R: So I guess this is it, huh?
D: What's it?
R: This. Here. The end of the world.
D: You say this at least once a week, Roxy. Is it really bothering you so much? I rather enjoy the solitude.
R: It doesn't bother you at all? Knowing the only other person in the entire world is like... a frillion miles away? I mean, not to call feels into this or anything but it's more than a little depressing. At least you've got your creepy-ass puppet.
D: Hey, keep it down. You'll hurt his feelings.
R: If I didn't roll my eyes loud enough just now, I can do it again.
D: L'il Cal is the perfect post-apocalyptic companion. He doesn't whine, he doesn't argue, and he doesn't smell like a dive bar.
R: Hey, too far. Back that shit up, mister.
D: Back it up? Should I put it in reverse?
R: Oh no.
D: Because I've gotta tell you...
R: I know that tone.
D: This gift's more a blessing than it is a curse.
R: Please stop.
D: Too late, mon aime, this shit's about to get nasty.
R: *irritated sigh*
D: 'bout to give you a mad dose of some sick rhyme-o-plasty.
R: Rhyme-o-plasty. That's a shitty rhyme. Your rapping is bad and you should feel bad.
D: Now who's dissin'? You're gonna be missin' the sick beats I'm layin' down - it's /my/ ring you'll be kissin'.
R: Ugh. If you can't beat 'em join 'em, right? Here's my plight - I'm horribly white. I can't rhyme so I fight. My fists shaken and stirred have you heard that this bird's gonna fly? Dunno why, but you'll cry - sock you in the eye - socket, like a rocket, but don't knock it, it's /your/ momma's picture I got stuck in my locket.
D: ...I'm impressed.
R: I've been practicing.
D: I can tell. Could use some work, though.
R: Shut your ass up, didn't I?
D: Touché.
R: I've got shit to do though, Dirk. This vodka ain't gonna drink itself. The next time I want to be annoyed I'll give you a buzz.
D: Sure thing, Rox. Ciao.