That was a piece of plastic.
This is a Ferrari.
We can't pick up Sloane in your car.
Mr Rooney would never believe
Mr Peterson drives that piece of shit.
- It's not a piece of shit.
- It is.
Don't worry. I don't even have
a piece of shit. I have to envy yours.
I'm sorry ...
There's nothing else we can do.
- He knows the mileage.
- He doesn't trust you?
- Never has, never will.
- This is real simple.
Whatever miles we put on,
we'll take off.
- We'll drive home backwards.
- No.
No, Ferris, forget it.
I'm putting my foot down.

How about we rent a nice Cadillac?
My treat.
We could call a limo.
A stretch job with a TV and a bar.
Come on, live a little.
Let me tell you how deeply saddened
I am by your loss.
I had a grandmother once ...
Two, actually.
"Man hath but a short time to live
and is full of misery."
"He cometh up
and is cut down like a flower."
"He fleeth as if it were a shadow -
- and never continueth in one stay."
Oh, dear.
Between grief and nothing,
I'll take grief.