Listen, punk-o. Before he entered the monastery Shane would've ripped you to pieces! Wasn't anybody who could out-drink, out-cuss, out-fight, out-love, out-dope, or out-anything else the Old Shane. Now you come along and say you're him! "Oh, I hope your mungoberries..." -- the Old Shane wouldn't have said something like that; no, he would've try to rip 'em off.

At least he seems to have made peace with himself. Which is more than I can say for you, you white-livered, posy-sniffing, fake! And if you want to come out here and make something of it, come on ahead. I sure as heck can't be bothered to go to Blind River and look YOU up, you beer puke, you!