Call Me Fitz

The difference between dreams and nightmares...

Dreams involve my dick.

All seven-- eight--

No... nine inches of it.

Nightmares also involve my dick...

and a knife.

No. No...

The nightmares aren't real.

It's just some weird shit, floating around in your head,

because you had too many peppers on your meatball sub.

Or too much tequila.

Or not enough tequila.

Or too much Larry.

Wake up, and everything's fine.

Everything's coming up, Fitz.

Fuck sleep is what I say.

Heroes never rest.

Why waste time on my back

when I can waste time on yours, baby?

Nah.

I'm not gonna let some fairy subconscious shit

get in my way.

Fitzy weaves his own dreams.

I just gotta stay focused.

Alert.

Eye on the prize.

I'm gonna be immortal.

Uh.

Shut the fuck up, Larry.

Hey.

I'll get the broom.

I have to be honest. The brakes may need replacing.

I know what you're trying to do.

Tell you about the brakes?

Sell me with your reverse psychology honesty crap.

Tell me: what else is broken, Mr. Fucking Honest?

Actually, the name's Larry.

Hold that thought.

Richard, I could really use your help over here.

I'm not allowed to sell cars, shit whistle.

No dealer's licence. Or did you forget?

No! You reel in the customer,

and then I do the paperwork, like we discussed.

Hello? Concussion.

You know they revoked your insurance?

And it's probably a good thing

because you didn't have the money to pay the bill.

And you know why?

Because you haven't helped me close a deal in weeks.

That reminds me: you got any scratch?

Richard, I am your conscience,

not your automated teller machine.

I got a tip on a rigged horse.

Okay, you wanna know what's really going on here?

The insomnia, the anxiety, lack of focus and dry mouth?

It's because you're not doing the thing you love most.

I'm not gonna let you blow me, Larry.

No! No! Selling cars to fellow citizens

who just need a little pre-owned hope!

Hope has left the building, jerk-off.

Even you can't sell a car with your honesty shtick.

Welcome to our carnival...

This place is running bad, man.

Richard?

Richard...

Richard, you're not even listening.

Nope.

Oh, Richard... Really?

What about the crash?

What am I supposed to say to your father when he gets here?

Richard! This is textbook regression!

Anxiety is the silent killer, mister!

I usually get moo shu pork and a skin flick

before I drop my pants.

Well, you're long overdue

for your annual colonoscopy, Mr. Fitzpatrick.

And I make it a policy not to date my patients.

...Anymore.

Oh, your testicles are huge.

Thanks.

No, no, no. Not in a good way.

Okay, I'm going in.

I'd better get a reach-around is all I'm saying.

This reminds me of the time

when my sister showed her ankles in public.

Cousin.

Yeah?

Modern females are to be serviced, not sentenced.

You know that Fitzpatrick She-devil?

She's brainwashing you.

We're not living in the old country anymore.

But the old country is living within us, cousin.

We do what we must to fit in. That is all.

This car salesman haircut. This off-the-rack suit.

It sickens me.

Bring me my goats.

Bring me my mountain bike.

Again with the mountain bike.

And don't forget,

you are betrothed to a second cousin twice removed.

You don't understand my Meghan.

This is a relationship built on love,

frequent sexual relations

and trust, cousin. Trust.

Betrothed? What the fuck does that mean?

How much?

Well, it's a sliding scale.

Hmm...

I'm a little low on scratch.

Maybe we could work something out in trade.

Oh! Oh!

What's wrong?

Oh...

Signs... Signs...

Train tracks... broken glass... fire...

I understand the business, baby.

The leading questions, the vague responses.

I'm thinking of a long lost loved one.

No, no, no, no. You're thinking of a shadowy figure,

with a dagger, pointed...

at your dick.

That's just a dream.

The rubes get the act, honey.

The tarot cards... the crystal ball...

But there's no magic more powerful than an orgasm.

That is when I truly see the future, and...

You don't want to know what the rest is.

The fuck I don't!

You're a dead man.

Someone's gonna kill you.

My sister Meghan. That little bitch was always jealous of me.

I couldn't see a face.

Then I guess we're gonna go again.

Baby, get back here.

No way, I got enough problems.

You're serious?

Only way to break the curse

is by making amends to the person you've wronged.

I haven't wronged anyone.

Well, whoever you didn't wrong

is gonna kill you on the beaver moon.

The beaver what?

I'll be back in town in six months.

If you're still alive, look me up.

Curse...

Fuck.

It's crazy, right?

Psychic fucking bullshit. Nightmares coming true.

Some crazy chick telling me I'm gonna die.

It's all in your head, bro.

Here have some of that. That'll get rid of the paranoia.

Yeah. 'Cause this shit isn't real.

Nothing gets to Fitzy. All I gotta do it win some scratch,

get the plan back on track, right?

Easy as that, man.

Though, I knew this guy...

We were installing a puppet regime in Haiti,

and we fucked with the wrong witch doctor, man.

I was making cookie with his daughter.

Before you could say, "Cut up a chicken a read its entrails."

Boom!

I've seen a lot of dead guys.

Like, heads blowed off.

Arms in those heads.

Feet.

I don't know whose feet they were,

but man, that guy was... dead!

Who's marked for death again?

Me, John.

Gotta go.

Thanks for the pep talk, asshole.

Anytime, bro.

Ball cancer. Great.

To your health.

My health can suck my dick.

Some mood on a nice day like this.

What's so nice about it?

The sun's shining, margin's up. I don't know.

Makes me want to fill my rifle with potential and shoot a duck.

I'm Dot Foxley.

Vodka soda. Martini for Mr. Grumpy.

Ken Fitzpatrick.

Of Fitzpatrick Motors?

Well, what's a big successful boy like you

doing in a dive like this? Thanks.

You know, I have had my eye on your fine establishment

for a while now.

You with the feds?

No, business school.

Our assignment was to start a mock company

and hide all our profits.

Nothing beats used car dealership to conceal revenue.

That place is my fucking albatross.

I can't find a decent salesman to save my life.

You don't need another salesman.

You need someone who knows the car racket inside and out.

Let me guess... a broad.

You're big picture. Upper management.