Truman, you've got to escape, you know.
Not much choice when it's a battle between
the love of the entire world and of some passionate girl,
who you met once and remember only as Fiji and destiny.

Suppose, for instance, that such perfection awaits everyone
(the dream, ah, the dream of discovering life outside of TV dinners),
who is to say Cupid is this or fights against which creator -
the television producer, Karl Marx, gods warring over who sleeps with what mortal ...

We'll be demanding a refund before long.
Wait for the look on your face when the salesclerk
calls you by name, and for a brief second, it makes sense.
You're being set up by the practical jokester.

And you thought love was a serious matter?