Joe Dirt 2: Beautiful Loser

Grand Canyon ain't nothin'.

Being a grandfather, or a father, now

that's harder than being the Grand Canyon.

It's just a hole, sitting

there, doing nothing.

Okay, but are you even okay without

havin' a Grand Canyon?

Or should we just kick some sand up all

over it, and fill it up like a cat box?

Sh*t.

All I'm sayin' is the Grand Canyon is

where Joe was left that very day.

Yo, Ebony, Ivory? You

talkin' about Joe Dirt?

- Yeah.

- I know a little something about Joe Dirt.

Stopped into an old radio station I worked

a few years back.

Stayed for, it must have been a week.

Wove some bat-sh*t crazy tale.

So bat-sh*t, he should have hung upside down

from the ceiling when he was telling it.

I remember a big kid, bigger heart.

Sure, you know, I'm not saying the IQ

wasn't subterranean.

I mean, that intellect was barely

skimming the treetops.

Now, I ain't saying that I ain't

in "agree-ence" with you.

But somewhere in there,

the speechifying you making,

it just ain't sounded right.

Hey, John C-minus Reilly.

It's not "agree-ence", it's "agreematude".

And by the way, what's with the mouth

for God's sakes?

The teeth look like a half-completed

Lego project.

What are you gargling with, M-80s?

Are those deciduous teeth? I'm waiting

for them to change color, fall out

and float down to the Grand. Who's your

orthodontist, Moe Howard with

a ball-peen hammer?

I mean, for God's sakes, man. It looks like

Willie Stargell took a bat to your mouth.

Now listen, JD has got himself in

another bind here.

But, why not let the boy tell ya

his own tale, in his own way?

Let's drop that needle, guys.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second.

That's a sweet song, I get the thematics,

but this is Joe Dirt.

We're gonna start this puppy off,

we gotta go old school. Try it again, guys.

Big wheels keep on turning

Carry me home to see my kin

Singing songs about the south-land

I miss "ole" 'bamy once again

And I think it's a sin

Hello.

I'm Dirt. I'm Joe Dirt.

Those look like pretty comfortable

shoes you got on there.

My boots don't feel so good, but

they're, like, magical or something.

Look, cracker, don't you be talking

no Forrest Gump

crap to me, you little b*tch waffle.

Sittin' there talkin' all that honky-ass

whiney crap like,

"Mama said life is like

a box of chocolates."

Boy, sittin' next to you for even

ten seconds makes me feel like I should

take a shower in a bath full of Clorox.

Sh*t.

Mullet head.

Hey, if I said "hi" to you, you're not going

to call me, like, a dumb crap Forrest Gump

or something, will you?

Well, uh, let's play it by ear.

Are you waiting on the seven

cross-town bus?

Fair enough.

No, I'm just waitin' for the concert to be

over, over there, yeah. I tidy up after.

- Tidy up?

- Dirty, yeah. I'm sort of, you know, a roadie.

Oh, you travel with the bands, and you

pack up their equipment after concerts

- and their amplifiers and stuff?

- Oh, yeah, exactly. But, no, not per se.

I don't travel with them.

Uh, mostly I mop up after they're done.

Like, I clean up the poop and the barf

and things. And your occasional fart items.

And peepee, you know, whatnot.

So, you don't actually travel with them,

and such. Not a roadie.

No, exactly. I don't know where

that started, yeah.

- Now we're on the same page.

- Why aren't you in there,

- watching them perform?

- Oh, uh, well,

I ain't exactly allowed in the building

during the concerto, if you will.

But, if there is a diarrhea emergency or

something, I get to go in and clean it up.

And I can hear a little bit.

So there are some perks.

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