Your blood-sandwich (point to it) is a tool of the oppressors, designed to keep the proletariat docile.

Guy was cramping my style. Every superstar goes solo in the end.

I have managed to stop obsessing about my sexuality.

No-no, think about it! One where they plunge into a torrid spiral of pain and recrimination. Only it's *really long* and drawn out. Scarred for life. Phantom limb!

What is this crime business?!

*Reál* sounds like some fancy skin care product... but why would I owe you one hundred and thirty of them?

You see, Kim. I have this place in my head. (Point to your head.) Where I develop new ideas and connections.

Broken bird. Feathers. (Nod knowingly.) This is all part of the mind-fuck on the cock-carousel.

I'm up here singing my fucking HEART OUT and it's not *good enough* for you fuckers!?

I dodged the second shot. I can also get *not shot*.

Can you see into the future, Kim?

(Say the cool thing.) Let's rock with our cock.

Guy was cramping my style. Every superstar goes solo in the end.

I'm not scared. I just don't understand why the female sexual organs have to be associated with weakness.

Yes, I'm a pig, but only if we decide to deconstruct what it *means* to be a pig.

I'd like to dedicate this song to my partner, Kim, even though he's not here right now.

Look, Kim. Even more bullet holes. Something's definitely gone down here.

Okay, I know you're mad, but I actually just talked to the spirit of Revachol and she told me we need to work together...

F... d... dfuck you!

I've lost almost everything, Cuno. My memory, my money, even my name... I *can't* lose my job too! Please, PLEASE help me...

Dead, daba-doop-doop.

You said everything's going to be over soon anyway, man. I just want to walk into the end times wearing this t-shirt.

I need to be drunk. You do too. Please get drunk with me on a drunk-date.

I walked the land telling whores and liars of the End to come. There are 9,855 days remaining.

No, Kim. Every piece of garbage in this city *is* connected to the case.

Kim, look, bullet holes!

I am an alcohol-operated detective. If you want me to solve crimes or do whatever it is I'm here to do you need to insert alcohol into my mouth.

(Write in an imaginary notebook.) Got it: *Art's... shit....

Kim! I *must* paint this wall, add even MORE beauty to it.

So you say, but I saw *past the veil*.

I lost my name.

I'm smelling for communists, Kim.

THIS IS A DISASTER.

Are you a... girl-liker?

I'm a bad person. I believe I could have done anything.

Motherfucker... (Let out a whistle.) Now that's a huge crane!

Oh -- I'm contemplating, Kim. I'm drawing *existential conclusions* from this.

I have managed to stop obsessing about my sexuality.

RIGHT HERE ON THE SEA ICE?!

Eee... I'm in full RCM lieutenant's uniform and look at my partner. We're cops alright.

I have no idea why she'd be scared. I'm just a normal cop with regular thoughts in his head.

I'm a fucking failure and the love of my life left me.

I like you -- but I'm afraid to be around you, because you're a woman.

No-no, think about it! One where they plunge into a torrid spiral of pain and recrimination. Only it's *really long* and drawn out. Scarred for life. Phantom limb!

(Move the sandwich around in front of the lieutenant's mouth and make aircraft noises.)

So you've been putting up with all my bullshit because I'm your superior?

Pissf****t. Singular.

I'm smelling for communists, Kim.

I have managed to stop obsessing about my sexuality.

So you say, but I saw *past the veil*.