|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| You go to the awards and finally meet Paul Walker. You tell him that even though you find him vapid and dense, that an intellectual such as yourself always like a nice set of bongos. You laugh nervously, and he tells you that you're a stupid beatnik who probably really doesn't know how to spell your own name and he hopes you go light yourself on fire and die. You agree because you can't spell your own name, you stupid beatnik. | ||||||
| No Picture for YOU- BEATNIK! | ||||||
| Go homE!!! | ||||||