Parasite? Me? I'm the parasite? Why don't you take a look at yourself, you geriatric sack of skin. You won't do a damn thing without your little choir boy sidekick, you think I don't know what's going on with that, by the way? You got any idea how long I've lived in Hollywood, pal? Long enough to see this story play out a thousand times. You know, just cause you get all Spacey in your UFO doesn't mean you have to call yourself Kevin. Then you crash in his garage? That sounds a lot more like a parasite to me. So what if I'm only subsisting on my royalty checks from a show that ruined my life? So what if I use sex as a crutch to keep my self-esteem from bottoming out so deep that it would jettison California off the continental US? That'd be a good thing, all these soulsucking vampires being separated from the innocent they prey on. They're the real parasites, not me and you. Wait, hold on, I mean, not me. You're still a parasite. Sorry, I lost the thread of that.
What were we talking about?