: In all my life I've never heard such a fantastic... load of tripe! Oh, face the facts, ducks: the chances of us getting out of here are a million to one.

Bunty: We mustn't panic. We mustn't panic!

[after a second, she and the other chickens all scream]