War on Everyone Page #3

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Why do you always pick on me?

Because you're the youngest

and most vulnerable, I guess.

That quote is Simone de Beauvoir.

If I could only find the damn thing.

Mmm, 50 bucks coming my way.

Don't pay her, Pop.

- Hey.

- Hey, hey, hey.

This jackass says you wanted to see him.

Don't call Reggie a jackass, that's rude.

And factually inaccurate.

He's more like a pathetic simpleton.

Sit down, Reggie.

So you found Jimmy?

In body, if not in spirit.

Hey, I'm sorry for Terry

making fun of your religion.

I apologise on his behalf.

Jennifer Lopez is in this.

She takes her blouse off

but you can't really see her titties.

I know!

No, stop, Your Lordship!

Stop!

Your father!

I don't give a damn about my father.

Some cops showed up at the club tonight.

Some bullshit about one of my dancers.

Ex-dancer.

Do you think it has anything

to do with us?

Maybe, maybe not.

Want me to get in touch with the Webbs,

tell them to cancel the gig?

No.

It's probably just a coincidence, but...

Get hold of the girl.

See what their story is.

Give them a warning, if necessary.

So where's this grand finale

you've been promising me, Russell?

Chill out, maestro.

It's on its way.

A million dollars.

Any questions, gentlemen?

I'm not sure whether that's supreme

self-confidence or idiocy.

But whatever.

Russell?

Do you ever think that you're God

and everything else is just an illusion?

No.

I love cheerleaders.

Is this part of your act?

I'm a majorette, moron.

I love majorettes, too.

I ain't prejudiced.

What do you want?

Brought you a new TV.

Oh.

You have a conscience after all, huh?

Do you want it or not?

I am a lineman for the county...

Weirdo.

You're the weirdo.

You're the weirdo.

Who's this a**hole?

Ex-boyfriend.

Looks like a douchebag.

He was a really intelligent guy.

He wrote a well-regarded monograph

on Andr Breton.

And he had a nice dick.

And who's this?

Ex-boyfriend.

Oh, he had a nice dick, too.

What is this about?

I don't know.

Loneliness?

It's kinda creepy.

It's like something bad's gonna happen

but there's nothing she can do about it.

Yeah.

So where did Jimmy-boy say he was going?

Kenosha.

Kenosha, Wisconsin.

- Kenosha, Wisconsin?

- Mmm-hmm.

Yeah? Right.

He ain't left town.

What makes you so sure?

ESP, darling.

Let's just leave it at that.

So why'd you become a cop?

Your heart doesn't exactly

seem to be in it.

I guess I always wanted to pervert

the course of justice.

Plus you can shoot people for no reason.

Nobody can do a goddamn thing about it.

Any sign of Reynard?

No, he's still in there.

What's going on in the big wide world?

Two hundred people died

in an earthquake in Peru.

Who gives a f***?

Peruvians?

Oof.

That looks nasty.

Are you his wife, ma'am?

Why'd you stick him, ma'am?

Ma'am! Why did you stick him?

Ma'am, that's getting to sound

just a little bit monotonous now.

Ma'am...

Can we play a little game?

Can we play a little game

of Shut The F*** Up?

Ma'am, did you do those paintings?

He's gone.

So is he.

Yeah, but did you know that

Joseph Conrad and Vincent van Gogh

both tried to kill themselves

by shooting themselves in the heart?

And both missed.

No, it's true.

No, I'm not making this sh*t up!

F*** you!

Crime-scene pricks are on their way.

She says his name is Danny.

Say anything about Reynard?

- Planning a heist or something?

- No, I can barely get a word out of her.

She's still bawling her f***ing eyes out.

Shut up!

What are we gonna do about the kid?

I mean, what can we do?

Out.

- F***!

- That was out.

Give me a second, sisters.

I'll play.

It's good.

What happened to your nose, sweetheart?

A Chihuahua bit me.

So what's up?

Clifford Reynard shuffled off

this mortal coil.

So what?

So the Webb brothers

are gonna need a new driver.

And soon, probably.

So if you hear of anything...

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm familiar with the whole

cop-slash-informant dialectic.

F***ing mishit.

You did not mean that!

Pure luck.

Oh, come on!

No need for a f***ing jihad here!

Can't take him anywhere.

My mom died young.

She was an alcoholic.

What about your dad?

I never knew him.

How about you?

He's dead.

How?

Suicide-murder.

Suicide-murder?

Was that, like, some pact thing?

Like he killed your mom

and then offed himself?

No, my mom lives in Tennessee.

So it was another woman?

- Mmm, no.

- Another man?

Yeah.

But not... He wasn't gay or anything.

Well, I don't, I don't get it.

He was a security guard

but he always wanted to be a SWAT guy.

- Why?

- He never made it.

- Why? I don't know.

- They're f***ing a**holes.

Well, so was he.

So one night, he goes into a bar

and he gets to drinking

and he gets more and more depressed

and he pulls out his gun

and he blows his brains out.

Unfortunately, there's this guy

sitting next to him.

And the bullet goes through my dad's head

and hits this other guy in his head...

...and kills him.

- No.

- Yeah.

So the inquest found that

technically, it was a suicide-murder.

Although

if my dad was dead before the bullet hit

this other guy in his head,

was that actually murder?

Philosophically speaking?

That's a very interesting question, actually.

I'll ask Bob, he'll know.

Let me know what he says.

There's no plot in these things any more.

Just straight in there.

No preamble, no nothing.

Oh, yeah. Take it!

Where's the romance?

Starts and ends with the script.

You ain't got a good script...

...you ain't got sh*t.

You guys think you're tough?

You guys think you're so tough, huh?

You think I can't do it?

Oh, God, it's real. It's going off.

Playboy Mansion.

- Hey!

- Stop!

Whatever it is,

it's happening at the mosque downtown,

1:
00 pm tomorrow. Don't ask me what.

Who's doing the driving?

The Artist Formerly Known As Prince.

How the f*** should I know?

One thing that I forgot

to tell you guys is...

Sha-bam!

How do I look?

Mmm-hmm. Suits you.

Stupid feckin' cops.

You're soaked.

You okay?

Yeah, I'm okay.

Did you have a bad dream?

Go back to sleep, babe.

Hmm.

Yeah, perfecto.

- You know what they say about vertigo?

- Mmm.

The vertigo is not the fear of falling

but the fear of wanting to fall.

Aloha, ladies.

I don't think this is right, man.

They're not gonna knock over

a f***ing mosque.

They'll have ISIS on their asses.

Or al-Qaida.

Hey, is it al-Qaida or al-Qaeda?

You say al-Qaeda, I'll say al-Qaida.

- I say al-Qaida, you say al-Qaeda.

- Al-Qaeda.

- Al-Qaeda.

- Al-Qaida.

What are you doing?

We're loitering with intent.

What the f*** does it look like

we're doing?

F*** off.

- You f*** off.

- No, you f*** off.

- You f*** off.

- No, you f*** off.

- You f*** off.

- Hey! Hey!

You might wanna be a little careful or

you'll wind up another dead schizophrenic,

you know what I'm saying?

And that bike is way too small for you.

Hey, you don't think Reggie would...

Oh, f***!

Should've gone to Wisconsin

and f***ed some sheep, Jimmy-boy.

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