*ACT THREE*
SCENE ONE
The doorbell rings and Raymond’s sister, Lacey Cox-Sickle (wife of local pool and patio superstore magnate Dick “Enrico” Sickle, hurries to let Raymond and his family in for their annual Christmas Eve celebration.
LACEY: Merry merry! It’s fantastic to see all of you. Precious, you look just as thin as ever. It’s nice to see us girls keeping up our looks.
She manages a half-smile; her facial mobility has been temporarily limited by recent Restylane treatments.
WIFE: Your house looks absolutely gorgeous.
LACEY: It’s literally breathtaking! Don’t you love my precious li’l cocktail tree? To make your own, into your barware cabinet I want you to take all your martini classes, shot glasses, hurricane glasses, and so forth and just adhere them to the branches with piano wire from your regular stringed instrument specialty boutique.
RAYMOND: That nutcracker topper looks like a toy we sell at my store. People come in and ask for the nutcracker topper, and I have to remember they’re not confusing us for the seasonal décor store in the other strip mall across the street.
LACEY: That’s a real convenient location. Both malls have their own li’l liquor store! Sometimes I just have to check out both in case there are any special deals of the moment.
Enrico enters and helps Raymond’s family with their coats.
ENRICO: The old broad here has been cookin’ up a storm. I told her, “as long as it doesn’t look like that fucking piece of shit Easter ham, we’ll be fine.” Seriously, that pig died so a chunk of him could be turned into a blooming onion-looking shit blob.
LACEY: That was not my recipe, and I had too many white knight saketinis that afternoon. What have you cooked for me lately, sweetie?
ENRICO: It’s your job to cook and clean, bitch! Or, should I say, Ho ho ho!
Everyone laughs. Slim and Precious sit under the cocktail tree while their parents grab the loveseat next to the fireplace.
Lacey leaves to get drinks for everyone in the kitchen.
ENRICO (to Slim): What’s up, buddy? Gotten any memorable blowjobs lately? Oh, I guess you don’t want to answer that in front of your parents. Like they’re stupid enough to think a beautiful boy like you isn’t fighting off bitches who want a taste of your corncob.
PRECIOUS: Even the holiday time has been irretrievably imbued with hypermasculine ideological domination. It’s really tiresome, but at least it gives me something to appropriate. Something to grab on to, to use a phrase to which you might be more receptive, although that may ultimately contradict what I’m intending to actualize.
ENRICO: Sure, you learn all those fuckin’ fancy words at college, but the degree you should be aiming for is a M.R.S.! You don’t want to become one of those uppity overeducated broads on public radio.
Precious growls and tries to distract herself with the engineering feat that is the cocktail tree. Lacey returns with a large tray of martini glasses filled with a slightly slushy electric blue mixture and rimmed with dried coconut shavings.
WIFE: Those look special.
LACEY: Say hello to my snowball martini cocktails. Onto the rim of your martini glass I’ve put for you just some shaved coconut for a sweet li’l garnish. The drinks are a little strong.
SLIM: Just the way we like ‘em.
PRECIOUS: You could have called this an ice “Sickle” cocktail.
LACEY: I don’t get it.
PRECIOUS: Sickle, like your last name.
LACEY: Well, that would be pretty fucking weird.
SLIM: Word to that.
He takes a large gulp of the drink and nearly goes into shock from the extreme blast of pure alcohol goodness.
LACEY: I warned you: I made ‘em strong. More cocktail for your buck equals more fun! Speaking of which, I cannot wait to show you my life-sized nutcracker king, Bjorn. Come with me into my tablescape room and say hello to him!
Everyone rises reluctantly and follows Lacey.
SCENE II
Christmas Eve at the Rubenstein house: Saggy and Ratso are sitting in front of their plasma screen TV, drinking Icehouse and playing GTA 4. Ratso is on the phone.
RATSO: Dude, you should totally come over here tonight. Bring your friends. We’ve got beer and shit. . . . Okay.
He closes his phone.
RATSO: Whore!
SAGGY: She coming?
RATSO: She will be later when I’m alone with her!
They both laugh for several minutes.
RATSO: Yeah, she might stop by and maybe bring some other bitches. Dude, you just totally got fucked by that dude! He shot your ass so many times, I can’t believe you aren’t dead.
