Spoiler warning: plot and/or ending details follow

Watch those carbon footprints mate! We don't wanna erase any smoking guns, especially while my edge bleeds and my lips Botox. Our neighbour's already been to the Anti-Social Behaviour Office and I've been blue-skying and thinking out of the box to the point of frazzling my bloatware. Those bookcrossers keep crossing my path but I can't seem to chill. My bro's been boomeranging and coolhunting but he always fails to do what it says on the tin. Quit cybersquatting Dude, and start designing your babies! Get the fucking furkids off the green concrete for once and for all!! You've been handing-me-up everything I own man!..You've even got it down to a science, kipper! I've had enough of your ladette and lit-pop chums. I'm off mystery shopping with me petrolhead mates. My frustration has ratcheted and I'm trying to regroup before going for a repêchage at this stage. I feel I can't rely on my silver surfer spin-outs any more, verstehst? Everybody's supersizing the big apple and all that's left to me is the Boston Matrix. It's a try-and-buy life where tyrekickers rule! Don't miss the walking bus or the White Van Man will get ye with his wetware seeped in Ritter Sport, petrolstation booze and red bull... But it's not over till the fat lady sings...