*ACT TWO*
SCENE I
Slim stands at his front door, waiting to be picked up for an exciting party in his friends’ basement. His parents and sister are playing Mystery Date in front of the fireplace.
PRECIOUS: This Date looks like a hot lesbian. It’s so disturbing when boys like that have facial hair. I mean, of course I’m all for embracing the subversive potential of drag, but that doesn’t mean removing some of the rare attractiveness from campus.
SLIM: Fuck ever. You could have done what every normal person does and check Facebook to make sure there were lots of hot people at Sarah Lawrence. Instead, you made the free and rational choice to go to a college with a bunch of homos and bitches who don’t shave their legs and pits.
PRECIOUS: Some of that may be for axilism.
RAYMOND: You kids would be surprised about the kind of things people are sexually attracted to. People come to my store and buy stacks of magazines and videos with pictures of hairy women: hairy women in wheelchairs, hairy pregnant dwarf women, hairy women inserting automotive pistons into their anuses and vaginas . . .
WIFE: Now that is wacky! Ooh, let’s see who my mystery date is!
She opens the door to reveal her perfect match.
WIFE: Not exactly the face of an angel, but maybe he’ll make up for it downstairs.
RAYMOND: Where it counts!
SLIM: There’s Chunk-style. Gotta bounce, bitches.
WIFE: Have a lovely time!
Slim bounds down the stairs and gets in Chunky’s rust-colored El Camino.
CHUNKY: How’s it hanging?
SLIM: I don’t want to talk about it!
CHUNKY: Ever since our trip to the Vu, you’ve been uncharacteristically reluctant to discuss your own cock and balls. What gives?
SLIM: Your mama gives! And the bitch takes, too, from what I hear!
CHUNKY: So what? A bitch gotta make a living. What does your mom do when the cash is tighter than one of Michael Jackson’s potential victims?
SLIM: Dude, we’re totally rich. You think that the recession is going to make people stop jacking off?
CHUNKY: Fucking old people who don’t use the internet. I’m gonna start classes for them and your parents are going to be screwed.
SLIM: Why don’t you just try to hook up with Boobs Carlisle? Get a woman with a nice salary and live easy for the rest of high school.
CHUNKY: Good idea. Can your sister help a bro out with that?
SLIM: I’ll ask after she’s had a few Martha Stewart eggnogs on Christmas Eve.
CHUNKY: Noice.
SCENE II
Slim and Chunky are in the basement of the home of their friends, Julius “Saggy” Rubsenstein (so nicknamed because of his tendency to wear his pants like a black) and his brother, Ratso. Even though they are Jews, they have embraced the holiday spirit with cases of Bud Light emblazoned with the Claus family provided by their parents.
SLIM: Where the fuck is everyone? You didn’t tell us it was gonna be a four man sausage fest.
RATSO: Fuck you. A bunch of people are out of town and Bulge and a bunch of bitches are on the way.
CHUNKY: More beer for the rest of us.
SAGGY: Hella true.
SLIM: So what have you guys been doing on break?
RATSO: What the fuck, are you accusing me of not having a life and spending all my time posting on some web site for bitches? I have been going out and enjoying social activities, getting crunk in and out of the club, smoking piles of weed, and hooking up with hoes.
CHUNKY: We went to the Vu a couple days ago.
SAGGY: Hella awesome.
SLIM: It was actually pretty lame.
CHUNKY: Speak for yourself! They got Mr. Pibb and snatch! What else fucking is there in life?
SAGGY: Hella yes.
CHUNKY: Anyway, Slim here got a lap dance from some ho named Salsa and he won’t even tell me what went down. Or—I should say—up!
RATSO: Fuck, man, you gotta tell us.
SLIM: Dude, nothing happened! I mean, nothing didn’t happen . . . It’s just . . . I think it’s kind of fucked up that I’m supposed to tell my friends everything about everything that goes in or out of my body. Like, can’t I fucking shit or jack off and just keep it to myself?
CHUNKY: What the hell? We’re bros. Bros before hoes.
RATSO: What the fuck is wrong with you? This shit is just fucked up.
SAGGY: Hella mos’ def.
SLIM: Why? Why don’t we just pull out our dicks and compare them and then have an orgy and send pictures of it to everyone we know?
Saggy takes off his pants, which is not a particularly difficult feat for him.
SLIM: I was fucking kidding!
