No. No reason. No. I mean, nothing I can think of.
I mean...
you know, other than every day I get into my little ****-box car
and there he is, with the wind in his hair...
on his great big shiny horse.
And I drive off to do what? To make sandpaper.
To make paper with sand on it.
I'd love to see you try to turn your weasely little mouth into a fake smile,
day after day after day...
while waving toodly-*******-do to your best friend,
who's rearing up on a big white horse like he's the Lone Ranger.
Then I'd like to see your performance chart,
you beady-eyed little shrimp-boat bastard!
[Voice cracks] Is that a reason?
I mean, is that a reason?