Okay, kids, here are two of Paul's tirades.
 
-- Tirade #1.
 
                DAVE
 
Paul, what's wrong with me?
 
                PAUL
 
Well, you're sarcastic, you're abrupt with the guests; you
have the worst toupee in show business;  you're jokes don't
make any sense; you're always getting Anton Figg's name wrong;
there's always a funny smell coming from your office;  you
look terrible in tweed;  you reek of Mexican aftershave;  you
do not understand how fractions work;  you run in the pool
area;  you dot your i's with little hearts;  you're obsessed
with the glamourous ladies of wrestling;  you tend to stereotype
people of Turkish ancestry; you buy cut-rate salad dressing;
you take your National Parks for granted;  it's mean the way
you scare the paperboy with a blank pistol;  you cut in  line
in the commissary;  you cannot pull off the safari look;
sometimes you start screaming, "Ahoy there, maties" over and
over again for no apparent reason at all; you make the interns
lose to you during your karate sparring sessions;  you hog
the remote control;  you've thrown away your god-given talent
for dancing;  you skimp on the mayonnaise; you're as dumb as
a post;  you giggle whenever anyone mentions the penal code;
you used to really like Jethro Tull;  you once pummeled Katharine
Hepburn --
 
                DAVE
 
Wait a minute!  She had that coming!
 
                PAUL
 
Maybe so.  You betrayed folk music when you went electric;  you
bitch and moan about having to work one hour a day;  and finally,
you insist on calling me Paul even though my name is actually
Frank.  And one more thing:  you seem to have no idea how to use
a telephone.
 
-- Tirade #2.
 
                DAVE
 
Is something troubling you?  Are you all right?
 
                PAUL
 
To tell you the truth there are a couple of things.
 
                DAVE
 
Like what?
 
                PAUL
 
Well, it's awfully cold in here;  I buy those Oreos for the
band and the musical guests.
 
                DAVE
 
Okay, I won't eat them.
 
                PAUL
 
Also, please stop asking us to play "We Built this City on
Rock'n'Roll";  Dave, you are not one of The BeeGees, so stop
telling people that you are;  I do not mind the oath of
loyalty, but every day?  I know it was you who vandalized my
lawn ornament.
 
                DAVE
 
You can't prove anything!
 
                PAUL
 
Your ears, David, look like some kind of toaster snack gone
wrong;  I hate the stupid way you pronounce "chimbley" --
it's "chimney";  we're having trouble getting any store to
accept those "Dave-Dollars" that you pay us with;  I get
tired of explaining to my mom that your jokes aren't
supposed to be funny;  what is that aftershave you're
wearing, A-1 sauce?  You are not a Cajun so drop that fake
Cajun accent;  you waste hours in the supermarket because
you simply refuse to organize your coupons;  you're homely
as a slab of peat moss;  you say catty things about Liza;
frankly, your oil paintings are amateurish, and when Gary,
my favourite character on "thirtysomething" died, you just
laughed.  Your obsession with the Oakridge Boys is
unhealthy;  you had the Trivial Pursuit card that mentions
you framed;  I'm sick of you shouting, "Them boys is tasty!"
after every french fry you eat;  we've all seen your biceps
so enough already;  there are no health reasons for you to
wear three-inch lifts in your shoes;  Anton tells me you've
been touching him in the elevator again;  that is not a
social club you belong to, it is a right-wing, paramilitary
group intent on overthrowing our government!