N. Double A, AA
Uncle Meat: Well, somebody called me anyway and I— Here I am.
Spider?: I don't want no fucking chick swinging ar—
Uncle Meat: Here— Somebody called me and here I am and I'm gonna clean your piano, whether you like it or not, because . . . it's my job.
John?: She's— She's finished, she's— we can't.
?: We're gonna put her away.
Uncle Meat: Nobody—you're not—nobody's putting me away.
?: We gotta put her in the [...].
Uncle Meat: You're not gonna put me away.
John?: How are we gonna do it?
Uncle Meat: You can't put me away. No one's gonna put me away.
John?: We gotta put her away— How are we gonna do it?
Uncle Meat: Why do you think you are going to put me away. Well, you can't—
John?: What are we gonna do? Where are we gonna put her? Where are we gonna put the body?
Uncle Meat: But— I'm always wrecked, you know. I'm really gonna be more wrecked, because of this motorcycle accident and— 'Cause you know what they do to you, and everyone will know that I'm really ruined, and I won't be able to appear anywhere, you know.
Uncle Meat (or Girl #2?): Barry. Because—
Guy #1 (Bunk?): Who's Barry?
Uncle Meat (or Girl #2?): Barry!
Guy #2: Why should I be prejudiced against accordions?
John: I'm gonna call the N. Double A, AA.
Guy #2: Who are they?
John: The National Association for the Advancement of Accordions.
