Emil: Fock if I know.
Herbie: You’ve kissed off a couple hours of your precious time, not to mention the big-ass bite your checkbook just took. It’s like putting on a pair of brown shoes in the morning and then asking the first guy you pass on the street to tell you what color your shoes are. He says, “Your shoes are brown, fockstick.” And you say, “Thank you, sir. Here’s a check for $350 bucks.” Well that’s just crazy, I don’t care who you are.
Ernie: You got a point there, Herbie.
Ray: And speaking of fockstick…
Little Jimmy Iodine: Hey, Artie! Over here. Put a load on your keister.
Art: Hey gents, what do you hear, what do you know.
Ernie: I heard Aaron Rodgers was on that “Thrones” TV game show last Sunday.
Ray: I saw it. And like most focking Sundays the last couple years, he was on the losing side.
Julius: And I know the wife is telling me she wants to sign us up for such a thing, some kind of dancer-cize class. You get to dance with the exercise to boot, she says.
Ray: You got to be jerking my beefaroni. Dance and exercise? What the fock, how can dancing possibly be good for you. You ever see these ballerinas? How can possessing the physical stature of a prisoner-of-war possibly be healthy for you’s? Those gals need to eat more, and I don’t mean “dining,” I mean “chowing.” Skip the tutu; put on the feedbag.
Herbie: Dancing is one of those human baggage things we Homo sapiens still lug around from prehistoric times, like appendicitis. Dancing was discovered by the cavemen, who often stepped on sharp objects ’cause they had yet to evolve the necessary brainpower to invent shoes or the flashlight.
Ernie: And exercise can kill a guy, what the fock. Look at all these knobshines keeling over left and right from this jogging malarkey. All exercising does is to put the unnecessary wear and tear on your muscles, your bones and your what-not.
Emil: I’ll bet you’s a buck two-eighty the Neanderthal man never came back home from a day-and-a-focking-half of hardcore hunting and gathering and told the wife to hold supper for a bit ’cause he wanted to put on his shorts and go for a goddamn jog, ain’a?
Art: Any you’s guys see in the papers that some kind of researchers with fossil records are saying the so-called modern humans 40,000 years were porking the Neanderthals, who happened to be a different focking species?
Ray: A different species? Big focking deal. You ever been to Tijuana?
Little Jimmy: You kind of got to feel sorry for those Neanderthals. I don’t know much about them, but it seems they were like the trailer trash of the human line of evolution, then one day all of a sudden they’re scoring some booty from some hot piece of new species and the next thing they know, they’re extinct.
Art: I’d sure like to shake hands with the first ape-type guy who had the good sense to walk about on only two legs. Focking-A, at the time the rest of his gang probably considered it only a cheap parlor gag, but I wish I had a time machine so I could go back and give this genius some kind of reward for having the presence of mind to understand that a couple, three million years in the future, mankind couldn’t be running around on all fours when he would need two of them to pause the remote, light a cigarette, start the car, or point to someone in the audience at a presidential debate.
Little Jimmy: It’s really a shame. I just wish that the video camera would’ve been discovered before the cavemen found the wheel or invented fire so that we’d have an accurate record of this stuff and be able to give credit where credit’s due, ain’a?
(It’s getting late and I know you got to go, but thanks for letting us bend your ear ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and I told you so.)