Me? to end it.

It's nothing. Barely a flesh wound. On your feet, old man.

Want some milk?

Get those wounds looked at, Chief.

What is this, a scratch?

Kid?

Bella, the only thing that can hurt me is you.

What are you waiting for, you son of a bitch?

He'll never fucking hurt anyone.

My laptops break all the time so I don't have time to put stickers on.

Hey, uh, you get some sleep.

It's blurry. Yes.

Spillage?

Keep it to a dull roar, will you? I got a hot beverage here!

That metric. The problem is why they do it starts to go fuzzy.

All the talk about duelling and scars and scratches.

I must discuss it while I eat, for I have not much time.

No, no, I'll get that. I got it.

And we put a little piece on there.

Please come back. ( baby gurgles ) Hey, baby.

I hate this nightgown.

Quit griping.

Maybe.

No, me. No, me.

I now know that that puncture mark was made by this knife,not a dog bite.

He was nearly drowned.

Yeah. A little runoff.

Don't spill it!

(Laughing) And I'd be, like, This is my job.

No bullet holes? No blast damage?

Oh, cut it out, grumpy.

We made it, and not a scratch.

Maybe a little too smart for his own good.

And so these characters would become my friends.

They're infantile and they're gutless. ( clicks ) Hey, kid.

You got your coffee. I'll get it.

Hey, you fucking spilled it.

For those of us that spend most of our lives on the ground, this may be counter intuitive, but driving has potholes, cobblestones, pedestrians, other drivers and a rather long and detailed list of federal motor vehicle safety standards to contend with.

That robot put on a great show.

Being a foster child taught me a lot.

You practice ancient Balinese arts.

And though the woman was dead, the man still selfishly scratched at his own wounds, until he was marked by scars that cut deep into his very soul.

What the hell are you all doing there?

This is a place for sorrow.

Why do you people eat sauce?