Monday is the new Friday.
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Artist:
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Album:The B-52s
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Track:
Me: Oh no.Carolyn: Yoko?Me: Nooo...Tracy: Hunh?Me: We're bombed.Carolyn: It's so hot.Tracy: Wanna step inside my reality?Me: It's 5:00 p.m.Carolyn: They should have, like, misters out here.Tracy: Like my body?Carolyn: What are you saying?Tracy: Nuttin', honey.Me: Not the mama.Carolyn: No...Me: The napkin... it says there's a two margarita limit. Tracy: (Sings like Bjork.) THERE'S NO LIMIT!Me: Yah, there is.Carolyn: Global warming, like, exists.Tracy: How many did you have?Me: Four.Tracy: Four?Me: I don't know.Carolyn: Boobs. Moobs. Moobs boobs.Tracy: I'd pass out on the sidewalk, but I get the feeling someone would try and sell me.Me: How did we get here?Tracy: GIVE ME THE KEYS.Me: Come get them, you hobo humpin' slobo babe.Carolyn: (Sings) Three coins in a fountain...Tracy: (Laughing hysterically.)Carolyn: Let's get deep, you guys.Me: OK. Shoot.Carolyn: What...Tracy: Uh-huh...Carolyn: What would it, like, take... to be... a judge... in... a cannabis... competition, man?Me: Happy hour with Spicoli.Carolyn: Whah?Tracy: Wheelbarrow.Me: Soil.Tracy: Corn SHUCK.Carolyn: You guys suck.
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