Tiny: Peep this. This chick's bobbing up and down on my dick like Marilyn Chambers...
Singh: She found your dick?
Tiny: Then she moves around the outside. She's painting the tree. It hits her in the eye. And her contact? It's, like, stuck on the end of my dick. Yo, her contact is stuck on the end of my dick!
Marcus: Was it hard or soft?
Tiny: What, my dick?
Singh: The contact lens.
Marcus: Remember if it was colored? That she had two blue eyes and now one blue and one brown?
Tiny: What does it matter?
Marcus: It matters because it happened to me. That was my story. I told that story a year ago, man. The difference is I knew those small details. That and my story was true.
Tiny: Whatever.
Marcus: "Whatever"?
Tiny: Whatever.
Marcus: What do you mean?
Tiny: Pull your stinky dinky out of my ass! I was making conversation. Fuck! Give a nigger a break!
Marcus: "Nigger"? What nigger, this nigger?
Tiny: I told you my mother's mother's mother was black.
Marcus: This ain't Roots. Show me this Nubian's picture.
Tiny: I don't carry her picture.
Marcus: If you were less black, you'd be clear.
Tiny: She was black as night!
Marcus: Okay, stop! Truce!
Tiny: Shut up! Man, I see black. I know I am. Color's a state of mind, Marcus.
Marcus: You know, you're right.
Singh: Thank you, Rhythm Nation.
Tiny: Fuck you, Vanilla Ice.
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