You don’t have to tell me, brother.
Turn your back for a second–
“–and they got some limey’s wet dong rubbing on their shoulder blades!”
“When was the last good movie Naked Nigel was in?”
Never. I just looked. He has quite literally never been in a movie that was good.
“What about Troy?”
Troy was entertaining, but not good.
“He was Legolas.”
And now he’s bottomless.
“You didn’t like Lord of the Rings?”
I have hated that intellectual property in every format it’s been presented to me: book, cartoon, movie adaptation, role-playing game. Fuck hobbits and their furry feet and stupid wizards and dumb magic jewelry and shortcuts through mountains and volcano monsters and long walks and double fuck Sean Bean. Fuck all of it.
You know he played Romeo in Romeo and Juliet?
“Makes much less sense. He’s my age. Do you think I’m aging better than him?”
Please, John. Concentrate.
“I’m starting a podcast about my nightly facial-care regimen, if you’d like to be on it.”
“That fucking guy. Slapping his schwanz against my Katydoodle’s back.”
Don’t call her that.
I think I know where you’re going with this.
“Not great dong.”
“Average at best.”
You’re being generous.
“And foreign. So, you know.”
Right. Just au naturel down there.
Cleanliness issue, as well.
“John, who are you talking to?”
“No one, Katydoodle.”
“Don’t call me that.”