Hey, Jim Irsay. You look happy.
“Gonna get me a new gee-tar! YEEEEE-HA! I’m the fuckin’ man!”
Oh, yeah: Wolf’s going up for auction.
“Ol’ Jimmy’s gonna snap that sumbitch RIGHT up! Gonna show it to waitresses, get me some poon.”
You know the proceeds are going to the SPLC, right?
“That’s good. I love animals.”
Not the SPCA. the Southern Poverty Law Center.
“They take drunk driving cases? All the lawyers in Indianapolis are sick of my shit.”
I don’t think so. You’ve made up your mind? Definitely buying Wolf?
“Shit, yeah. I already filled up two gym bags with crumpled twenties.”
Fairly sure auction houses won’t accept that.
“There’s a few dozen vikes under the cash.”
That doesn’t make it better.
“Few dozen vikes makes everything better, boy.”
“Man, been forever since I bought me a Jerry gee-tar. I celebrate special.”
“Cover myself in baby oil, find me a single mom with flat feet, and road trip to Reno.”
“I’m more of a Reno guy.”
You totally are.
“Gimme one second, boy. Gotta drain the lizard.”
What the fuck happened!? You were gone 45 seconds.
“Made a pit stop at Fuddrucker’s. Snorted some shots, drank some pills. Had a fajita.”
Who the fuck is that?
“This guy here? This is my fuckin’ guy right here.”
Sure. Why are you wearing that?
“Stopped at Foot Locker and stole it off a high school kid.”
Well, that’s not so bad. Usually people around here take their dicks out at Foot Locker.
“I had my dick out while I was stealin’ the shirt.”
Of course. Enjoy your guitar, Jim.
“I’m enjoyin’ life!”
You seem to be.