H: (thrashing around in his blanket) It’s too hot! It’s too hot! I ate too many hookers! It’s too hot!
M: (tickling his arm)
H: Mmm… I’ll pay for half an hour.
H: I love church.
H: Is she the one that’s a birthday clown?
M: I hope not.
H: She’s kind of a whore.
M: Sure is?
H: At least she remembered the birthday.
H: You gotta find the bicycle.
M: I don’t even know where I’d begin.
H: Ask the whore.
M: What does a whore have to do with a bicycle?
H: How do you think they get around?
M: What are you doing?
H: Watching over the city.
M: You should lay down.
H: I can’t see from here.
M: Just lay back down.
M: Come on, lay back down on your pillows.
H: You’re the devil. (grumbling) Lay down, lay down… Set you on fire and tell people you’re a prostitute from Brooklyn…
H: Fuck a walrus. Whore.
M: Dude, fuck you!
H: That hurts my feelings.