Dziennikarze nie interesują się wcale wiadomościami, które podają, tak jak kelnerzy nie mają apetytu na potrawy, które przynoszą.
News breaks fastest on Twitter. Hearts can be broken as quickly.
News travel slowly, when communications are fancy.
Harry Shaw: — Snow, what's going on?
Marion Snow: — Uh, you know, global warming, some celebrity is getting a boob-job, Congress is screwing the pooch again. You know, same old.
Harry Shaw: — Snow. Come on, man. I mean, what's going on there?
Marion Snow: — Oh, yeah. Well, your wildcat smacked me in the head with a fire extinguisher and locked herself in some room. So she's safe. Send the cavalry.
Scott Langral: — Listen, Snow. You stick to the plan. You better do your job or I'll hit you with a Sherman tank. Got that?
Marion Snow: — A Sherman tank? Yeah, right. Toss my caber, Langral. I've got other things to do.
— Oh, what's this shit?
— ... And as sad as the spectacle of these burned out billboards might be, in light of the death of Chief Willoughby, this reporter for one wonders if this finally puts an end to the strange saga
of the three billboards outside...
— This doesn't put an end to shit, you fucking retard! This is just the fucking start! Why don't you put that on your «Good Morning Missouri» fucking «Wake Up» broadcast, bitch!