Highway

Ice tea, Jack?

Sure, Mrs. Miranda.

Sure is hot, isn't it, Jack?

It sure is, Mrs. Miranda.

Please, call me Jilly.

Sure, Mrs. Miranda.

Jilly.

I like that,...

the way my name sounds coming off your lips.

Jack and Jilly.

Jack and Jilly went up the hilly.

What are you doing?

Relax, Jack.

Mrs. Miranda, where is Mr. Miranda?

Wait, Jack.

What?

What are you doing?

What?!

It was too quick.

It was too fucking quick.

What are you talking about?

Quiver, quake, tremble a little.

I didn't feel any nervousness.

It was just like the last time and the time before.

Just like last time and the time before?

Jack and Jilly?

"Jack and Jilly went up the hilly?"

How many times are you going to use "Jack and Jilly went up the hilly?"

I like "Jack and Jilly went up the hilly."

Yeah, I know you do.

Well, listen, pal, this is my fucking fantasy.

When you get your own pool, you can orchestrate your own fantasies.

Fine.

Two words for you, little man.

Jackie fucking Collins.

Bone up!

Jack and Jilly went up the hilly to fetch a pail of water.

Give it to me!

What in fuck's sake is going on here?

Burt!

I can explain.

You see what I just did there?

I was beginning to suspect things.

- You see, Jack? - I see.

He raped me, Burt.

He raped me!

Jilly, Jilly... Shut up!

You want to do something about that thing?

Burt! No, Burt!

No, no!

- Mr. Miranda... - The pool guy.

The pool guy.

You know what upsets me most, hand to god, is that you are a great pool guy, Jack.

When Salvatore was our pool guy,

I could never open my eyes underwater.

There was too much chlorine, they burned for a week.

But with you,...

my eyes are always open.

I can play that game.

You know, the one where I toss a penny in the deep end and then go hunt for it.

With Salvatore, I could never play that game.

You weren't...

No, Burt!

This smells like shit.

It's because they're grown in shit.

You look at them?

They're blue, means they're good.

- Pilot! - What's it going to be?

- I only have 30 bucks. - Pilot!

Look, just forget it, all right?

Go read a book.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Jack Hayes,

the God of Fuck.

Bro, you're never going to believe this shit!

I am so fucking fucked.

- I just had a... - I already heard, dude.

- You heard? - Yeah, Dylan and Wheezer were by.

- Yo, what did they say? - Whatever, dude, they're voids.

The point is, Jack, can you find someone a little more dangerous to fuck?

No.

But I tried, bro.

I really fucking did.

How was it?

Oh, man...

It was sick.

Give it to me. No. Give it to me.

He shoves a .45 straight up my fucking nose.

Grabbed this lamp...

Yeah, dude, did you nut?

- Come on, Pilot. - No, of course not.

Because no girl is worthy of the God of Fuck.

So what are you going to do?

About what?

You've got to get the hell out of Dodge.

What are you talking about, man?

Burt Miranda!

Yeah?

Yeah, Burt Miranda!

Yeah, I know Burt Miranda. I was just in his bed.

You've got to bolt, Jack!

What do you mean, I've got to bolt?

Do you know how much he paid for those tits?

No, how much did he pay for those titties?

No sympathy, man.

- I got no sympathy for you! - Come on.

I've been telling you for months...

Jilly Miranda is black death.

You don't listen.

You don't listen.

Yeah,...

sweet Connie.

Y'all remember sweet Connie?

Single, no kids,

Full-blown football scholarship to state.

It all changed when that Delilah-eyed, sweet, sweet Connie moved to town.

Jerry, Rodney, Shaker, Dale, Big Bill, Clark.

Dad, the name's dad.

Little Booty.

Nice work with Jilly.

What?

I said, nice work with Jilly.

You heard, too?

Look, the thing about owning a pecker is you've got to be responsible with it.

Check it out, Booty, Clark's doling out some fatherly advice.

- He's drunk. - I'm not drunk.

Just a little happy.

Yo, Booty,...

I got to take off.

I know.

For a while.

Maybe a long while.

Yeah.

Late.

Late.

You know, the inside of her thigh...

Texture like I never came across again.

Hey, Mrs. Kelson.

Pilot ain't in.

He's at school.

He graduated 2 years ago, Mrs. Kelson.

Whatever.

Where's your boy, Hayes?

Which boy would that be?

Jack.

Everybody know these fellas?

Work for Burt Miranda.

Used to call you "Miranda's Pandas."

Hey!

What are we going to do?

Well, we're not going to play the "is it me?" game again, all right?

Not again.

- Okay. - All right.

But is it me?

No.

What is it?

A...

a war wound.

Really?

Maybe.

But you do think I'm hot.

I... I... I...

Pilot!

Oh!

Sorry, Pi.

Pilot, I got to talk to you.

Bye, Lucy.

Bye.

Pandas came by Propane Lane.

Oh, ho ho.

Let the games begin.

Look, he won't kill you, all right? That's for sure.

I mean, he's too rich.

He's paved half the valley. He's got major juice.

Every wiseguy and high roller comes through Vegas knows Burt Miranda.

So if he won't kill me, what does he want?

You know, every hoodlum has his thing.

Burt Miranda's is, he has the Pandas break the feet of his enemy.

Break my feet?

Break my feet?!

He ain't breakin' my feet.

Broken feet are the worst, like black death.

Totally gothic.

I mean, like, you can't use crutches, you can't sit in a wheelchair

because the weight distribution, making all the blood flow to your ankles,

and making it worse. You can't do shit.

I mean, you hobble.

No, no, no, no, you stumble.

You stumble about.

It's completely gothic.

He ain't breakin' my feet.

- He is if he bags you. - Well, he ain't baggin' me.

Because we're out of here.

- "We?" - Yeah, we.

Man, I told you, Jack!

I've got a lot of things going on here!

Pilot, you're a lifeguard in a therapy pool, for Christ's sake.

Look, I got to go to Scawldy's and cash out.

I got to take Lucy back to work.

I got to rent videos.

- I got to pick up some TV dinners for my mom... - You've been talking about leaving the Veg