Hammer: May I help you sir?
Rib Joint Customer: How much for an order of ribs?
Rib Joint Customer: $2.50? How many ribs do I get with that?
Hammer: Ahhh, about five
Rib Joint Customer: Five! [does math on his hand] So I guess that’s about fifty cents a rib, huh?
Hammer: Yeah, about.
Rib Joint Customer: K, lemme get one.
Hammer: Right on. [yells to the cook] One order!
Slammer: One order of ribs.
Rib Joint Customer: No, no. . .no, no. . .one rib.
Hammer: One. Rib.
Rib Joint Customer: I sure am hungry.
Hammer: Uhhhh, make that. . .one. . .rib. To go.
Slammer: One rib?
Hammer: One rib. . . What else?
Rib Joint Customer: You got any soda?
Hammer: One… dollar.
Rib Joint Customer: Aww, come’on now. . .look out for a brotha. . .man. . .come’on. . .Hey check this out, why don’t you let me get a sip for fifteen cents?
Hammer: My cups cost more than fifteen cents!
Rib Joint Customer: Alright, fuck the cup, pour it in my hands for a dime.
Hammer: Look you greasy hair Jheri curl wearin. . .pay me & get the hell out of my store!
Rib Joint Customer: [Takes out change, counts it, then pulls out a huge wad of bills] You got change for a hundred?
Hammer: Look, we’re gonna need orthopedic surgeon to remove my foot from your ass!
Detective Lee Butters: [Phone rings] Hello? Hello? [No one’s there] Shit! Fucking phones, man! You get a call, they cut you off. You make a call, they cut you off! What’s the point?
Leo Getz: Don’t you know what they’re doing, kid? They fuck you with cell phones. That’s what it is. They love when you get cut off. You know why? Huh? You know why? Because when you call back – which they know you’re gonna do – they charge you for that fucking first minute again at that high rate.
Detective Lee Butters: If you’re lucky enough to be able to call back because the 3-hour battery you got only lasts 20 fucking minutes.
Leo Getz: Or what if you’re behind a fucking hill and it’s going [makes crackle sounds].
Detective Lee Butters: Or you’re going through a damn tunnel or some shit, man. And they keep making it smaller! You know why they make them this small? So you can lose it. Why? So you buy more phones. I never lost my mother’s phone! Take you two hours to make a long-distance call. Duh-duh-duh four, duh-duh-duh five. Duh-duh-duh-oh! I messed up! Hang up. Gotta do it again! Duh-duh-duh four, duh-duh-duh five. I never lost my Sports Illustrated swimsuit phone.
Leo Getz: And scanners! These idiots, they get your number and call all over the world!
Detective Lee Butters: Somebody took my number and called Afghanistan! Afghanistan! I’ve never been to Afghanistan! I don’t know nobody in Afghanistan! I don’t know what fucking Afghanistan look like. And even if I did, I would not talk to their Afghan ass for 3 hours! I won’t talk to my daddy for 3 hours!
Leo Getz: They fuck you, they fuck you, they fuck you with the cell phones! Hey, you know when you go to a drive-through? [phone rings] Hold on.
Detective Lee Butters: Why am I talking. . .?
JB: Pootie Tang will draw you a picture of how he’s gonna kick your ass then mail it to you ten days in advance. The picture gets there, right? You go, “What the hell is this?” Then Pootie Tang knocks on your door, properly kicks your ass and you still won’t know what happened to you.
Trucky: You got that right. He is a kick-ass artiste. Know what I’m sayin’? He’s like the Da Vinci of ass-kicking. That sounds kind of good. Pootie Tang, the Da Vinci of ass-kicking.
JB: Aw, man, Pootie Tang whoop your ass so bad that you could write it off on your taxes. That’s right. You got right here, ass-whooping number one, ass-whooping number two. This here, you can’t write that off. That’s just gettin’ beat up.
Lacey: I’d like to also add that Pootie Tang can kick some ass too, boy.