fitzgerald, flashily pushing the doors to the reception room open: hEY GUYS

lucy, mentally: gays

fitzgerald: guess what

steinbeck: you did surgery on a grape

margaret: isn't that YOUR job

twain: you won the lottery

lucy: will he even need that

fitzgerald: wrong!

fitzgerald: my ass hurts.

hawthorne:

fitzgerald: i sat on a peasant chair and now my ass hurts. someone get me my 500k usd throne.

steinbeck: oh dear god i fucking hate you.