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you wouldn't mind excusing Sloane,
I'd appreciate lt.
Sure, I'd be happy to.
You just produce a corpse,
and I'll release Sloane.
I want to see this dead grandmother
first-hand.
It's all right, it's Ferris Bueller.
I'm setting a trap for him.
Ed, I'm sorry, did you say
you wanted to see a body?
Yeah, roll her old bones over here
and I'll dig up your daughter.
That's school policy.
Was this your mother?
No, my wife's mother.
- Ed Rooney's Office.
- This is Ferris Bueller for Mr Rooney.
Hold...
I'll tell you what, dipshit,
if you don't like my policies, -
- you can come down here
and smooch my big old white butt.
- Pucker up, Buttercup. What?
- Ferris Bueller is on line two.
Mr Rooney,
I'm not feeling very well today.
Could my sister bring home
any assignments from my classes?
Have a nice day.
Mr Peterson...
I think I owe you an apology.
- I should say you do.
- I...
I think you should be sorry,
for Christ's sake.
A family member dies and you
insult me! What's wrong with you?
Well... I really don't know.
I didn't think I was talking to you.
You know that I would never
deliberately insult you like that.
Pardon my French,
but you're an asshole! Asshole!
You're absolutely right, sir.
Find out where she is.
- This isn't over yet. Do you read me?
- Loud and clear, Mr Peterson.
- Call me sir, goddammit!
- Yes, sir.
That's better.
You mind your P's and Q's,
and remember who you're dealing with.
Bueller. Ferris Bueller.
I'm scared.
What if he recognises my voice?
Lmpossible. You're doing great.
Rooney!
Rooney, calm down.
- Just a moment.
- Just a little office difficulty.
I don't have all day to bark at you,
so I'm going to make this short.
I want my daughter out
in front of the school by herself.
- What?
- That's too suspicious.
- Talk.
- You!
- Talk!
- Rooney! Pay attention.
I want you out there with her.
I want a few words with you.
We don't have time to talk right now.
We'll get together over lunch.
- What's wrong with you?
- Wait!
- Where's your brain?
- Why did you kick me?
How can we pick up Sloane
if Rooney is there with her?
I said for her to be there alone
and you freaked.
I didn't hit you.
I lightly slapped you.
You hit me.
Don't ask me to participate in your crap
if you don't like the way I do it.
You make me get out of bed
and come here.
You make me make a phoney call
to Edward Rooney.
The man could squash my nuts.
- And you deliberately hurt my feelings.
- No.
I did not deliberately
hurt your feelings. I didn't.
- What are you doing?
- See you later. I'm going home.
- Have a nice life.
- Cameron, wait a minute.
I didn't mean to lose my temper.
I'm sorry, it was uncalled for.
- Seriously?
- Yeah.
- Here you go.
- Thank you.
You did screw up though, right?
- Not that it was completely your fault.
- Why?
To fix the situation, I'm going
to have to ask you for a favour.
The 1961 Ferrari 250 GT California.
Less than a hundred were made.
My father spent
three years restoring this car.
It is his love. It is his passion.
It is his fault
he didn't lock the garage.
Ferris, what are you talking about?
My father loves this car more than life.
A man with such priorities
doesn't deserve this fine automobile.
No.
Apparently you don't understand.
He never drives it.
He just rubs it with a diaper.
Remember how insane he went
when I broke my retainer?
That was a piece of plastic.
This is a Ferrari.
We can't pick up Sloane in your car.
Mr Rooney would never believe
Mr Peterson drives that piece of shit.
- It's not a piece of shit.
- It is.
Don't worry. I don't even have
a piece of shit. I have to envy yours.
I'm sorry...
There's nothing else we can do.
- He knows the mileage.
- He doesn't trust you?
- Never has, never will.
- This is real simple.
Whatever miles we put on,
we'll take off.
- We'll drive home backwards.
- No.
No, Ferris, forget it.
I'm putting my foot down.
How about we rent a nice

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