RATSO: Dude, Slim, you got some issues. And it’s pretty obvious what happened. So what? It happens to all of us.
CHUNKY: Yeah, we get it. So you didn’t last as long as you wanted to. I’m sure some random stripper bitch really cares. What, were you gonna ask her out afterward? “Let’s grab dinner at Maggiano’s and check out the new Dane Cook joint.”
SLIM: Fine. You win. Now give me another fucking beer and call Bulge to find out why the bitches aren’t here yet.
The doorbell rings.
RATSO: Bitches, check. Beer, check.
SAGGY: Hella.
SCENE III
Precious and Boobs are having coffee at Bob’s, a coffee shop on Lyndale with a diverse clientele including lesbians, bikers, and lesbian bikers.
PRECIOUS: It’s like the existence of strip clubs is one of the last things granting any sort of credence so second wave feminism. I just imagine, in the midst of a bed dance, your nipple releasing a single tear-shaped drop of breast milk that morphs into the disapproving face of Catharine MacKinnon.
BOOBS: Yeah, I don’t really philosophize about it, though. It’s hard to think a lot when you’re on oxycontin, methadone, crank, and D when I can get it.
PRECIOUS: Jesus Christ on a snickerdoodle! Have you considered rehab?
BOOBS: Oh, please. It’s way too expensive and I can quit whenever I want to.
An overweight boy approaches their table, holding a large café mocha and a brick of Rice Krispie bar.
BOY: Precious and Hope? This is so cool!
Precious and Hope look confused; obviously they do not recognize their admirer.
BOY: It’s me, Jogs Chignon. I know I look a bit different from high school. The freshman fifteen turned into more like fifty. It’s hard to stay svelte when automatic wheelchairs are just so fun. Plus, I really like beer and fried snack foods.
PRECIOUS: Jogs! I have to say, your weight gain is slightly horrifying, but it’s nice that you’re not giving in to the historical American disdain for the body and disquieting images of contemporary beauty.
JOGS: Yeah, pretty much once I realized I would never look as good in a loincloth as the dude from MGMT, I just decided to let myself go.
PRECIOUS: And your first name is a bit of an ironical performance now, or lack thereof. I heartily approve.
BOOBS: So, what are you doing back in the Minneapple?
JOGS: Same as you: Christmas break with the family.
BOOBS: Actually, I never left Minnesota. I live with my parents and I’m a stripper at the Vu.
JOGS: That must be fun!
BOOBS: Well, unlike every other woman in the Twin Cities, at least I’m getting paid to be sexually harassed.
JOGS: Nice! Anyway, I should get back to my friends, but I wanted to let you know about this fashion event that my sister’s putting on at Club Fantasy tonight. It’s going to be awesome and I can get you and anyone you want to bring in for free with a non-perishable food item.
He hands them a small, tastefully designed flier.
PRECIOUS (reading): “Fashion Fucking Fashion for the Motherfucking Holidays.” Now you’re speaking my language!
JOGS: See you tonight, then?
PRECIOUS: If my psyche withstands another day of being assaulted by the pressures of the telematic age plus my bitch parents, I’ll try.
BOOBS: I’ll check it out after work if I don’t find a john.
JOGS: Coolio.
He waddles back to his friends.
BOOBS: I don’t remember him having a sister.
SCENE IV
Precious, Slim, and Chunky are standing together next to a catwalk at Club Fantasy, waiting for the fashion show to start.
SLIM: I cannot believe how gay this crowd is. Can you catch gay by being near so many homos?
CHUNKY: Too bad I didn’t wear my asshole shield underwear.
PRECIOUS: Your queer fear is such a ridiculous put-on. Like you haven’t spent hours in sweaty locker rooms, engaging in football field ass-slapping and basket-grabbing, et cetera, et cetera. Like you really read XY Magazine for the articles.
SLIM: Fuck you. They have some useful tips on body hair management. Maybe you should get a subscription for your dyke friends at college.
CHUNKY: Pwned!
The lights dim for the show to start.
SLIM: I hope we get to see some titties.
PRECIOUS (whispering): Shhhhh! Behave!
An extremely flamboyant black man walks onstage wearing a salmon colored double-breasted suit jacket with brown leather pants and a matching fedora punctuated with a huge peacock plume.
EMCEE: Hello, ladies and ladies! This is Miss Joe, the bitch who started it all! And we’re here to check out the fierciest, fabbest, fantasticest fashions for ya’ll this holiday time. Here we go.
