“Dude! What the hell are you doin’!?!”
“What’s it look like, dude?”
“Like trouble, dude, if’n y’d slow down long enough so’s I could see it. So like I said, what the …?”
“I’m eatin’ an’ runnin’, dude, if you must know.”
“OK, that explains the mustard. Maybe.”
“Look, dude, OC’s havin’ a hard day, I’m tryin’ to make him happy.”
“By throwin’ food all over the floor?! Have ya looked down there? No! Who’s gonna clean up that mess down there? Some dude, right? Right. How ’bout makin’ me happy for a change?”
“You ain’t got the delete key, dude. He does. So I’m tryin’ to make him happy by doin’ what his Quilly says.”
“So she wants you to be a pig on the wing?”
“She wants me to fast, dude.”
“Dude, you idiot! I don’t care if it’s yer track coach or yer God coach, either way you don’t go runnin’ round fastin’ wit’ a stuffed squash in yer hand. To say nothin’ o’ yer mouth.”
“So this Quilly’s got a squash racket goin’, dude. Is that my fault?”
“Keep this up, dude, and you’ll be ownin’ shares in the San Andreas. Here. Catch.”
“But, dude, I’ll drop theaaaaAAAACK! Jeez!! Y’could kill a dude makin’ him stop that quick! What is this thing, anyway?”
“A fastener, dude. What else?”
You how, there are times when I’d like to squash the dudes — like when they’re supposed to be letting you sleep!