Repeatedly sing the crazy death shirt song to the office manager. I also appreciate the song about wax dahlia in the red sauce pocket. Definitely belt that one out too.
Meanwhile, while our redneck clientele establishes their little ass gallery, the lady from the hospital will use her car to annihilate a troupe of masturbating muscle freaks.
Under the paper apron, doomed pals play with their clavicle flutes. I never wanted a piece of that action.