The Last Word

Abel:
I love music. I just wish I didn't need it to pay the bills.

Evan:
Yeah, but if you didn't write music what would you do? Right?

Abel:
I would buy a cliff.

Evan:
Hu?

Abel:
I would buy a cliff where people could come and throw sh*t off. You know, like fax machines and computers or whatever. Things that piss them off cause they didn't work right. Like an outlet for machine rage. And the whole thing would be video taped in slow-motion so they could watch their heap of sh*t break into a million pieces back at home. Plus, for an extra couple bucks I would attach an explosive so it would blow up on impact. Just like they do in the movies. A big fire ball. That would be cool.

Abel:
Sometimes while I'm jacking off, my mind will wander, and I'll start thinking of totally random stuff, like whether I'm out of peanut butter. So later, when I'm at the store, while I'm standing in the peanut butter aisle, I'll pop a boner. I'll be standing there at the store sporting wood because I'm staring at f***ing peanut butter. So then, of course, I have to go home and masturbate.

Abel:
So now they want me to start over and write some hack Mozart crap so the customers can smarten up and answer their own tech support questions while they're on hold.

Abel:
I cheated on my wife with her therapist. I'm not smart.

Abel:
Get her some flowers and buy her a puppy. Chicks love puppies, man. I'm telling you. They're like heroine with fur.

Evan:
That's your stress therapy, scaring babies?

Abel:
Well I also do breathing exercises.

Evan:
Where were you born?

Charlotte:
Bethesda, Maryland.

Evan:
I've never been there; is it nice?

Charlotte:
I don't remember; I was zero at the time.

Evan:
Alright, look. I... I don't really... date much.

Charlotte:
And you're doing great. So far, since we've been here, you haven't scoped out any other chicks, or stolen my credit card. Which is a lot more than I can say for my last date. So, in my book, you're aces.