November 10th, Friday, 3:04 p.m.
THE SIX DICKS WITH STICKS
GAGE: H, what are we doing for your birthday?
HAYES: Nothing.
BRISTOL: You seriously don’t want to do anything?
HAYES: No. And if you cumguzzlers try to throw something, I’ll shove my foot so far up each of your asses that you’ll be able to taste me in your mouths.
GAGE: Jesus.
FULTON: Come on, you old grump. Can’t we at least eat some cake and binge Westworld or something?
KIT: Yeah, Hayesy. You only turn twenty-four once.
HAYES: Never call me that. Ever.
FULTON: TWENTY-FOUR? HOLY SHIT, YOU’RE OLD.
GAGE: Dude! That’s so rude. Don’t say that.
BRISTOL: Just a small get together, H. It won’t kill you.
HAYES: No, no, and no. I don’t like celebrating my birthday.
CASEN: It’s 5-1, buddy. You’ve been outvoted.
HAYES: Yeah, but since I’m the birthday boy, my vote counts for more. So it’s actually like 5-15.
KIT: How?
HAYES: For every one of your votes, my vote counts for three times that.
KIT: In what fucked-up universe?
HAYES: This one, bitch.
CASEN: Josie says you’re being ridiculous.
FULTON: Ooh, tell Josie I said hi!
CASEN: She says hi back.
GAGE: Ugh, fine. We won’t do anything for you, you ungrateful geezer.
HAYES: Good. Thank you. Now stop bugging me about it.
Gage removed Hayes from the conversation
November 10th, Friday, 3:15 p.m.
GAGE: So who’s ordering the stripper?
