He liked the idea of space.
The final frontier.
Smoking stars on Saturn\'s rings.
Yeah, that would do it.
The five o’clock rush was a bitch.
The eight a.m. rush was a double bitch.
Bitch, bitch, bitch.
People on phones.
Wanting to know how their shares were performing.
The wife trying on outfits.
That’s a performance.
Your shares, Titanic comes to mind.
Yes, sir, your shares are performing just as I told you they would.
They’re somewhere in between my lies, and my imagination.
They say we’ll be driving driverless cars soon.
The five o’clock rush is now down to just a bitch.
The eight a.m. bitch, bitch.
Two driverless cars were caught at a strange hotel.
The court ruling found in favour of the drivers, Mr X, and Mrs X.
Blaming software problems.
The judge put that into his little black book.
Yes sir, not only would I put my life savings into that company, I would remortgage my house.
Nice little island in the sun, no phones.
The crash was blamed on driverless cars.
No one at the helm.
The judge was having none of it.
Subpoenas were flying in all directions.
Mr and Mrs X had fled the country.
It was all in the little black book.