Ryan: Get to work.
Pedro: Sorry.
Ryan: I love the respect I get around here.
Pedro: You don't want to know how close I was to saying, "Shove it."
Ryan: How close? How close in inches?
Pedro: I prefer to measure my distrust of management in cubic decimeters.
Ryan: Whatever's most accurate.

That Ryan's a good kid.  I kicked his ass at hopscotch once. 
Once?  More like every day.

Sometimes I start to feel bad for him, but then I remember that if I don't stomp his face into the curb with my superior hopping and scotching abilities I'll be doing him no favors.  It's a tough world out there (a tough *hopscotch* world that is).  You've got to learn to fend for yourself.  And eventually wake up, rub the candy coating from your eyes, replace it with Visine (or a knock off, you cheap whore), and blow your brains out because the pressure of the Hopscotch Circuit is too much to bare.  You're fat and no one loves you, or gives a good god damn about how many scotches you've hopped.  And it's probably nowhere near as many as you claim.  I saw you're score card, dip shit.  Get a life. 

Here, you can have half of mine but I need it back.