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Hey Jason, listen. I got this new Porsche, right?
And this cool vanity plate.
Just drove it off the lot, right? You need someone to watch it? Exactly; I want you to make sure that no one touches it. Later that day...
Nice Porsche. Oh it’s not mi—I mean, yeah. Just drove it off the lot today. I like the license plate. Yeah, pretty cool, huh?
When did Jason get enough cash for a Porsche?
Jason’s got a new car!
Mac, Sam…I think I have a hard-on. Oh my god! Does that plate really say ‘pwnzorz?’
And cock, and aim and… Dude! Watch the gas tank!
Alright, you owe me ten bucks. What? Don’t have it? Then give me the gun.
Bomb should have gone off by now…
I have to go; my new car sense is tingling.
Dude, where’s my car? You know what happened to your hotel? …Yes. ...Ask Spinelli.
Yello? Where the fuck’s my car?
I’m serious, Fruit Cup. ...Ask Jason.
I’m wearing out this stress ball, Jason. Where the hell’s my car? *sigh* Under a pile of rubble and a few bullet casings. But that was my favorite car. I liked it better than the Mazaratti and the Mercedes and the Ferrari. It was like they all had a baby and I loved it more. I know man. I’m sorry... You want a hug? …yes. |
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