“Recent studies suggest that minding your own fuckin’ business can considerably extend lifespans and reduce the risk of me kicking “the ever-loving shit” out of you by 98%. For all intensive [sic] purposes, this bodes well for fuckin’ fanuchs like you who come in here and tell us about yoga while we are trying to play a friendly game. This method is effective irregardless [sic] of the patients’ age or demographic.
“A Harvard study from this year shows that respondents who mind their own fuckin’ business report feeling a greater sense of well being than some fuckin’ pezzonovante of whom [sic] we don’t like, lecturing us on quinoa bowls. Another Harvard study shows I don’t give a rats’ ass. Maybe if I did a little dance on your forehead you’d get my point. Why don't you stop breaking my balls!
“Sanjay Singh a researcher at the National Institutes of Health states ‘while minding your own fuckin’ business has been suspected of being good for your health, our double blind study qualitatively proves it can extend your life by at least the time it takes me to count to tree [sic]’
“To be frank I’m starting to get aggravated [sic]. If you tell me one more time about intermittent fasting I might have to introduce you to my nutritionist friend “Johnny Icepick”. His office is in that alley over there.
“Ok that’s it. Sources confirm, I’ve had it up to here with you. Suck on this, asshole! That’ll teach you to mind your own fuckin’ business”
“Holy shit Tone, you fuckin’ killed him!”
“Well, he shouldn’t have kept going on about those stupid canoli bowls. Go check his pockets”
“What’s this, a press credential? Oh Shit, Tone! This guy writes for the New York Times! They’re gonna’ come looking for him”
(“Whacking a New York Times reporter was not like whacking some yelper. Those guys were practically untouchable. They were made members of one of the five families of journalism. If you wanted to ice the guy, you’d have to have a sit down with your capo before you did it and if you didn’t have a good reason, you’d be the one to get whacked.)
“What are we gonna’ do with the body, Tone?”
“Ok. Calm down. I know a place. Get in the car and step on it”
“We’re going to the meadowlands, Tone?”
“Would you shut the fuck up? I’m trying to think! Ok, yeah take the turnpike”
“Fuckin’ New York Times. I hate those fuckin' gavone bastards!”
“Pull over here. You gonna help me dig the hole or what?”
“Well Tone, with all due respect you killed the guy. I think, you know, it’s only fair”
“Fine! I’ll dig the fucking hole! Don’t make no difference to me! Give me a fuckin’ shovel”
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