DAN: What’s for lunch?
DALE: What’s your fucking problem?
DAN: It’s lunch-time.
DALE: Maybe fat pieces of shit like you should skip lunch now and again. Global poverty, ecology, so on.
DAN: I’m allowed to eat lunch.
DALE: You’re also allowed to engage in sodomy.
DAN: You ever seen a fat man cry?
DALE: Ever seen a blind rabbit?
DAN: Ever see a blond rabbi?
DALE: Ever been knifed in the gut by an ostensible friend?
DAN: “These styrofoam peanuts are non-ostensible. We apologize for the inconvenience.”
DALE: Ever fucked a piece of raw chicken while an arctic seabird looked on, holding a video camera?
DAN: Leave me be. I’m driving to L.A. this afternoon. Before I leave, I’m going to bake a seven-layer-bar with marijuana butter. Then I’ll eat the bar and drive to L.A., stopping at In-N-Out and Jack in the Box on the way. When I get to L.A., I’ll sleep in a motel, watch Pay-Per-View pornography, CNN, Adult Swim. The next morning I’ll drive to the Getty Center, and spend all day there, at a café table, writing in my journal, letting seagulls shit into my mouth.
DALE: What car will you use for this? What about your job?
DAN: I’ll be OK. Don’t worry about me. City CarShare.
DALE: You’re such a fucking f——— [Blasts DAN in the privates with a paintball gun at close range]
DAN: [Howls in pain]