All right, let's review. Last night, I got knee-walking drunk and now I am back in this bar a mere seven and a half hours later, hung over... well, it's official. I have a problem. I'll have a beer.
Mister Owens the character meets Mister Owens the author.
Hi, you must be ... the architect!
I wrote that line for you. It was expected, and understandably lame.
Well, then why do you continue to place me in these absurd situations?
You see, young padawan, you a merely an exaggeration of the absurdities that I am subjected to. So face it, as long as things suck for me, you're screwed.
Son of a bitch.
Do you ever get down on your knees and thank God you know me and have access to my dementia? Without it, you wouldn't even exist.
Hey, I need everyone to take their seat and close their mouths!
Man Mr. Owens, why you be trippin all the time?
Yea, just chill out.
Okay - think of what little patience I have as, oh I don't know, your virginity. You always thought it would be there, until that night when you were feeling a little down about yourself and your pal
Kevin, who just wanted to be friends, well he dropped by and he brought a copy of "Sixteen Candles" and a four-pack of Bartels & James and wohohoo, it was gone forever - just like my patience.