[Receiving a blowjob] Even this, now gives me no pleasure.
[From outside] Swearengen! Be down in five minutes with my gun and badge!
Start down now, you limey cocksucker! Allow for getting stuck from crawling out from under the bed.
That Bullock is a fucking strategist, ain't he? Sets terms to publicly humiliate me, and my penalty if I don't comply is he walks into the bar downstairs and takes fifteen bullets in the chest. And that ain't no hooplehead, you know. Bullock, he's one of those special fucking cases, you don't know what in fucks going on in their mind, and he's big with Montana. Big. I heard that today. Because the news earlier from Yankton and the fucking commissioners wasn't adequately confusing. Not to mention the fucking telegraph coming in and four whores that I don't know who the fuck they work for.
[From outside] Three minutes!
Shut the fuck up! I suppose I do fucking understand. So fucking confused and disgusted and wanting it to end and looking for the blessing of a quick way out. Sets himself to a higher fucking standard than our natures, and he wants execution 'cause he's failed.
One minute!
What the fuck happened to two?
Talk about one person, fucking up another person's entire fucking day. [Goes outside to the balcony, points at Bullock] Wait.
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