Disco:Very: Only for a short while.
God: Where are you going?
DV: To the 2007 Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah.
God: Will you see any celebrities?
DV: Perhaps. Mostly, I will be avoiding celebrities.
God: Care to name which ones you'll be avoiding?
DV: The ones still wearing "Vote For Pedro" t-shirts two years after they went out of style.
God: Will you come back?
DV: No, I plan on setting up a permanent domicile under the seats of the Egyptian Theatre. Of course I'm coming back! Jeez, I mean, c'mon, the festival isn't year-round or anything! I'll be back on Wednesday night.
God: What films will you see?
DV: I know what I won't be seeing: anything remotely connected to John Sayles; anything starring Zach Braff; anything about indie rock kids looking for love in the big city; any movie using the following bands in its soundtrack: The Postal Service, Jet, The Doves, Phantom Planet, Death Cab For Cutie, Keane or Beulah.
God: That doesn't leave much else.
DV: No shit, Sherlock. It means I'll only be catching, like, the new one by David Gordon Green and a documentary or two about border crossings and that's about it.
God: Do you have a nice lodging situation set up?
DV:: Hella, yes. My crib will be the shit.
God: Can I stay with you?
DV: There isn't any room.
God: But you're staying at a 2-room suite in a swank resort and--
DV: You don't want to stay with me. I snore and I'm a major slob. Also, I don't want to share a bathroom with you and find your holy pubes on the soap dish.
God: I don't have pubes.
DV: Everyone has pubes.
God: Only those weighted to earthly desires.
DV: Nobody desires pubes. They just happen.
God: Silence! Your Lord and Savior does not have pubes!
DV: Alright, alright, don't get your flowing robes in a twist. Whatever, I just want to be alone, is all.
God: Fine. You will be alone for all eternity, writhing in agony amongst the flames of hell.
DV: A sphincter says what?
God: What?
DV: Perfect.
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