What kind of cheap date do you think I am.

Now I'm not getting you nuthin'.

Pencils and guitar picks.

somewhere there is an alternate universe where people are just like, "where the fuck do all these things come from?"

Picture is from summer. It's too cold to even open he barn door today.

Winter tires?

We just call 'em snow days around here.

I never wanted to go into town in the first place.

Plus, it's a cheat.

Like, I did that. I earned that. Where's my fuckin' scar?

Puny ass fine line scar that can only be seen when I roll my arm a certain way. That thing was cut completely fucking open, and I want my scar.

Dirty barn, dirty mind.

My barn is a wreck. Just car parts and motorcycles all over the place. It's like an old man's hot rod and bike fantasy just threw up in there.

Hell in a handbasket.

It was a nice basket though.

Character.

Sure as God's got sandals, you gotta have a look at Letterkenny.