the first one is only to clarify the second one.
"some of us have b-been here for fi-fi-five years, randle." billy says. he's got a magazine rolled up and is twisting it with his hands; you can see the cigarette burns on the backs of his hands.
"sure!" it's billy, turned from the screen, his face boiling tears. "sure!" he screams again. "if we had the g-g-guts! i could go outside to-today, if i had the guts. my m-m-mother is a good friends of m-miss ratched, and i could gat an ama signed this afternoon, if i had the guts!"
he jerks his shirt up from the bench and tries to pull it on, but he's shaking too hard. finally he slings it from him and turns back to mcmurphey.
"you think i wuh-wuh-want to stay in here? you think i wouldn't like a con-con-convertable and a guh-guh-girlfriend? but did you ever have people l-l-laughing at you?mo, because you're so b-big and tough! well, i'm not so big and tough. neither is harding. neither is f-friedrickson. neither is suh-seafelt. oh-oh, you-you t-talk like we stayed in here because we liked it! oh- it's n-o use..."
he's crying and stuttering too hard to say anything else, and he wipes his eyes with the backs of his hands so he can see. one of the scabs pulls off his hand, and the more he wipes the more he smears blood over his face and in his eyes. then he starts running blind, bouncing down the hall from side to side with his face a smear of blood, a black boy right after him.