air date, 6 June 2004
Now, I see what the fuck's in front of me, and I don't pretend it's somethin' else. I was fuckin' her and now I'm gonna fuck you, if you don't piss me off or open your yap at the wrong fuckin' time. The only time you're to open - you're supposed to open your yap is so I can put my fuckin' prick in it. Otherwise, you shut the fuck up. Now, hold onto that, huh? (Hands bottle over) Point is, the minister's gotta fuckin' die. I mean, that's the—that's the fuckin' point. He's gonna die sooner or later I mean, he's makin' a fuckin' jerk of himself, and, I mean, well, why—why go on with that? Who's—who's gonna benefit from that, huh? No, you just gotta kill it and put an end to it. You -- you don't linger on about it, you don't fuckin' go around weepin' about it, and you don't, you know, behave like a kid with a sore thumb, you know, a loco suckin' it, now "mmm, my poor fucking thumb!" I mean, you—you gotta behave like a grown fuckin' man, huh? You gotta shut the fuck up. Don't be sorry, don't look fuckin' back, because, believe me, no one gives a fuck. You understand? (Whore: Yeah) You shut the fuck up, huh? Gimme that! (Grabs bottle) Hey, you suck my dick and shut the fuck up, huh? Come here. Come on. Now then, here. The place where I found you, huh, is where this warrant's from. Could you believe that I may have stuck a knife in someone's guts 12 hours before you got on the wagon we headed out for fuckin' Laramie in? No! Because I don't look fuckin' backwards. I do what I have to do and go on. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, what? You got a stagecoach to catch or somethin', huh? Slow the fuck up. Did you know the orphanage part of the building you lived in, behind it, she ran a whorehouse, huh? Oh, so you knew? So, so what are you fuckin' lookin' at then, huh? God. Now, I'll tell you somethin' you don't know. Before she ran a girls orphanage, fat Mrs. Fucking Anderson ran the boys orphanage on fucking Euclid avenue, as I would see her fat ass waddling out the boys dormitory at 5 o'clock in the fucking mornin', every fuckin' morning she blew her stupid fuckin' cowbell and woke us all the fuck up. And my fuckin' mother dropped me the fuck off there with 7 dollars and 60 some odd fuckin' cents on her way to suckin' cock in... in Georgia. And I didn't get to count the fuckin' cents before the fuckin' door opened, and there, Mrs. Fat Ass Fuckin' Anderson, who sold you to me. I had to give her 7 dollars and 60 odd fuckin' cents that my mother shoved in my fuckin' hand before she hammered 1,2,3,4 times on the fuckin' door and scurried off down fuckin' Euclid Avenue , probably 30 fuckin' years before you were fuckin' born. Then around Cape Horn and up to San Francisco, where she probably became Mayor or some other type success story, unless by some fucking chance she wound up as a ditch for fuckin' cum. Now, fucking go faster, hmm? (grunting) Okay, go ahead and spit it out. You don't need to swallow. You just spit it out. Mmm. Anyways.