MOG

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.