LL: Are you getting reception? Aren’t we supposed to be tweeting about this?

SR: We’re not supposed to tweet. We’re just supposed to talk.

PD: And foock.

LL: Huh?

PD: Let’s foock, doll. My couch or yours?

LL: Um, I’m not into that. And we’re on TV.

PD: I quite enjoy that, actually. It turns me on.

SR: All right…what the hell. Sure. If it’s what we’re supposed to do. Come here, Petey.

PD: Get offa me, ya coont. I don’t want yer nasty hands anywhere on me. I know where they’ve been.

LL: Hey!

PD: What? Are ye still gay for her or something?

LL: What if I am?

PD: You can do better than that sloot. Look, doll, I’m right here.

LL: Ew! Put that away.

SR: Hey, Linds. I’ll make out with you…if he joins in.

PD: Foock no! I’ve sworn off DJs.

LL: Well, I’ve sworn off cokeheads.

PD: Like foock ya have.

SR: This is just stupid. How long does this show go on?

LL: Forever, I think. This sucks.

SR: Shit.

PD: Have ya tried that bell?

LL: Yes. It doesn’t work.

PD: Bollocks! No foocking room service? I wanted a bloody chocolate cream pie.

LL: We’re not supposed to get hungry here. Did you want it to eat?

PD: No, to foock you on!

LL: Gross.

SR: Hot.

PD: Anyone got a fag?

LL: Excuse me?

SR: He means a cigarette. Sorry, no.

PD: Foooooooock.

– Jay Gabler