Lebowski ipsum it’s a fucking show dog with fucking papers. You can’t board it. It gets upset, its hair falls out. Is this yours, Larry? Is this your homework, Larry? Wait in the car, Donny. Donny was a good bowler, and a good man. He was… He was one of us. He was a man who loved the outdoors, and bowling, and as a surfer explored the beaches of southern California from Redondo to Calabassos. And he was an avid bowler. And a good friend. He died—he died as so many of his generation, before his time. In your wisdom you took him, Lord. As you took so many bright flowering young men, at Khe San and Lan Doc.

This Chinaman who peed on my rug, I can’t go give him a bill so what the fuck are you talking about? Saturday is shabbos. Jewish day of rest. Means I don’t work, I don’t drive a car, I don’t fucking ride in a car, I don’t handle money, I don’t turn on the oven, and I sure as shit don’t fucking roll! Just me and Charlie, man, eyeball to eyeball.

There’s no fucking reason—here’s my point, Dude—there’s no fucking reason. This is quite a pad you got here, man. Completely unspoiled. What the fuck does Vietnam have to do with anything! What the fuck were you talking about?! You know, little of this, little of that. Life does not stop and start at your convenience, you miserable piece of shit. That guy treats objects like women, man.

Yeah. Roadie for Metallica. Speed of Sound Tour. Not a bunch of fig-eaters with towels on their heads tryin’ to find reverse on a Soviet tank. Sure. That and a pair of testicles. Dude, please!… Is this your homework, Larry? Fine, Dude. As if it’s impossible to get some nail polish, apply it to someone else’s toe. You know, the usual. Bowl. Drive around. The occasional acid flashback.