Xzibit: Alright, yo, we at Jason’s house, and we’re about to pimp his ride!
(Xzibit rings doorbell; Jason opens door, his shirt covered in blood)
Jason: Oh, thank God you’re here, I—
Xzibit: Whoa man! You alright? You’re covered in blood!
Jason: No, that—that’s ketchup. I was feeding my little brother hot dogs. He’s really messy, heh heh.
Xzibit: Looks like blood.
Jason: No, it’s ketchup, alright?! It’s fine, don’t worry about it, let’s just check out the car.
Xzibit: Alright, man, we’ll look at your car. (They move to the driveway) Your car doesn’t look all that bad…
Jason: Well, trust me, it’s f*cked up, alright? It needs help.
Xzibit: Let’s take a look at the back seat.
Jason: NO NO NO NO! The back seat’s fine. Just look at the steering wheel, that could use some help.
Xzibit: Well, let’s take a look at it anyway—what the hell is that in there?
Jason: It’s powdered sugar, goddammit! Front seat, let’s go!
Xzibit: Are you just gonna leave it in there?
Jason: Yeah—go ahead and throw it away at the shop.
Xzibit: Umm… alright, man, what’s wrong with the front seat?
Jason: The steering wheel’s all f*cked up, take a look. Be sure to grab it real good.
(Police sirens approaching)
Xzibit: I’m not so sure I want to take this car—
Jason: Sh*t, hang on. (Reaches into glove box; pulls out registrations papers and tears them apart on the driveway)
Xzibit: Don’t you want to hang onto those?
Jason: I’m getting them renewed, okay?!
Xzibit: Well, I’m going to check out the trunk.
Jason: DON’T OPEN THE GODDAMN TRUNK! THE TRUNK IS FINE!
Xzibit: Jason, open the trunk!
Jason: Godda—alright, fine! (Pulls a pair of latex gloves out of pocket)
Xzibit: Why are you putting on gloves?
Jason: I’M GERMOPHOBIC!
Xzibit: You’re covered in blood!
Jason: I’m selectively germophobic!
Xzibit: Open the trunk.
(Jason opens the trunk)
Xzibit: What the f*ck! There’s a body in h—
(Jason slams the trunk onto Xzibit’s head; Xzibit falls to the ground, unconscious. Jason runs down the street as police pull up)
Jason: MOTHERF*CKER TRIED TO ROB ME!
(Xzibit rings doorbell; Jason opens door, his shirt covered in blood)
Jason: Oh, thank God you’re here, I—
Xzibit: Whoa man! You alright? You’re covered in blood!
Jason: No, that—that’s ketchup. I was feeding my little brother hot dogs. He’s really messy, heh heh.
Xzibit: Looks like blood.
Jason: No, it’s ketchup, alright?! It’s fine, don’t worry about it, let’s just check out the car.
Xzibit: Alright, man, we’ll look at your car. (They move to the driveway) Your car doesn’t look all that bad…
Jason: Well, trust me, it’s f*cked up, alright? It needs help.
Xzibit: Let’s take a look at the back seat.
Jason: NO NO NO NO! The back seat’s fine. Just look at the steering wheel, that could use some help.
Xzibit: Well, let’s take a look at it anyway—what the hell is that in there?
Jason: It’s powdered sugar, goddammit! Front seat, let’s go!
Xzibit: Are you just gonna leave it in there?
Jason: Yeah—go ahead and throw it away at the shop.
Xzibit: Umm… alright, man, what’s wrong with the front seat?
Jason: The steering wheel’s all f*cked up, take a look. Be sure to grab it real good.
(Police sirens approaching)
Xzibit: I’m not so sure I want to take this car—
Jason: Sh*t, hang on. (Reaches into glove box; pulls out registrations papers and tears them apart on the driveway)
Xzibit: Don’t you want to hang onto those?
Jason: I’m getting them renewed, okay?!
Xzibit: Well, I’m going to check out the trunk.
Jason: DON’T OPEN THE GODDAMN TRUNK! THE TRUNK IS FINE!
Xzibit: Jason, open the trunk!
Jason: Godda—alright, fine! (Pulls a pair of latex gloves out of pocket)
Xzibit: Why are you putting on gloves?
Jason: I’M GERMOPHOBIC!
Xzibit: You’re covered in blood!
Jason: I’m selectively germophobic!
Xzibit: Open the trunk.
(Jason opens the trunk)
Xzibit: What the f*ck! There’s a body in h—
(Jason slams the trunk onto Xzibit’s head; Xzibit falls to the ground, unconscious. Jason runs down the street as police pull up)
Jason: MOTHERF*CKER TRIED TO ROB ME!
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