Perfect Life Page #2

Ten years?

Do you ever wonder about

Jack and Freddy?

In what way?

Are they really just

a couple of homos,

f***ing with our minds?

(Laughing)

You can answer that last one,

seeing as how you are

Jack's current conquest.

Conquest implies

he had to fight to get me.

What the f*** are you doing?

That's cat food!

The brothers need dip,

pledge.

Fine.

Well, in that case...

(Laughing)

Not to sound like

a total slut,

which is so hard

because I'm one,

but I would not mind

being the meat

on a Jack and Freddy sandwich.

A little rich man,

poor man action, you know?

I think you need to

think real hard about

what it is that you need

in a relationship.

Otherwise, someone is just going

to end up getting hurt.

Wow.

You are such

an uptight b*tch.

Can't you take off the halo

for one second?

You want to see the horns?

(Laughing)

Don't f*** with Jack.

It's too bad

we don't have any salt.

It's not a problem, man.

(Urinating)

Are you hot?

No, man, I'm just fat.

What about

that girl over there?

The one with the nipples

that could cut glass.

Those are nipple rings.

(Coughing)

Bullshit, man.

How do you know?

Because I just got finished

chewing on them

a couple of hours ago.

(Laughing)

You get me through all of this

f***ing initiation bullshit,

I will see what I can do

about you and nipple rings.

Yeah?

(Cheering)

Hey!

Man, hey!

I don't care

what they say about you, man!

I'm glad you are going to be

a brother.

Honour, respect, privilege

right?

Privilege.

Hey, no hard feelings, man!

Abso-f***ing-lutely,

man.

Is this dip?

I f***ing love dip!

Thanks, man!

Yeah. Well done, man.

Well done.

Now go get the f***ing hose,

pledge!

You're my complete hero.

You know that,

don't you?

YOUNG JACK:

Anne is going to make you

a great first wife.

YOUNG FREDDY:

If she will ever put out.

I'm not buying the cow

until I get some milk.

That is the most perverted thing

I've ever heard of!

She said she's going to save it

until we get engaged.

When will that be?

Straight after university.

Oh?

Congratulations.

Does she know?

Well, there's no need

to tell her.

I'm not going to take no

for an answer.

You scared the sh*t

out of me!

Do you know

that ancient proverb?

You save somebody's life,

you are responsible for them

for the rest of their life?

You're an a**hole.

You do this to yourself.

Actually, a buddy of mine

made this.

It actually stimulates

the part of the brain

they call the "uber-brain"

by the Germans.

Does it work?

Well, they almost

made it to Moscow, didn't they?

FREDDY:

So how was it?

What?

Wherever it is

that you've been.

I don't remember.

Why do you always pass out

on your face like that?

Because if you pass out

on your back,

you can asphyxiate

on your own vomit.

Let us make more memories.

Sure.

Whose car are we borrowing?

Uh, Miller's.

I bumped into him.

Let's hope it's decent.

What is a decent car?

A sports car, a four by four,

a rear-wheel drive?

You know what

the best cars are?

Somebody else's.

What the f***

is Bristor doing?

Well, he's got to

earn a living.

What kind of car

would Miller drive?

(Beeping)

Jackpot.

See what kind of trouble

we can get into.

(Chirping)

I've been

looking for you.

Well?

What?

Come on, Jack,

just own up to it.

To what?

You really don't remember?

Remember what?

Maybe you hit your head

harder than I thought.

My head?

Jack, you were

driving the car!

What car, man?

Have you got Donald?

Yeah, yeah.

Well, get ready,

we have got to go.

(Clearing throat)

What the f*** is that?

Donald Hallford,

in the flesh.

Oh, are you

f***ing serious?

Bones, brother.

I take my f***ing

very seriously.

Hey, hey, hey!

Shut the f*** up!

When I said,

"Bring me Donald Hallford."

I want Donald Hallford,

not just his f***ing head!

Let's vote!

Is the skull

of Donald Hallford enough?

Nah.

I got it.

Sorry, man.

Brother, how far would you say

you are from your feet?

About five feet, ten inches.

And from your chest?

I don't know,

about a foot.

So if you were to describe

the locus point of you,

you would say that

you are in your voice,

which comes out of your mouth,

yes?

What the f***?

Just bear with me,

Einstein,

or the Potemkin goes down

for the count.

When you say that you are five

feet, ten inches from your feet,

that's ridiculous, because your

feet are a part of you, right?

Yeah.

But you naturally assume

that your feet

are not a part of you,

they are "over there."

"Dipso" facto,

we can assume

that before he died,

Donald Hallford too believed

that he existed only

in his mind, in his head.

And so in bringing you

the head of Donald Hallford,

I have brought you

the himmest part of him,

the he-ist part of he,

as confirmed by your

characterization of your feet

as "over there."

You confirmed that existence

occurs only between the ears,

and that the rest of the body

is but a support mechanism.

I don't know what

the f*** you just said, but,

either way, there has got to be

a penalty clause.

There's always

a penalty clause, man.

A late arrival, plus no body,

it is double the mission.

F*** it.

Me and Don are out of here.

No great loss.

No!

Wait, wait!

Wait!

Look, this is

too f***ing important.

Don't let them get to you.

We said we were going to

do this together.

Go.

You can't get rid of me

that easy.

Someone jacked my car.

Pretty witty, b*tch.

Tell them you want to use

Rule Four.

Trust me, Rule Four.

What about Rule Four?

Rule Four?

Rule Four.

F***, man!

F*** Rule Four!

F*** Rule Four.

F*** you.

No offence,

but you're a little

too hairy for me, brother.

That's my boy.

Don't break down.

You sure you can handle

Rule Four?

I can handle anything

your grey matter wants to

squirt out at me, bro.

Steal some more wheels, b*tch.

And swipe some balls

while you are at it.

You're going air bagging.

All right!

He's going

air bagging, man!

How do you like that?

(Cheering)

Yeah!

You look a little sick, man.

Something you ate?

Did you catch a buzz yet?

I can feel the rings

on my fingers,

even the ones

I'm not wearing.

Why do we do so much sh*t?

Because I'm a shaman.

Don't shake your head

when I say that, I'm serious.

I'm shaking my hair.

I crossed the river of death,

and I steal sand

and I bring it back,

and I'll build you castles

you will never live in.

Shamans don't drive cars.

In America they do.

The others are just pussies,

humming naked prayers

in the dark,

while walking

from somewhere to nowhere

at the slowest of speeds.

If you're a shaman,

what am I?

You are my muse.

A muse.

That's right,

we're "a-musing" together.

Are we ready?

Freddy's not here yet.

Ain't one girlfriend

enough for you?

Got meth?

No, this is

my own special sh*t.

This is

motor neuron stimulants.

This is motor crazy sh*t.

For the car?

No. DSD.

It is kind of like

what they give fighter pilots,

to make their nerves

and their reflexes sharp.

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