Let's play a story game!

...lost complete control of your facilities, and now, in the words of that mortal screen diva,
Margot Channing,

...I'll admit I may have seen better days, but I'm still not to be had for the price of a cocktail, like a salted peanut."

Paul stared blankly at Christine.

"Christine, cut the Bette Davis crap. I'm on some stupid planet called Studstuff, in the Betelguese solar system I freakin' guess, I've got jalapeño oil all over my hands which is really going to cause a big burning sensation when I get up to to take a whiz, and you come in here crooning some stupid freakin' lines from some silly-arse 1950 movie?

"What's next, Christine? Huh? C'mon, stop the suspense. What the hell's next? Clara with a sissy-arse pot of chamomile tea, and some freakin' crumpets??

"And dammit Christine, I'm outta cigarettes!!! Fat damn chance they got any cigarettes on Studstuff, right sugar dumplin'?"

Paul violently kicked at the beer cans scattered all over the cheesy motel room as he headed for the bathroom.