Chunky enters carrying a KFC bucket.
RATSO: Hey fag.
CHUNKY: Jesus Christ, I hate my fucking family. I just got to watch my mom get shit-faced on box wine and my dad and brother practically start a fist fight because my brother didn’t sufficiently appreciate the SUV antlers Dad bought him.
RATSO: Fuck, that is some poor white trash shit going on. And where’s the KFC from?
CHUNKY: Leftovers from Christmas dinner. Want some? It’s Extra Crispy.
SAGGY: Hella yes.
He grabs a handful and sets it on the couch next to him to pick at while playing GTA.
RATSO: No dude, I’m fine. Want some Icehouse?
CHUNKY: Fuck yes. We should totally bong it.
RATSO: Fuck, I lent my bong to Bulge the night my brother broke that sink at that one dude’s house when he was fucking Rachel Goldblatt in the bathroom. Remember that, dicksmack?
SAGGY: Not really.
RATSO: Well, you were pretty fucked up on Jag bombs, but that was fuckin’ hilarious. I’ll never forget the look on that bitch’s face.
CHUNKY: Was that the party I missed because I was hunting with my dad and his friend that got arrested like a week later for having an eight-year-old girl tied up in his attic?
RATSO: Yeah, I think so.
Chunky finishes his beer in one go and opens another one against his Confederate flag belt buckle.
RATSO: Is that new, dude?
CHUNKY: The buckle? Yeah, my brother gave it to me.
RATSO: That shit looks dangerous, like if your pants were at a fucked up angle or maybe when you were pissing or some shit, that buckle could cut off the circulation to your dick.
CHUNKY (worried): You think? That sounds fucking painful.
RATSO: Yeah, my cousin plays soccer and he was too embarrassed to buy a new nutcup so he had the same one from when he was like nine until he was like fifteen, and his dick would turn blue and he had to go to the doctor and a bunch of people were all staring at his dick in the hospital. It sounded pretty fucked up.
SAGGY: Fucker!
He throws the controller, which lands under a Led Zeppelin poster.
RATSO (laughing): You shoot like a bitch! But seriously, do not break another controller. Remember how pissed Mom was the last time.
SAGGY: Somewhat.
CHUNKY: You’re lucky to even have a 360.
RATSO: Just because your family is too poor white rash to upgrade your Game Cube doesn’t mean we don’t love you, man. We share the wealth. Speaking of which, why aren;t those fucking bitches here yet?
SAGGY: It’s not Christmas without pussy.
CHUNKY: Well spoken, my man.
He bumps fists with Saggy as Ratso nods in solemn agreement.
SCENE III
Slim and Precious are hanging out in Precious’s room, listening to the Phil Spector Christmas album.
SLIM: So, shit wasn’t as bad as it could have been tonight.
PRECIOUS: For once, Lacey’s horrifying forays into ultra-alcoholic cocktail crafting was a boon.
SLIM: Yeah, it was pretty fucking hilarious when Uncle Dick opened that Aneros prostate stimulator that Dad got him from the store. Do you really think he’s going to stick a plastic thing in his ass so he can get off harder when he’s fucking Lacey?
PRECIOUS: Between you and me, that is one thing I can spend a thousand Christmases never thinking about.
SLIM: Dude, you have a point. What’s Boobs doing tonight?
PRECIOUS: Gyrating viciously on the laps of whatever men are poor and/or non-Christian enough to spend the holidays at the Vu. Gyrating, up and down, over and around, left and right, until sexy time explosion occurs.
SLIM: Jesus, Bitch. Those Borat references are so dead.
PRECIOUS: I have no idea what you are talking about.
SLIM: Anyway, I think Chunky has a thing for Boobs. He’s always asking about her and he sent me this IM that sort of implied he had a dream about donkey punching her or some shit.
PRECIOUS: Typical. That child looks like a piñata filled with semen. I’m sure Boobs has a stable of politically powerful johns and drug dealers who give her exactly what she wants in a way no high school boy ever would. Like a famous female hip-hop artist once said—and I paraphrase—Boobs don’t want no one minute man.
Slim grins sheepishly and adjusts himself.
