How many times can you spot the letter "h" in:
Schette: So bored.
Faulk: You’re bored? Our wives are in a warehouse surrounded by the Russian Mafia with guns to their heads and you’re bored?!
Schette: I wanna get in on this action. I don’t wanna be cooped up in here with you herbs.
Faulk: Don’t call me a herb.
Faulk: Stop it!
Chief: Faulk and Schette, be quiet! You’re lucky the British even brought you along. Of course you’re locked up, you broke into a prison.
Schette: I thought it was breaking out that was bad.
Faulkland: Alright then, Chief. Warehouse 14, is it?
Chief: That’s right. If he’s there, he’ll have men at every door.
Faulkland: Right. 


Schette: Ridiculous. Ricky, gimme a war the British lost to the Russians.
Faulk: Russo-Briton War of 1819.
Faulkland: You made that up.
Faulk: (hangs head shamefully) Yeah.
Faulkland: Boom.  Cheerio!
Schette: It’s not even breakfast time any–ah, she’s gone.
Bernadette: (breathing heavily) I really think I need to get to a doctor.
Rublov: No doctor.
Mary: She’s eight-and-a-half months pregnant.
Rublov: No doctor!
Rublov: You are doctor. You are Mob doctor. Husband bring you to fix one of my lieutenants months ago. You did good job. Didn’t she, Alex?
Alex: Only hurts when I breathe!
Bernadette: That’s actually not good.
Rublov: You doctor. You deliver child.
Bernadette: Kinda not how it works.
Rublov: Nonsense. In my village, women deliver their own all of the time. Is simple process.
Mary: (frowning) You don’t have a lot of healthy relationships with women, do you?
Alex: (shouting) Only with hooker! And she not healthy!
Rublov: (turning back to the female hostages) But yes, only with hooker. And she very not healthy.
Faulkland: (over the radio) We have shots fired. Men, advance and proceed with caution.
Allibaster: Oh, bollocks.
Faulkland: Fall back, men! Fall back!
Faulk: Almost got it.
Chief: Was anybody hit?
Schette: Got what, Ricky?
Faulk: Almost got these handcuffs unlocked.
Chief: (glances down at a red patch spreading across his chest) Oh, God.
Schette: How do you expect to unlock handcuffs, Houdini? If it involves us having to get into some sort of complicated ’69’ position, I am not interested.
Faulk: Relax. I’m usin’ this hairpin.
Chief: Oh God, I’ve been shot!
Schette: Shush, Chief. Where’d you get that hairpin from, Rick?
Faulk: Black people’s hair is different from white people’s hair.
Chief: Losin’ a lotta blood here!
Schette: Shush it, Chief. The Russians will hear you. God what do they have, unlimited ammo out there?
Faulk: Got it!
Schette: Whoa! Did you see that, Chief?
Chief: I think I’m going to faint.
Schette: You do that, Chief. You do that.
Rublov: For Mother Russia!
Mary: You’re a monster.
Rublov: Relax. They’re not even Americans. They’re British.
Mary: Well…you’re still not a nice person.
Bernadette: All this noise and commotion can’t be good for the baby.
Mary: Those are all valid complaints.
Rublov: You’re a valid complaint! Ah!  I don’t like your husband, the Schette. I prefer your husband, pregnant lady. The Faulk. He is sensible one.
Schette: Well, Chief’s dead. Whatcha thinkin’, Rick?

Schette: Well, that’s not very sensible. We don’t have any guns, ya goober. Let’s just go home until this all blows over.
Faulk: Our wives are in there, Harry!
Schette: Ah crap, I forgot about that. Man, friggin’ Rublov. I’ll be honest with you, I really can’t stand that guy.
Faulk: We need to find guns.
Schette: Lotta dead bodies out there. Let’s just take one of theirs.
Faulk: We’re not walking into a war zone unarmed. Let’s check the van.
Schette: So, where does the hairpin go?
Faulkland: Rublov! Get out here, ya wanker!
Rublov: What is this? “Wanker”?
Rublov: So, it has come to this.
Faulkland: Indeed. I’ve been chasing you for a long time, Andrei Rublov.
Rublov: I always knew it would end like this. Just not at hands of woman.
Faulkland: The days of the Borscht Crime Syndicate are over.
 Borscht is still out there, plotting. He will come for you.
Faulkland: Not if I have anything to say about it.

Schette: (hollering to no one in particular) It’s the best we could do on short notice!

Schette: Whoa, what happened here?
Faulk: Well, there was that gunfight.
Faulk: Looks like everybody’s dead.
Schette: Well, that solves that. Let’s go home, buddy.
Faulk: Our wives?
Bernadette: I think my water just broke.
Faulk: You’re safe now, baby. I love you.
Bernadette: That’s great, hon. Can we go to a hospital?
Schette: Yeesh, gonna have to hose the Chief outta there. So. New York. LA. Where to next?
Faulk: (ponders) I’ve heard good things about Miami.

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The text includes two hundred and twenty-seven "h"s in total.
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