Trillaphon: "Alright...who ordered the fucking special?!"
Hydrogen: That guy has a velcro bib that looks like a wifebeater, so he can tear it off repeatedly during fights without having to waste all his money on shirts.
Trillaphon: He's the Edison of our time. We're going to make a fortune when we launch ShirtBib.com.
Hydrogen: This place is like the shitty redneck dive bar from Roadhouse, except in this town the bouncers grab all the scum and throw them into the building.
Trillaphon: I wonder if he rips off that bib when he goes into Red Lobster so that he can put on the lobster bib instead, or if he puts the lobster one over it to keep from getting schmutz on it. Or maybe he just stands there flexing while the wait staff anoint his muscles in clarified butter and slide him back and forth between the kitchen and dining room like a greased up crabeater seal with bus trays all over his back.
"Oh, look, it's me from the future! And there's another me, made of anti-matter! All three of us are reaching out towards the exact same point in space, our fingertips on a collision course."
Levi Johnston finally comes clean about his involvement in the Weinstein scandal and details a disgusting incident that required a green screen.
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