220. If you could buy a magic potion, what would it be?
You've got to be fucking with me.
You want something, you go out and get it yourself. Magic potion? No, thank you. No goddamn way. You think I'm going to trust some sort of "magical potion," you're out of your goddamn mind. Yes, please, hand me that magical drink you've got there, and everything'll be swell. I'll have that Cadillac, I'll have more money than God himself, Moss'll drop dead, women will be crowding my doorstep, and--of course--I'll be the happiest man in the world. Uh-huh. Right. See this? This is me, not believing a word of it.
There's no point in talking about this, anyway, because there's no such thing. You want to talk about fairies and pixie dust while we're at it? Magic spells and wizards? All right, fine, you go ahead and talk about these things, but I'm through. Don't waste my time with shit that ain't real.
Look, I've met plenty of people fucked up enough to think they could rely on magic. Like if they just sat back--all nice and easy--and just waited, it'd come to them. Somehow, in some mysterious way, everything'd be solved. The bills will pay themselves, a brand new job will walk right up and grab 'em by the nose. Those guys are just fucking themselves over.
Which isn't to say that I particularly mind these individuals. So long as they do have money somewhere, and so long as you can work it out of them--sometimes, I swear to Christ, sometimes it's just as easy as telling the stupid bastards you've got a secret about the property you just can't reveal, it's so goddamn valuable--there guys can make pretty desirable clients. So I suppose I owe a big thank you to all the suckers in the world, only what the hell do I care? They can't hold onto reality and take care of themselves, that's their problem.
And that, my friends, is what believing in magic gets you.
You want something, you go out and get it yourself. Magic potion? No, thank you. No goddamn way. You think I'm going to trust some sort of "magical potion," you're out of your goddamn mind. Yes, please, hand me that magical drink you've got there, and everything'll be swell. I'll have that Cadillac, I'll have more money than God himself, Moss'll drop dead, women will be crowding my doorstep, and--of course--I'll be the happiest man in the world. Uh-huh. Right. See this? This is me, not believing a word of it.
There's no point in talking about this, anyway, because there's no such thing. You want to talk about fairies and pixie dust while we're at it? Magic spells and wizards? All right, fine, you go ahead and talk about these things, but I'm through. Don't waste my time with shit that ain't real.
Look, I've met plenty of people fucked up enough to think they could rely on magic. Like if they just sat back--all nice and easy--and just waited, it'd come to them. Somehow, in some mysterious way, everything'd be solved. The bills will pay themselves, a brand new job will walk right up and grab 'em by the nose. Those guys are just fucking themselves over.
Which isn't to say that I particularly mind these individuals. So long as they do have money somewhere, and so long as you can work it out of them--sometimes, I swear to Christ, sometimes it's just as easy as telling the stupid bastards you've got a secret about the property you just can't reveal, it's so goddamn valuable--there guys can make pretty desirable clients. So I suppose I owe a big thank you to all the suckers in the world, only what the hell do I care? They can't hold onto reality and take care of themselves, that's their problem.
And that, my friends, is what believing in magic gets you.