Tod Waggner: We say that the hour of death cannot be forecast. But when we say this, we imagine that the hour is placed in an obscure and distant future. It never occurs to us that it has any connection with the day already begun, or that death could arrive this same afternoon - this afternoon which is so certain, and which has every hour filled in advance.
Gavin Strick: Here's where it gets really nasty. Lorna runs with that group there, the Blue Ribbons.
Steve Clark: What's that?
Gavin Strick: It's a community group of good kids. Have bake sales, car washes. Kiss a lot of adult sphincter.
U.V.: Blue Robots.
Gavin Strick: Here, here. Those three guys: Cradle Bay's answer to Manson, McVeigh and O.J. Trent Whalen, Andy Effkin, Robby Stewart.
U.V.: I bet you didn't know that toast came in three flavors.
Gavin Strick: This group's music of choice: The hum of perfection, the buzz of ambition. Drug of choice: Life, the pursuit of clean living at the expense of all who sniffle at the hem of their gowns.
U.V.: Freaks, so chic.
Gavin Strick: Then you got kids like me and U.V. Lames who like our metal heavy, our Marlboros light. Music of choice: Harvester of Sorrow, Language of the Mad. Drug of choice: What do you got?
U.V.: Freaks all week.
Gavin Strick: That's it. Lesson over. Class dismembered. Welcome to Cradle Bay High, Stevie Boy. Welcome to my nightmare.
Gavin Strick: It's a class system here at C.B. High, Stevie Boy. Check it out. There you got your motorheads, car jocks. All the world's a gasket and a lube job and a pack of Luckys. Music of choice: Posi-traction overdrive, classic rock. Skynyrd, The Allmans, Bruce. Drug of choice: Beer, Miller Genuine Draft. Keggers can't be choosers.
U.V.: Freaks who fix leaks.
Gavin Strick: Over here you have your microgeeks, nerds, whiz kids and various other bottom feeders. Music of choice: The sound of an Apple PC booting up. Drug of choice: Stephen Hawking's 'A Brief History of Time' and a cup of jasmine tea on a Saturday night.
U.V.: Freaks that go squeak.
Gavin Strick: Over there you have your skaters. Riffin', raging kids and their ramp tramps. Baggy pants, Dickie wools, doing 50-50 grinds with a gnarly grab finish on a homemade half-pipe in the woods. Music of choice: The whack of a hacky sack. Drug of choice: Ecstasy, E-tab. Baby, longer lovin' through science.
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Luke: Alright. I'll give it a try. Yoda: No. Try not. Do or do not. There is no try.