"Rock? Yeah, but it's nothin' to write home about. We got one band with, what. Five songs? Cornier than a farmer's turds in Fall. I get the feeling it'd be better where you come from. Can you sing somethin' for me and the green machine, or do you need a beat in the background?"

Harrow points at Shark and says, "Yo, your little electric clipboard, that thing got any jams on it? Give this guy a beat and let's hear him sing."

Sing, Neirin, with the sounds of the TV's grunty lovemaking as your chorus.