The last thing I want to be remembered as is an annoying blabbermouth. (chuckles) You know, nothing grinds my gears worse than some chowder-head who doesn't know when to keep his big trap shut. You catch me running off at the mouth, just give me a poke in the chops.
How may I help you? –You can start by wiping that fucking dumb-ass smile off your rosy fucking cheeks. And you can give me a fucking automobile. A fucking Datsun, a fucking Toyota, a fucking Mustang, a fucking Buick. Four fucking wheels and a seat! –I really don't care for the way you're speaking to me. –And I really don't care for the way your company left me in the middle of fucking nowhere with fucking keys to a fucking car that isn't fucking there. And I really didn't care to fucking walk down a fucking highway and across a fucking runway to get back here to have you smile in my fucking face. I want a fucking car right fucking now. –May I see your rental agreement? –I threw it away. –Tsk. Oh boy. –'Oh boy,' what? –You're fucked.