B.J. Speaks Up

-- Pass me another beer, Beej.
We were coming up on the Canadian border. We'd been driving since four in the morning. It was getting late again. We'd put B.J. in the trunk of the Explorer after he'd threatened the attendant at a Lukoil near the Lehigh tunnel. We knew he'd woken up when we heard the sound of beer cans being opened. We shouldn't have put B.J. where the beer was.
-- Beej, can you pass me another beer? B.J. and Craig worked together as insurance fraud investigators.
-- Fuck you.
-- Seriously, Beej?
-- When we get to the border I'm going to call the customs person a [******].
-- What the fuck, Beej?!
-- Shut up, Beej!
-- I don't think you should do that, Beej.
-- Why the fuck do you care? I'm saying it, not you.
-- -- I'm in the fucking car with you, Beej. I'm showing them my passport at the same time as you. That's why I care, Beej.
-- I'm doing it. Why'd you make me lay in the fucking trunk?
B.J. sounded sad.
-- Because you were behaving like a drunken asshole, Beej.
B.J. was still dressed in his official New York Jets replica jersey.
-- Beej, can you pass me a beer?
I could tell it was annoying Craig that I was asking Beej for a beer.
-- Can you wait a second?
-- Yeah, I'm calling the customs offical a [******]
The overheard sign said that Canadian citizens should stay in the centre two lanes.
-- [******] [******] [******] [******] [******]. I'm saying it.
-- You don't even know if they're black, Beej!
-- I'm saying it.
-- Pull the car over.
I pulled into the parking lot of the duty free. B.J. opened another beer. We needed to have a discussion.