Come on.
Come on.
Come on.
Come on.
Come on.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.
Courage to change the things I can.
And wisdom to always know the difference.
Come on.
Okay, what's the big idea, Obama?
Hey, what's going on here?
Okay, here she comes, the cup.
Why do you always got to burn a fucking coffee?
Make another pot, then.
We should do this again sometime.
Don't call me that.
See you, darling.
Are you sure you know how to pick them?
I don't stand on that grade.
Living one day at a time, accepting hardships as the pathway to peace.
John, did you come into my office, please?
Yes, sir, I'll be there in a minute.
Have a seat, John.
We've been friends for a good long time.
I'll get straight to the point.
It pains me to have to do this, but we're going to have to let you go.
Why? I don't understand.
Look, I got you this job as a favor, you know,
because I knew you were going through a hard time with your dad and everything after that.
Jackson, this job is the only thing I have left without it.
Listen, I am nothing.
Listen, people below you are starting to ask about your position.
My boss is on my ass, wondering why you were hired in the first place.
You don't have to do this, Jackson. You're better than that. You don't have to do this.
Business world is a brutal place, John.
Your old man knew that all too well.
You have until the end of the day.
It's cleaner today.
Some friend you all have.
Sorry.
Sorry.
Sorry.
Forgive me.
Look, man, you've come through two more bottles of this shit and I get to see it done.
I'm cutting off two cans of tab.
Come on, Florian.
Talks about you all the time. She can send me a picture of you in the wallet.
Why? Why would you say that?
What do you mean she's obviously proud of you?
Do you fuck her? Do you fuck her like every other guy in the road, huh?
Look, man, I don't want any trouble. I was just wondering if you were the one she talks about.
You're a fucking liar.
Get this drunk asshole out of here.
The bombing plane is nearing the target.
There's the target.
Five, four, three, two, one, fire.
Bomb away.
There is a ball of fire growing and rising above the clouds in the smoke of the explosion.
Although a beautiful sight, this swirling, boiling mushroom cloud is certain death.
John, could you come out to the kitchen?
I want you to leave.
You can't do that.
Wasn't that our agreement that you'd have to leave if you relapsed again?
Yeah, but I pay my share of the rent. You just collect your fucking unemployment checks and watch TV all day.
You're pathetic. You have until tomorrow morning to get your shit out of here.
You can't do that to me. I'm your son.
You're the drunk I took in when he had nowhere else to go. And you fucked up, John.
You had your chance and you fucked up.
Fuck you. You're nothing but a lazy self-pitying whore who will sleep with any disgusting piece of dick that comes within five miles of that gross fucking biker bar.
Get out of my house.
I pay for my room. Fuck you.
Get out of my house!
Get out!
Get out of my house!
You see the Sunday bird swinging low.
Enough fever in your brain only grows.
And the murder boys are running down the street.
You can see them through the window from your seat. Hear the sound of the mightiest of guns.
And the shadows go like ghosts across your room.
Or take the world and burn it in its bloom. It mercies shift to sail you off to sleep.
To where the crimson angels swim deep. There's no hiding from the mightiest of guns.
