JEFF: F—! Pony, if we wanted to hear you sing, we would’ve gone to your concert! So you sold ninety thousand units. So what?
Does that mean you’re a genius? You’re a great artist? You’re higher up the ladder? You got an extra gold star on your f—’ forehead? Why don’t you write a song about Sandra Berhard’s salad, a—hole?
I mean, you know, at least I admit that I don’t know. I know that things are f—ed up beyond belief and I know that I have nothing original to say about any of it, alright? I don’t have an answer. I don’t have a f—ing message.
*From the Screenplay