[as Ryan and Natalie enter the Hilton Miami Airport Hotel] Natalie Keener: How about just not dying alone? Ryan Bingham: Starting when I was 12, we moved each one of my grandparents into a nursing facility. My parents went the same way. Make no mistake, we all die alone. Now those cult members in San Diego, with the sneakers and the Kool-Aid, they didn't die alone. I'm just saying there are options. [Natalie starts to cry] Ryan Bingham: Oh, fuck. Natalie Keener: [sobs] Brian left me. [Natalie is sobbing hysterically; Ryan then comforts her and calms her down] Ryan Bingham: All right. Okay, okay. All right. All right.
My grandmother started walking five miles a day when she was sixty. She's ninety-seven now, and we don't know where the heck she is.
Mike: He came into her room at night wearing a black robe. He'd take her and drive her to a wooded area where her grandparents and her mother were, and they'd all have black robes on. They'd take them off and group orgies would ensue... and then they'd bring out the newborn. She was forced to watch as her mother would cut the babies heart out with stone dagger. She'd drink the blood; others eat the flesh. The grandfather and father would fuck her repeatedly. She was forced to have abortions and cook the aborted fetuses.
Guy: So, did your parents do the whole traditional family Christmas? Girl: Yeah. [pause] Girl: You? Guy: No, my grandparents are Dutch. So I was raised on salted licorice and Sinterklaus. Girl: How is that different from regular Santa Claus? Guy: Well, instead of the North Pole, he lives in Spain and instead of elves, he's got this enforcer named Black Pete. So he's basically like your Santa Claus, only scarier. [drops voice on "scarier"] Girl: That's charming.
People have often told me that one of their strongest childhood memories is the scent of their grandmother's house. I never knew my grandmothers, but I could always count of the Bookmobile.
Small animals are a great problem. I wish God had never created small animals, or else that He had made them so they could talk, or else that He'd given them better faces. Space. Take moths. They fly at the lamp and burn themsleves, and then they fly right back again. It can't be instinct, because it isn't the way it works. They just don't understand, so they go right on doing it. Then they lie on their backs and all their legs quiver, and then they're dead. Did you get all that? Does it sound good?
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