Ty: Hey, guys?

Whabadoo: What you want, Mister Ty?

Babadoo: Yeah?

Ty: I brought a friend, he's religious, so be nice, okay?

Babadoo: Okay, who is this culty fuck?

Whabadoo: Babadoo, cut that shit out, dude. Chill. He looks cool...for a man of the cloth or whatever.

Ty: Guys, this is the Rev. DJ Richie-Scratchy, you can call him Rich.

Babadoo: Hello, Mister Reech.

Whabadoo: Where's your collar?

DJ Richie-Scratchy: Ha-ha guys. I don't wear a collar. I'm a virtual minister; an Internet preacher. Praise God to all!

Ty: Okay, Rich. Tell the fellas what you were telling me.

DJ Richie-Scratchy: Guys, I'm hear to tell you that God is mad. Angry. Pissed the hell off. The end is near! Praise Allah!

Whabadoo: Really!?

Babadoo: What we do? How do you know?

DJ Richie-Scratchy: In addition to feeding tubes for the Pope and no feeding tubes for the Terri, God gave us earthquakes in the same brown part of the world not too far from Christmas and Easter. I bet he meant them to be on Christmas and Easter but when you have to throw them from so far away (the other side of the universe) you can be off by a couple of days. Praise Buddha.

Plus, Jerry Falwell is bleeding out the asshole and Johnnie Cochran got a wicked brain tumor - the fun inoperable kind. "If the tumor's too big; nigga, get a shovel and start to dig!"

Ty: Dude, that was cold! The brotha's just doing his ca-zash bizz-niz. You don't have to hate...

DJ Richie-Scratchy: "...if homie's got a lump in the head; get yo po ass outta bed..."