PRECIOUS: Anyway, this is our chance to bond during the holiday time. Confide in me your darkest secrets, your secret fears, you fearful wishes, your wishful fantasies. I’m all ears.
SLIM: I’ve been thinking about a lot of shit lately, and when I think, it’s usually not a fucking good thing. But really, I just want people to act fucking normal. I mean, what the fuck else can you hope for?
PRECIOUS: World peace? Queer acceptance? The eradication of authoritarian hegemonic oppression of historically subjugated peoples?
SLIM: Be realistic, bitch! I’m still in high school. If I get drunk and hit on in the same week, it’s good times.
PRECIOUS: Oh, I remember those days, when aiming low meant something about urine and girls creamed themselves over the high school teacher that looked like Mr. Clean’s significantly more fetal younger brother. Enjoy it while it lasts. Soon you’ll be confronted with non-suburban people, the real possibility of weight gain, and cafeteria food. Enjoy your lithe teenage body while it lasts.
SLIM: Yeah, I guess. And dude, I still can’t believe Dad gave Uncle Dick something he’s supposed to shove up his own ass.
PRECIOUS: It is rather comical, I’ll give you that.
SCENE IV
Precious and Boobs are back at Bob’s, having coffee and scones with Jogs.
BOOBS: And then he took out a needle and a bottle of rubbing alcohol and asked if I would pierce his Prince Albert while he jacked off. What the hell is wrong with guys these days?
PRECIOUS: As much as I would hate nothing more than potentially sounding condescending, you may want to consider that your profession has a limiting effect on the quality of people you are particularly likely to encounter.
BOOBS: I’m not naïve, but there is a time and a place.
JOGS: I totally agree. I would never ask a girl to pierce my dick. Just like I would expect her never to ask to smell it. I mean, you gotta have some trust in a relationship. You can’t spell “relationship” without “us.”
BOOBS: Wise words, my man. If you only lost seventy pounds, I would so be dying to ride your jock.
JOGS: God damn it! Why does this always happen to me.
BOOBS: Get some lipo and call me in the morning.
PRECIOUS: All these standards of attractiveness are so retro-bourgeois. I mean, bodies are made of flesh. There are no bodies without organs; there cannot be bodies without flesh. I would rather be a cyborg than a goddess, but in the meantime, there’s no reason to imagine the possibility of a present that can’t happen until at least the future, if ever.
JOGS: More girls need to see it that way. How about a date?
PRECIOUS: Fuck no. I don’t care that you’re fat, but you’re totally ugly and you really need to see a dermatologist.
JOGS: Fuck both of you! Why can’t I have the fantastic genes of my sister? The lottery of birth is so tragic sometimes.
BOOBS: Don’t feel bad. You’ll find a fat bitch who will want you to roll her around and find the wet spot.
JOGS: Ugh, cliché cliché. I guess I just need to accept the tragedy of my existence.
PRECIOUS: True that. But irregardlessly, what is the story with your sister? Where did you hide this hot model bitch from us while we were in school together?
JOGS: She went to a different school because my parents thought Edina was getting too Jewish.
BOOBS: Smart choice.
PRECIOUS: That explains everything.
SCENE V
Slim and Chunky are having breakfast together in a coffee shop on Central Avenue.
SLIM: I fucking hate the holidays. You always think something is going to happen, but it’s just the same old shit.
CHUNKY: Yeah: you think there’ll be girls to fuck and parties to get fucked up at and lots of cool shit going down, but it’s just the same routine with lame presents and relatives getting drunk and screaming and shit like that.
SLIM: Why doesn’t life cooperate with us?
CHUNKY: Dude, the eternal fucking question. Ugly motherfuckers like Ratso and morons like Saggy get bitches left and right, while attractive, cool guys like us are having breakfast alone like two homos who spent the last night having an anal probe-a-thon. Speaking of which, I gotta shit. BRB.
Chunky walks toward the bathroom.
Slim stares into his mug of coffee contemplatively, absently picks up a bacon strip and bites off its tip, then sighs.
A couple at the next table toasts mimosas, smiling satisfactorily.
A server drops a tray of food on the ground and laughs.
Time refuses to stop.
END OF ACT III
END OF REVIEW
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