Is that one of those Asian hip-hop guys?

“Yes, but he’s–”

We need more Korean dudes from Delaware explaining rap culture on VH1.

“You’re not quite–”

Did he take picture-posing lessons from Bobby?

“I don’t think he–”

He looks like an extra in a Cinemax prison flick.

“The guy is actually–”

I don’t care about your friends. You know that. Call Lovato yet?

“Stop with that. It’s creepy.”

She’s in a bad decision phase, John. Be her next bad decision.

“I told you to stop it.”

Dude, we gotta get you some celebrity ‘tang. It’s been years.

“Why are you so obsessed with this.”

I want to live vicariously through your penis.

“Sad.”

It’s all I got, man. You gotta get back in the game. How about whatsherface from Star Wars?

“Rey?”

The one who looks like Keira Knightly.

“I think she lives in London.”

Go there and bang her.

“We’re not discussing this any longer. I have a wonderful and fulfilling love life. It’s easier having sex with non-famous people.”

Yeah, but it’s objectively worse. You don’t get as many points, first of all.

“Okay, true. Still: leave me alone about this.”

Sure.

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Haaaaaaate you.”

I know.

…

“John Mayer, player.”

“Hey, Josh! How we coming with taking those pants off?”

“Ah, Christ.”

“C’mon, buddy. Let’s have some sweatsock sex.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing.”

“Let’s make it a thing.”

“Explain to me again why you’re now a voracious homosexual?”

“I told you: when I travel forwards through time, I go all whoopsie.”

“Offensive.”

“I’m gonna count to ten, and then one of us is going to be inside the other one. It’s up to you to decide whether you wanna be the motorcycle or the sidecar.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Hey, man: I’m not full-time at this. Now get over here and work me off.”

“Nope.”

John, do it. He’s famous. You need the points.

“I haaaaaaate all of you.”