(soft piano music)

- What should I throw at him?
- That son of a bitch!  They should exterminate all of 'em.
- What should I throw?
- No, not the Gatorade.  Throw the water bottle.
Where is it?
- Make sure it hits his fuckin' face.
- I don't see it.  I'll throw this.
- No, there's still some in there.
- Well he's going to pass by—Slow down so I can spit on him.
- Yea, spit on him, baby.  Build him a good one. 
- Fruit punch?
- Yea, throw that one.  Send him back where he came from.
- What the fuck is this?
- What, baby?
- You don't drink fruit punch.  You hate fruit punch!  Why is there fruit punch under the passenger seat?
- Oh, I thought it was the lemon-lime.
- You mistook the fruit punch for lemon-lime?
- Baby, you're missing him.
- Who sat here?  Has some bitch been in here?
- Ah, baby—Wait, what are you doing?
- Building a good one.
- Oh, come on, no one sat here.
- You said you had to watch wrestling.
- I did—I mean, I was.  I ran down to the store during the commercial.  I was in a hurry.
- Oh, cause you were so pumped up?  Monica drinks fruit punch!
- Then it probably was one of my friends.  It must have been there for some time, baby.  It got unlatched when you moved the seat ah
- You fuckin' dirtbag.
- It was one of my friends!
- Drop me off.
- Come on, sweetheart.
- Drop me off!
- Here?  Come on, baby.
- Drop me off or I'll turn the wheel, you fuckin' scumbag!
- What about WrestleMania?
- Give it to Monica.
- She doesn't—ah, shit.
- You're such a moron and you don't even know it. 
- Yea, well, at least I got laid.  
- So did I. 
- (soft piano music) ...I mean, we had fun, didn't we, baby?
- ...Don't try to grab my ass when I get out.  You can't have it anymore.  I'll find someone else who looks like you.

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