[wrestling elderly woman]
She was in Hong Kong! She’s the killer!
She’s my mother!
Couldn’t she be both?
Three days ago, I loathed you. I used to dream about you getting hit by a cab. Then we had our little adventure up in Alaska and things started to changed. Things changed when we kissed. And when you told me about your tattoo. Even when you checked me out when we were naked. But I didn’t realize any of this, until I was standing alone… in a barn… wifeless. Now, you could imagine my disappointment when it suddenly dawned on me that the woman I love is about to be kicked out of the country. So Margaret, marry me, because I’d like to date you.
Our love fern! You let it die!
No, honey, it’s just sleeping.
Let me tell you something. There’s no nobility in poverty. I’ve been a poor man, and I’ve been a rich man. And I choose rich every fucking time.
Where’s the trolley boy?
In the freezer.
Did you say ”cool off?”
No I didn’t say anything…
Well, there was the bit that you missed where I distracted him with the cuddly monkey then I said ”play time’s over” and I hit him in the head with the peace lily.
You’re off the fuckin’ chain!
[Nick, Dale and Kurt are visiting Dave in prison]
Hello Nick, guy who saved my life, guy who fucked my wife.
This is the true and impossible story of my very great love. In the hope that she will not read this and reproach me, I have withheld many telling details: her name, the particulars of her birth and upbringing, and any identifying scars or birth marks. All the same, I cannot help but write this for her, to tell her ”I’m sorry for every word I wrote to change you, I’m sorry for so many things. I couldn’t see you when you were here and, now that you’re gone, I see you everywhere.” One may read this and think it’s magic, but falling in love is an act of magic, so is writing. It was once said of Catcher In The Rye, ”That rare miracle of fiction has again come to pass: a human being has been created out of ink, paper and the imagination.” I am no J.D. Salinger, but I have witnessed a rare miracle. Any writer can attest: in the luckiest, happiest state, the words are not coming from you, but through you. She came to me wholly herself, I was just lucky enough to be there to catch her.
Mary, why do you wear those stupid red boots all the time? You wanna know why? Because it makes my toes feel like 10 friends on a camping trip, that’s why.