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[dirteater]

 

 

 

[AUDIO / VIDEO / TEXT / ACTION]

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[dirteater]

If it was obvious why'd you bother asking?

[rickdiculous]

FINE! Y-Y-YOU KNOW WHAT, I'LL...I'LL THROW IN THE TOW-[urp]-EL!

[He hangs up...and the phone rings ten seconds later.]

Is Oliver there.

[dirteater]

Speaking!

[Beatrice has entered full shitlord mode]

[rickdiculous]

Oh, yeah. Y-you're Oliver Klozoff. At the f-fucking...Ford Pines residence. Gimme a break.

What about Jacques.

[dirteater]

[She breaks her shithead concentration]

Please tell me this isn't about some beef you have with Ford. Look, I just live here-- go bother him directly.

[rickdiculous]

Actually, y-you know, it's surprising that th-there's a feminine voice at all in Ford's giant pervo scitzy...Playboy Beachhouse.

[And he falls into a terrible "Ford must die" concentration.]

[dirteater]

[Beatrice doesn't really know what half of that means but.]

I'm just as surprised as you but here I am.

[rickdiculous]

Does he have you chained-up in there? Shit, man, l-let me know and I'll throw more eggs at it in a jiffy.

[dirteater]

[Beatrice bolts upright in bed.]

YOU'RE THE ONE WHO'S BEEN EGGING OUR HOUSE!

[rickdiculous]

No fucking shit.

[dirteater]

[She rubs her eyes and mutters.] Ugh, cheese and crackers.

Look I don't know what your deal is with Ford-- hell, I don't even know you but stop taking it out on me just because I live here.

[rickdiculous]

No, I-I'm taking it out on the house. The...beach creephouse. His lair. The Bill Cipher Sex Dungeon. Whatever you wanna call it.