This is the worst Eurovision performance yet.
“I can’t figure that shit out, dude. It’s like it’s too gay and not gay enough at once.”
Well observed.
“Dude, look. Garcia’s briefcase. Wanna touch it?”
No.
“Fifty bucks, you can touch it. Hundred gets you a selfie with it.”
This is not what he wanted.
“It totally is. Right before he died, Garcia told me, ‘Take all my knick-knacks and turn them into religious icons; then charge people a cover to see them.” He said that right to me.”
You never met Garcia.
“I meant Tiff.”
Stop this tomfoolery. Put that thing down. You don’t know what it’s capable of.
“Capable of? It’s a briefcase.”
Respect the ‘case, Shapiro.
“What’s it gonna do? Eat me?”
SHWAZZASKWAMM!
Shapiro?
“I ate him.”
Hey, Garcia’s Briefcase of Infinite Felonies. Been a while.
“Whose fault is that? You know where I’ve been.”
I don’t.
“Under Precarious’ bed.”
In Little Aleppo?
“Where else?”
Well, that could be an interesting plot twist.
“Yeah, I’m fascinating.”
You gonna spit up Shapiro?
“Eventually. Boy needs to learn respect. I won’t be paraded about like a pair of honkers at wet tee-shirt night.”
I feel you.
“And he’s not even wearing gloves. Nah, he exists in the Space Without Boundaries for a little bit.”
Space Without Boundaries?
“It gets weird inside me. Everything’s kind…globby…until an outside will gets imposed. You know that line about ‘It all melts into one?’ Well, Hunter was talking about me.”
Cool.
“Yeah, I’m fucking awesome.”
Recent Comments