PETE: Dude, use the cheats.
HARRY: Why they call ‘em cheats anyway?
PETE: Are you high?
HARRY: Ain’t no rules in a game like this.
PETE: Fuck you talking about? Course there’s rules.
HARRY: What? Like how fast you run? How high you jump? How hard you wreck a bitch? Those ain’t rules. That’s straight-up mechanics. So a cheat’s not a cheat, dog. That’s some straight-up magic.
PETE: Why don’t you use it?
HARRY: Bitch, do I look like a motherfucking wizard to you? Aw, fuck.
DICK: I gotta talk to you.
HARRY: I ain’t listening to that shit.
PETE: The fuck? What’s going on?
DICK: This here idioting hairball—
HARRY: The fuck you just call me?
DICK: Just broke up with his girlfriend.
PETE: Aw, shit.
HARRY: Yeah, I dumped her cheatin’ ass.
PETE: She was cheating on you?
DICK: Like shit she was.
PETE: With who?
HARRY: Motherfucking Boris.
PETE: What? Nuh-uh.
DICK: You don’t believe it? Good, ‘cause it’s bullshit.
HARRY: I know what I know.
DICK: I am telling you, she is a virgin, for fuck’s sake!
HARRY: And how the fuck you know that? Huh? Oh, wait, wait, wait, no. Oh, no, I know this one. Your girlfriend told you, right? Right? Her cousin told him, see? And it’s not like Trish would lie, right? Not like Claudette would lie to her, right? About being a ho, about how she let some fucking Russian fuck get in and plow—
DICK: What the fuck is your problem?
HARRY: You don’t think I should have a problem with my girlfriend cheating on me?
DICK: I don’t think your girlfriend is cheating on you!
HARRY: Hey, man, weren’t you the one like five minutes ago telling me I shouldn’t be hooking up with bitches only want my money?
PETE: Dude has a point. That was two days ago.
HARRY: Oh, but see now you’re actually out there getting some pussy. Now things is different, huh? Now you’re all nice. See, before, you weren’t out there, so you were all “bitches be hoes”, but now? You got yourself whipped, son.
PETE: How’d you find out, though?
HARRY: Who’s at the damn door?
PETE: Hey, Trish. What’s happening?
TRISH: She’s dead.
HARRY: The fuck?
TRISH: You killed her. Do you hear me, motherfucker? You killed her!
HARRY: Hey, hey! I didn’t do shit!
TRISH: What the fuck did she ever do to you?
HARRY: You know damn well what that bitch did to me—
TRISH: Don’t you dare talk about her that way. I have known that—I knew… that girl… You son of a lying whore.
HARRY: Dick, you best get your bitch outta my face, or I swear to pretty blonde Jesus—
PETE: Uh… Jesus was black?
HARRY: You shut your whore mouth, Pete!
TRISH: No, you listen to me. That girl loved you with all her soul. She lived for you. And then she died for you. And for what? ‘Cause you wanted some booty?
HARRY: I ain’t the only one chasing tail.
TRISH: But you were the only one who caught her. Or you could have.
HARRY: Tell that to motherfucking Boris.
TRISH: Dude, would you stop with the Boris—
HARRY: Hey, look, I’m not saying it ain’t sad she’s dead. But she wasn’t no saint.
TRISH: Why the fuck do you think she slept with Boris? Did Boris tell you?
HARRY: No, man, Johnny told me.
PETE: Hold on, Johnny told you?
HARRY: I mean, yeah.
PETE: And you believed him?
TRISH: You stupid fucking piece of shit.
HARRY: What? He said he caught them!
PETE: Johnny’s just trying to start some shit.
HARRY: Why would Johnny want to start shit?
PETE: ‘Cause he’s a asshole. He’s my brother, I should know.
HARRY: So hold up… you’re sayin’…
PETE: We’re saying you got played, dipshit. And now that poor girl’s dead.
HARRY: But how do you know?
PETE: Bitch, are you oxygen deprived? Holy shit, y’all, this motherfucker—
TRISH: Now you want proof she was innocent all along, but did you ask Johnny for proof she was guilty?
HARRY: Aw, shit.
DICK: You’re damn right, aw shit.
HARRY: I killed her. I killed my baby. Claudette… aw, shit, Claudette. No! No! Why? She was my girl, Dick. My girl… what did I do?
DICK: Fucking killed her, Harry.
PETE: Like you handed her the knife yourself.
HARRY: I didn’t want her to do! Shit… my angel… didn’t do nothing wrong, but then… Claudette… Claudette! I’m sorry. I’m so… so sorry…
PETE: How did it happen?
TRISH: How’d what happen?
PETE: Did she kill herself?
TRISH: Oh, no, she’s fine.
DICK: Hold on—
PETE: I’m sorry—
TRISH: Yeah, no, she started crying, we started talking shit—
TRISH: Set up a little dart-board for her with your face on it, face is all full of holes now.
HARRY: The fuck you do that for?
PETE: Girl, that is some fucked up shit.
TRISH: You wanna talk fucked up shit? Get your ass in line. I told this motherfucker his ex girlfriend killed herself, less than twenty-four damn hours after he dumped her on her birthday and dude’s like “Not my problem”. Fuck me? Fuck you! And the hotrod motorcycle you rode in on. Hey, Dick, you coming?
DICK: Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming. I’m coming with you, how ‘bout that?
PETE: Shut the fuck up, Harry.
HARRY: But how was I supposed to—
PETE: Harry? Shut the fuck up.