Michael: Hey guys.
Brett: 'Sup guy.
Scott: How's it going, guy.
Michael: Can you believe old man Johnson and his bullshit attitude?
Brett: Um. Well..
Michael: Ok, you're my people, and i know you'll give it to me straight. How did I do?
Brett: The truth, Michael? It was...eh.
Michael: Aw, crap. I'm so fucking dead. I might as well return this beautiful suit so they can give it to someone who deserves it.
Scott: Hey relax, guy.
Michael: No, no, no, no, Scott! I will not relax. He really hated my piecharts. Even the orange ones. Christ, what kind of maniac doesn't like orange piecharts? I feel like i'm lost in Crazytown. Oh gosh, I need a drink.
Scott: Yeah, Bro. He really hates you.
Michael: Thanks, alot Scott.
Brett: Michael. Just stop it. This is 1981. Life moves fast. Stop whinging like a little girl. It's disgusting. And besides, you can't return the suit because we bought the set together. And I know I'm not ready to part with these threads, pimpin'.
Brett: I hear that, dawg.
Michael: Guys, I just feel lately like I'm some kind of suave urban Indiana jones in my own personal temple of doom.
Scott: Stop being so hard on yourself. You're more like that squawky Chinese kid to my Dr. Jones.
Brett: First of all, I'm Dr. Jones. Scott, you're built like a Chinese boy. And Michael, that leaves only one spot: The crying lady. Look. You sucked today. Big deal, brosef.
Scott: Plus you suck alot of the time, so I don't think Johnson will notice, Mike.
Brett: Shut it, Scott. Go huff some glue.
Scott: Spoken like a true non-glue sniffer. Stop trying to keep me down. This bird has to soar.
Michael: You know what? You guys are awful friends. I'm outta here. If you need me I'll be in the park eating big league chew. Peace out, losers.
(totally boss picture via Vintage ads)
Brett: 'Sup guy.
Scott: How's it going, guy.
Michael: Can you believe old man Johnson and his bullshit attitude?
Brett: Um. Well..
Michael: Ok, you're my people, and i know you'll give it to me straight. How did I do?
Brett: The truth, Michael? It was...eh.
Michael: Aw, crap. I'm so fucking dead. I might as well return this beautiful suit so they can give it to someone who deserves it.
Scott: Hey relax, guy.
Michael: No, no, no, no, Scott! I will not relax. He really hated my piecharts. Even the orange ones. Christ, what kind of maniac doesn't like orange piecharts? I feel like i'm lost in Crazytown. Oh gosh, I need a drink.
Scott: Yeah, Bro. He really hates you.
Michael: Thanks, alot Scott.
Brett: Michael. Just stop it. This is 1981. Life moves fast. Stop whinging like a little girl. It's disgusting. And besides, you can't return the suit because we bought the set together. And I know I'm not ready to part with these threads, pimpin'.
Brett: I hear that, dawg.
Michael: Guys, I just feel lately like I'm some kind of suave urban Indiana jones in my own personal temple of doom.
Scott: Stop being so hard on yourself. You're more like that squawky Chinese kid to my Dr. Jones.
Brett: First of all, I'm Dr. Jones. Scott, you're built like a Chinese boy. And Michael, that leaves only one spot: The crying lady. Look. You sucked today. Big deal, brosef.
Scott: Plus you suck alot of the time, so I don't think Johnson will notice, Mike.
Brett: Shut it, Scott. Go huff some glue.
Scott: Spoken like a true non-glue sniffer. Stop trying to keep me down. This bird has to soar.
Michael: You know what? You guys are awful friends. I'm outta here. If you need me I'll be in the park eating big league chew. Peace out, losers.
(totally boss picture via Vintage ads)
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