What are you doing?
Masticating.
What?
Don't worry, it doesn't mean what you think.
What do you think I think?
Jake [smiling]: You know...
Do you mind if I take your room?
My room? Gee, I, I--
Trust me, you want me to have a room with a private crapper.
Incredible! I've been living here for two years, and you still consider me a houseguest.
No, my houseguests bring a bottle of wine and have sex with me.
Oh, I'm sorry, I'll go get some Chardonnay and assume the position.
Hey, don't be letting your mouth write checks your ass can't cash.
You know what the pecking order is in this house? Charlie, women Charlie sleeps with, Charlie's bookie, women Charlie hopes to sleep with, termites, me!
Well, that's just not right.
Yeah, but what am I supposed to do? I-I-I can't really afford my own place. I mean, I could, but it certainly wouldn't be on the beach, unless the beach was Guadalcanal.
It's a shame, you paying all that money for an ex-wife and an ex-wife's house, and you're not allowed inside either one.
Oh, this looks interesting: "Two-bedroom, needs work, up-and-coming neighborhood." Wh-- what does that mean, uh, "up-and-coming neighborhood"?
It means the realtor couldn't move the house saying "drug-ravaged battlefield".
You know, I-- I'd rather be a second-class citizen here in paradise than king of a urine-soaked firetrap next to Burbank Airport!
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