[Jimmy calls bingo at Sandpiper Crossing]
Hey, it's our old friend "B"! B-12! B as in, uh... B as in "betrayal." Benedict Arnold betrayed the United States. Still no winners? No? Okay... here it is. [Jimmy gets another ball] Oh, what are the odds?! Four B's in a row! B as in... B as in... brother. Brother. B-7, seven brides for seven brothers. I'm sure a lot of you had brothers–it's not like mine, though. Any winners, yet? Take–take another look, okay? I'll wait. I'm gonna say, if it's another B, we could have a real problem here. [Jimmy gets another ball] Hey, it is another B! B-5, as in "Boy, this B thing is really starting to tick me off." B as in battleship, B as in bourbon, B as in Belize; beautiful place, so I've heard. I would love to go there, but let's face it, that's never gonna happen. None of us is ever leaving this godforsaken wasteland. [pause] Sorry, scratch that. Moving on? [Jimmy gets another ball] I mean, what is it with this place? It's–it's like living inside an easy-bake oven. I mean, look out that window. It's–it's like a soulless, radioactive Georgia O'Keeffe hellscape out there, crawling with coral snakes and scorpions and– You ever see the movie The Hills Have Eyes? It's a documentary! God forbid your car breaks down. You have to walk ten steps. You got a melanoma the size of a pineapple where your head used to be. And so you ask, "Why?" Why? If if that's how I feel, why do I live here? Why?!
Excuse me. Are you gonna read that number?
Yeah. I'm gonna read your number. Eh–and it's another "B!" It's another frigging "B! Boy, of course. Why not? Why not?! And the next number...
[Jimmy walks off the stage with the microphone]
Uh, quick question, who here knows what a Chicago sunroof is? Anybody? You, sir? No? Okay. True story, uh, back home, uh, there was this guy named Chet. Now, Chet was a real asshole. He might have owed me some money. He might have slept with my wife before she became my ex-wife. The details don't matter. Suffice it to say, I was wronged. All right, so one summer evening, I was out having a few drinks. One or two, maybe three. You get the picture? And, uh, who do I see? Chet. He drove up, and he double-parked outside a Dairy Queen and went in to get some soft serve. Now, Chet drove – and this will give you an idea of exactly what kind of a douchebag this guy was – drove a white pearlescent BMW 7 Series with white leather interior. So, I saw that thing, and I had–I'd had a few, like I said. And, uh, I climbed up top, and I may have defecated, uh, through the sunroof. Not my finest hour, I'll grant you that. But that's what a Chicago sunroof is. Now you know. It's a real thing. I didn't make it up. I'm not the first person to do it. There's a name for it. Guy wanted some soft serve, I gave him some soft serve. I did not know that his children were in the backseat. There was a level of tint on the windows that I'll maintain to this day was not legal in an Illinois-licensed vehicle. But somehow, that's on me, I guess. Who leaves two Cub Scouts in a double-parked car with the engine running?! Come on! Now, Chet was connected, see? Like, uh, Cicero connected. So, usually, I'd be looking at malicious mischief, public intoxication, disorderly conduct, maybe. But he's got the D.A. saying indecent exposure, calling me a sex offender. What? One little Chicago sunroof, and suddenly I'm Charles Manson?! And that's where it all went off the rails. I've been paying for it ever since. That's why I'm here! I don't...You know what? [sniffs] Any of this stuff you want, come get it. Kitty-cat notebooks for everybody.
