How could I turn that down!?
"Bad news," I said, "and my name is Tom."
They make the Muscovit
Planck, but not by much.
He has always been an anti climb Max.
A butt load.
From my pops. He’s very proud.
Max turns and says, " Miss Stakes, we're made"
I thought, well I just can’t turn that down
Because Tim cooks
But I could see the Telltale signs
Until they think about what they've done
The scene where Max is grabbed by the Pole Cat,
http://cdn.collider.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/mad-max-fury-road-image-the-war-rig.jpg
and ends up getting dumped onto the car with the drums and guitar guy
http://i.guim.co.uk/static/w-620/h--/q-95/sys-images/Guardian/Pix/pictures/2015/3/31/1427821675682/5e25da37-61d7-44fd-a9a3-b2f5b8b5a791-620x372.jpeg
I leaned over to my GF and said "It looks like he's jumped onto... the bandwagon" She totally lost it :)
The sun shone into my office through the lowered blinds all clumsy like, fumbling through the gaps between the venetian slats like a drunk fishing for loose change in his pockets; trying to see if he has money enough for one last drink or maybe the bus ride home.
The dame looked me up and down, clearly disappointed by what sat in front of her. I didn’t blame her. Three days of salt and pepper stubble clung to my my crude boxer’s jaw and the bags under my eyes were so big half the bums downtown could sleep in there and not even know anyone else was with 'em. That was ok. This broad wasn’t hiring me for my looks and I wasn’t looking to her for approval. We both knew what brought her in here, it was the name on the door.
Max Dad P.I. - that’s me. Private Investigator’s sure not the profession my mother would have picked out for me, but it keeps me in whisky and it keeps a roof over my head and that’ll do for now. The dame parted those cherry red lips of hers as she took another pull on that just-lit cigarette and nervously stubbed it out in the ashtray. My eyebrows knit together slightly. I hate seeing things go to waste.
“So as I was saying, Mr Dad,” she began.
“Please, call me Max”
“Alright, Max… well, as I was saying, my bag is missing. Stolen, I think. I urgently need it back. Shall I describe it to you?”
“No that’s alright miss. You got nothing to worry about,” I replied, sliding a bottle out of the desk drawer and pouring a big slug of scotch into to my morning coffee, “I’m sure it’ll be a brief case.”
"Of course they do, sweetheart," I replied, "When Max was a puppy he wanted to grow up to play shortstop for the New York Yankees!"
I can't turn that down.
I couldn't turn it down.
I though to myself, “I can’t turn that down.”
I thought, "I can't turn that down"
