Lou: Around here, we got the probie, he controls all the homo retard crap, okay? Garrity covers all the stupid retard bullshit. Franco is our pussy man. You control all the drinkin' and the fire hero worship crap. Poetry is my territory, you're musclin' in on my turf.
Tommy: You need to take some kinda chill pill because you're very upset--
Lou: Lemme ask you somethin' else. Where were the tits?
Tommy: Where were the tits?
Lou: All week long in the poem! (mocking him) It's gotta have tits. Gotta love tits. It needs tits, it needs tits. 14 goddamn lines, not one tit.
Tommy: It was implied.
Lou: Oh, it was implied?
Tommy: Yes, in subtext.
Lou: It was subtext. Subtext, my ass. What are you Walt goddamn Whitman all of a sudden? The Tommy Gavin I know would never write that poem. The Tommy Gavin I know would never write that poem to seduce his own piece of ass let alone his buddy's. You wanna know something? This, the fall you just took, the dancing, the singing, the cleaning, the la-la-la, what the hell are you on?