Ya nadie nos paga (1).

A modo de despedida tardía de la etiqueta "miro tele mala por dinero", Olor a tostadas les trae con mucho amor el último par de entradas de esa sección. Comenzamos, entonces, con una escena de Clerks que ha tocado nuestro corazoncito de coordinadora nocturna, mientras intentamos aceptar el hecho de que ya no tenemos más excusas económicas para seguir mirando tele mala, y que esto ya es autoflagelación estética e intelectual.

Randal Graves: [suddenly outraged] Oh, fuck you! Fuck you, pal! Jesus, there you go again trying to pass the buck. I'm the source of all your misery. Who closed the store to play hockey? Who closed the store to go to a wake? Who tried to win back his ex girlfriend without even discussing how he felt with his present one? You wanna blame somebody? Blame yourself. "I'm not even supposed to be here today."

[throws stuff at Dante]

You sound like an asshole! Jesus, nobody twisted your arm to be here today. You're here of your own volition. You like to think the weight of the world rests on your shoulders. Like this place would fall apart if Dante wasn't here. Jesus, you overcompensate for having what's basically a monkey's job. You push fucking buttons. Anybody can waltz in here and do our jobs. You... You're so obsessed with making it seem so much more epic, so much more important than it really is. Christ, you work in a convenience store, Dante! And badly, I might add! I work in a shitty video store, badly as well.