Indeed

I woke up one afternoon with a large bruise on my thigh and a nasty cut on my shin. Remarkably, I didn't have any blood on my pants. I was happy about that, until I realized there was only one way there couldn't be blood on my pants: I wasn't wearing pants when it happened. Yet nobody could recall me falling down or going around without pants. Hmmm. My only regret is that my excessive indulgence left me less sociable during periods of sobriety.

Give me the turntables, it’s time to make a mix, a montage.

Bienvenido.
I’m in Miami bitches.
Are you for scuba?
Have you seen my chocolate cannon?
Do you want to go to a club where people wee on each other?
Every fuckin' day.
Tonight’s going to be a good night.
Do you have any daughters my age?
Dude, I don’t know you.
Two Einars, one cup.
Not up in here.
[slap! slap!]
I don’t know what to do. He won’t stop slapping him.
He was truly the only one on the entire street unaffected by his projectile vomit.
Nice recovery.
This is a veritable outdoor titty bar.
Oooh, look at me, I’m in Miami.
Bridget the midget.
Crazy bitches.
Does anyone speak English!?
Who dat!
We gon’ run this town tonight.
Hangover.
Ha! Ha! Ha!
Classic.