Explosive techno pumps through the speakers as the first model—a buff teenage boy wearing stonewashed gray denim shortalls cut off mid-thigh with denim UGG boots and pink glitter pasties—fiercely marches down the catwalk.
MISS JOE: Say hello to Armando, who looks stunning in this frothy confection of an ensemble available at Rainbow Road near the downtown Hyatt. Work it, bitch!
Armando erotically winks at Slim as he poses at the end of the catwalk.
SLIM: I just realized I have to take a huge shit.
He walks off toward the bathroom.
PRECIOUS (to Chunky): You aren’t going to leave, too?
CHUNKY: Fuck no. This is awesome.
Precious pats him on the back.
Slim returns just as the first female model hits the runway.
MISS JOE: Here is Jay, ready for a night on the town in this military-inspired halter dress with mock epaulets.
Slim is obviously entranced by Jay, a fierce walker who slaps her ass as she twirls at the end of the runway.
MISS Joe: Go girl! You better work, honey!
Jogs walks up to the group.
JOGS: I’m glad you could make it. How’d you like my sister?
He points to Jay just as she leaves the stage.
PRECIOUS: I would kill for an ass like that.
SLIM (aside): Me too.
JOGS (laughing): I gotta head backstage. See you after the show?
Precious shrugs.
SCENE V
All four members of the Cox family are gathered in the living room listening to Wife’s favorite Mannheim Steamroller album.
WIFE: This music is so gosh darn exhilarating! I feel so energized, it reminds me of the days with my first husband when we would have sex three or three and a half times in one sitting!
RAYMOND: Just the thought of that makes my balls hurt.
WIFE (laughing): This is why our relationship works so well. We’re life partners, not just starved horndogs pouncing on each other, having wild, animalistic sex all night.
SLIM: For the tenth time, shut the fuck up! Unless you’re buying me years of therapy for Christmas, I don’t want to hear about this disgusting shit.
WIFE: Oh Slim, someday you’ll find a sweetie to bang. It really can be something special when you find the right fit.
SLIM: I can feel the vomit struggling to escape.
WIFE: I’ll be quiet and enjoy the music. Just think, tomorrow it will be Christmas Eve.
PRECIOUS: One can only wonder what Jesus Christ would think if he returned to earth and saw Americans celebrating his birthday with an orgy of capitalist frenzy.
RAYMOND: It’s a real impasse, all right. But, you know, people come in to my store and buy the Jingle Balls Cock Sleeve, the Mistletoe Anal Tickler, and the Elfmaster 2009, so I roll with the punches.
PRECIOUS: That is something we cannot not do in this environment. I must depart and get my drank on now.
SLIM: Is that Jogs guy going to be at the party?
PRECIOUS: Why do you care, shit stain?
SLIM: His sister seemed nice.
Precious laughs, rolls her eyes, and rushes out.
RAYMOND: Now that your stupid feminist bitch sister is gone, there’s something your mother and I wanted to ask you about.
SLIM: What the fuck is it now?
RAYMOND: Well, you know we’re in for a few generations of economic horrors, and a growing boy like you needs spending money for food, fun, and fantasy products.
WIFE: It’s true. Wouldn’t you like to have the pride to go out and buy a burrito with your own money? Or a corn dog? Or a churro? Whatever you want to stuff in your mouth, you can get it yourself.
RAYMOND: So, how’d you like to try working for me? The boss man can be a pain in the booty, but the pay’s decent and you could learn about the family business.
SLIM: Don’t you have to be eighteen to sell porn and dildos and shit?
RAYMOND: Who cares? We could have our own family “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy.
SLIM: I don’t know. I’ll think about it or some shit.
RAYMOND: Don’t you want the satisfaction of knowing you sold a Fleshlight to someone who otherwise would have to use something less pleasurable and potentially less sanitary or even illegal?
SLIM: You’re not too consistent on the legality shit, dad.
WIFE: Your son has a point.
RAYMOND: Oh, fuck off for the love of all things holy. Anyway, sleep on it. Spend some time imagining what it would be like surrounded by hardcore pornography and relationship and pleasure enhancers for a few hours a week. Sweet dreams!
Slim goes upstairs and logs onto IM. Chunky immediately sends him a link to a video called “Peanut Butter Jar Fun.”
END OF ACT TWO
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