What are you doing?
“I sing the body electric. And the boner erected.
Please don’t sing Fame.
“Why not? SKANK! I’m gonna plo-ow forever!”
“Skank, it’ll see me and cry.”
“Remember, remember, remember: SKANK!”
I can’t imagine why the Dead never let you sing.
“Garcia was intimidated by my voice.”
“Pipes of an angel, pipe of a drummer. Recorded Nessun Dorma with the Cleveland Philharmonic in ’92.”
No you most certainly did not.
“The reviews called me transcendent, but I don’t do it for the reviews. I do it for the fans. Plus, the Cleveland Phil’s entire flute section is female, and I always wanted to bang an entire section of something.”
None of this happened.
“Those classical musician broads? Hoo boy. They spend their whole lives all by themselves in these little tiny practice rooms, so the second they get their hands on dong? Hog wild.”
Right. But now–
–you’re at Sundance.
“I was at Sundance two weeks ago. I’ve already been to Mexico and back.”
You know as well as everyone else that this universe has an impressionistic timeline.
“Whatever. Hate this weather, man. I’m an island boy.”
Utah is cold in the winter.
“Everybody’s wearing big puffy coats! Can’t see a titty. Not one single titty!”
I understand your frustration.
“But I never knew about film festivals, man. There are some seriously insecure women here. Directors of short films. Chicks in their late-30’s with podcasts. Dakota Fanning.”
Stay away from Dakota Fanning.
“Yeah, she’s too young for me. I wouldn’t touch her.”
“I showed it to her.”
Jesus, Billy. Who’s that guy behind you?
“Never seen him before.”