hey, don't be knockin' the chevette.
yeah, you're acting like we all just got the diff'rent strokes curse or something.
yeah, i hate to love and leave ya, but i've been over this x-files shit since the sixth season.
whoohoo! you see that shit? right there? that's my fuckin' car right there! oh god, that's dope.
damn, is that dogshit?
just shut the fuck up and maybe you'll live.
why the hell did i ever get on route 18 in the first place? that's me, mr. dumb fucking luck.
that lucky bastard.
last july i dialed a wrong number and got a radio station by accident. they asked me what number means "good luck" in jewish.
anyway, i guessed it right and won these.
the best way to get to yankee stadium is route 18.
it's like forrest gump.
be careful. and even if you don't believe, give this to nora.
man with hooks. i see a man with hooks. someone?!?!
maybe they were all duds.
can i ask you a question?
when i die. is it gonna hurt?
and you're gonna die after me, right?
would you take these? and if i die.  could you throw all my drugs out? paraphernalia, porno, you know.  anything that would break my mom's heart.
is this safe, guys? i mean, someone in this car is about to get whacked. do the rest of us really feel like sitting next to him? or her. hopefully her.
here's what i don't get. for nine months, death does all this shit to make sure i win these tickets and end up on route 18 at exactly the right time for the pile up.
but why single me out? what am i in the great scheme of things? you'd think i stepped off flight 180 or something.  fucking weird, man.
yeah, so what happened?
who?
remember the theater in paris that collapsed last year, killed everyone inside?
i had tickets to go, but one day i'm in paris, trippin' on acid, sippin' lattes an' such, and this dude gets whacked by a falling sign.
freaked me out so bad i hid in a shopping cart for four hours. 'course, missed the show.
watch it, dude!
i dunno. i think i gave it to eugene back at your place.