Doesn’t everybody get at least one party?

Jake got one when they found him with a gun in his bathtub.
It was a big one.
No. I mean the party. The gun was tiny.

Lots of folks showed up.
Family, neighbors, friends.
Some even came down from high places.

They even hired a preacher.
He looked good (Jake, I mean).
You should look so good, brother.
Those guys do magic.

Oh, come on! You’ve got friends!
I’m your friend, man.

Sure, anything you like, bud.
Name the place. I’ll set it all up,
but you have to make the guest list.

Whaddaya mean?
How about this:
Anyone who’s come to see you in the last, say,
five years.

Oh, come now. There must be someone.
What about your neighbors?
The delivery man?
The cable guy?
See. I told you.

Ten years, then.
Come on. You’re pulling my leg.

How about the wife and kids?
Him too? You sure?
Better run that by the kids.

You want a preacher?
Okay, then. How about a band?
Huh! They might be a little busy.
I can try, but how about a plan B, like a cover band?
Whatever you say, man. It’s your party.

Plugged or unplugged?
How about a playlist?
Xanadu—unplugged?
Is that even possible?
Whatever you say, man. It’s your party.

How long you gonna give me?
No. I’m sure that’ll give me plenty of time.
It’ll be the best party you never had.
You have my word on that.
Cross my heart and hope to die.