Blow out the candles, Jer! What did you wish for? C’mon, tell us. It’ll still come true. Jer? Jerry? Jerry, did you wish for hats. Did you fucking wish for hats, Jerry? Tell me that’s not what you fucking wished for, Jerry. Don’t look at me that way. DON’T YOU LOOK AT ME WITH THOSE EYES! TELL US THE TRUTH, JERRY!! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU WISH FOR?!?!
And the rest of the world to finally realize that they hate movies, once and for all.
For now, just know that your life will be saved on a chilly Tuesday years from now, when a truck’s wheels come off before it can crush you, and the incomprehensible chain of events that led to it begins with this acetylene torch.
Presumably because if you don’t accept death by that point, your life was probably never worth living in the first place.
My second kid, however, would be named “California, Don’t Come Down Here Now, John Doe Has the Upper Hand,” and I’d just make the two re-enact the climax from Se7en.