What if I told you insane was working fifty hours a week in some office for fifty years at the end of which they tell you to piss off; ending up in some retirement village hoping to die before suffering the indignity of trying to make it to the toilet on time? Wouldn’t you consider that to be insane?
OK... First I'll access the secret military spy satelite that is in geosynchronous orbit over the midwest. Then I'll ID the limo by the vanity plate "MR. BIGGG" and get his approximate position. Then I'll reposition the transmission dish on the remote truck to 17.32 degrees east, hit WESTAR 4 over the Atlantic, bounce the signal back into the aerosphere up to COMSAT 6, beam it back to SATCOM 2 transmitter number 137 and down on the dish on the back of Mr. Big's limo... It's almost too easy.
I feel good today, Silent Bob, we're gonna make some money, then you know what we're going to do? We're gonna go to that party, and we're gonna get some pussy, and I'm gonna fuck this bitch, and fuck this bitch, I'll fuck ANYTHING THAT MOVES! What the fuck you lookin at, I'll kick yo fuckin ass! Shit yeah. Doesn't that fucker owe me 10 bucks? You know, fuckin tonight, we're gonna rip off that fucker's head, and take out his fuckin' SOUL. Hey, what's up baby, what's up, sluts?