RB: Here you got all this shit and you can't figure out what to do with it. If you had some gumption...

Me: Look, hey, the last thing I need is to take crap from a scurvy friggin' rodent who can't find a decent place to live and has to take refuge in my shop because he's scared of thunder.

RB: Hey, thunder sucks...it's scary and loud and gives me the runs .

Me: I'm so terribly sorry...

RB: Look, all you do out here is drink beer.

Me: So? What do you do in your hole, fondle your tiny little pitkin?

RB: I don't have a hole...I live on your wall.

Me: OK, I forgot. Bugger off...leave me alone.

RB: It's not a pitkin.

Me: Whatever...

RB: Look at this... for Christ's sake, there's enough beer cans here to cast a set of heads for a flattie.

Me: So, go cast some...

RB: You have got to get your shit together and make some headway on this hot rod.

Me: Ain't gonna happen...takes money and I can't make it quick enough.

RB: So you're giving up?

Me: Yeah, so what?

RB: Yer a wussy kind of guy, eh? Plenty other fellers have worked through the same kind of shit.

Me: You've got a potty mouth on you for a rat with a mouse-turd for a brain. Where'd you learn that?

RB: Duh...how long have I been hangin' out with you?

Me: Too long, Rat Bastard...

RB: Look at this classy flathead. Wouldn't you like to get this thing running and on the road?

Me: Well, sure...

RB: Then, do it! Just do it!

Me: Ain't that easy, hey...

RB: You frickin' wiener...when was the last time you did anything?

Me: (Hmmm...if I time it just right I can squish his tiny little bonehead with this stob of wood... )

Me: Look here, I swapped out the grill and bumper on my wife's car...

RB: Whoopee-doopee...let's give him a Pulitzer...

Me: Dammit! I'm about to unlimber the Winchester!

RB: Gosh, I'm about to piss myself!

Me: You will when I feed you to the cat next door.

RB: Easy, there, hot-shot...

RB: This is your shrine, ain't it...?

Me: Damn right...

RB: "I kneel before Thee, O Exalted and Masterful Cooling Device..."

Me: Can it.

RB: "...I am but a dried-up and withered derelict of a man without Thy sub-zero ministrations upon the canned life-blood...

Me: I'm warning you...

RB: "...which courses through my veins..." Oh-oh...

RB: Hey, now, I was just kidding...put that thing away...I beg of you, sir, don't do it...

Me: Up on your roost! You move and I plug you!

RB: Jeez, what a grouch. Asshole...

Me: What was that?

RB: Nothing! Sir. Great one. Boss Dude. Master of my Domain. Retard with a Gun...

Me: Jesus, can't I have a dog or something? A rooster? A fucking aardvark? Why me?