“Getting in touch with nature, white guy-style.”
And that is?
“Surveying my property while mulling over the developer’s offer on it.”
It’s not quite the relationship with Mother Earth that, say, the Arapahoe had.
“Arapahoe didn’t have payroll to make.”
Granted. You looking forward to July?
“Sure. It’s gonna be fun. Bobby and Mickey sent me down to where they’ve been buying their clothes all these years–”
You went to Little Aleppo?
“–and they hooked your boy up. Check out my steez.”
“On a scale of one to ten, with one being the lowest and ten being the highest: where is my fleek? You’ve got a good eye for that, fleek.”
“You haven’t said anything.”
I have not, no.
“So: it’s so on fleek that you’re speechless?”
I have nothing to say; if you choose to categorize that as being speechless, I shall not stop you.
“Am I or am I not–”
Please stop saying fleek, Bruce Hornsby.