SCENE I
Slim and Precious are hanging out with their parents. watching a Discovery Channel documentary on insects.
RAYMOND: I’m sorry you kids are stuck in boring old Minnesota, but in this economy, I didn’t feel confident financing trips to some lovely tropical destination where you could get sloshed on tequila shooters and enjoy casual handjobs under a canopy.
PRECIOUS: Aside from the canopy, that sounds like pretty much every weekend at college.
WIFE: I thought you were a feminist. Can you reconcile that with your slutty habit of jerking boys you barely even know to climax?
PRECIOUS: Of course! I need the perfect technique so I can coerce men, literally have them wrapped inside my hand. Don’t tell me none of you has ever experienced, witnessed, or administered a handjob so powerful it could alter the course of history. Behind every great man is a female hand pulling, tickling, stroking, and tantalizing his strings.
RAYMOND: I haven’t had those experiences you mention since my days at boarding school, but that’s a story for another time. Maybe we should’ve sent Slim to boarding school. I’m afraid he’ll start college with his penis untouched by any hands besides his own.
PRECIOUS: And doctors’. They still do that cough test at physicals, right?
SLIM: Hello, bitches! I’m right here and my fucking ears work!
PRECIOUS: Are you implying this talk about your boy parts is possibly making you uncomfortable?
SLIM: I’m implying that I’m going to stab you in the cunt with an ice pick while you sleep.
PRECIOUS: Ooh. Sharon Stone, your inspiration has transcended the bounds of your intentions.
RAYMOND: Let’s keep the possibility of your mother and I becoming grandparents alive.
PRECIOUS: If they can breed an impregnable watermelon, the Cox name might live on regardless.
SLIM: Okay, fuck you all. I’m going to go upstairs and see if the internet has created a market for whatever is the opposite of Viagra.
WIFE: I think that’s called Rosie O’Donnell.
She and Raymond laugh hysterically.
SLIM (heading upstairs): That’s the funniest thing I’ve encountered since last Sunday’s “Family Circus.”
He goes to his room and slams the door.
WIFE: I hope he isn’t too sore. Teenage boys can be so touchy. . . .
RAYMOND: Based on what I see at my store, boys of all ages can be pretty darn touchy.
WIFE: I meant in the PMS-type sense.
PRECIOUS: I’m sure his ovarian irritation is nothing a shot of dry vermouth and a spirited bout of death-grip masturbation won’t solve.
WIFE: I sure hope so.
RAYMOND: Maybe he’s sad because those brothers he’s always hanging out with went to Mexico. Precious, maybe you can convince him to get out of the house and do something fun. Have a wild Spring Break here in Minneapolis!
PRECIOUS: I think that can be arranged.
SCENE II
Precious, Boobs Carlisle, and Jogs Chignon are having drinks at the Red Dragon, a dive restaurant mainstay with alarmingly large and potent tropical drinks.
PRECIOUS: Remember in high school when all those girls would come back from Spring Break with nuclear orange skin and those microbraids?
BOOBS: And hoarse voices from screeching at Senor Tequila or whatever those clubs that were always on MTV are called.
PRECIOUS: Senor Rohypnol!
JOGS: It’s Senor Itchy's. A lot of my friends were there last week.
PRECIOUS: And I bet some of them had unmemorable—perhaps literally—sex with orange high school girls with microbraids.
BOOBS: Working during the U’s Spring Break is nice because most of the frat boys are gone.
JOGS: Yeah. I was at ladies’ night at Grandma’s last week, and it was actually not a total sausage-fest for once.
PRECIOUS: Well, every night is ladies’ night in Tijuana! Grandma’s can’t exactly compete with that.
The waitress arrives with three very large pink-orange cocktails.
PRECIOUS: Let’s toast to Spring Break, the week after Spring Break, and a temporary douchebag break at the Vu.
They drink.
PRECIOUS: Sweet Jesus, this thing would knock out a sumo wrestler. Or you, Jogs.
JOGS: I’m already sixteen percent finished with my weight loss. When I’m done, you’ll be a third wheel.
BOOBS: Just don’t be jealous if I try out a few dozen grade-A slabs of Midwestern sausage in the meantime.
JOGS: That reminds me: My sister wanted to meet with you.
PRECIOUS: Is she trying to break into the life?
JOGS: No, she’s a legitimate model.
BOOBS: That’s what they all say at first, but then you meet a handsome 35-year-old man named Fernando who says he’ll give you money and a boobjob if you just pose for a few innocent pictures and it all goes well aside from the razor-burn on your snatch and then Fernando and his friends take you to clubs and the next thing you know you’re naked on all fours on top of a pool table and three guys with banana whips and facemasks are smacking you with said whips and their rock-hard cocks and you’re sick of stripping but the cash is good and the drug connections are convenient and you mostly don’t go home with johns and if it was really intolerable you could quit, go back to school, and stay clean whenever you wanted to.
JOGS: I’m not sure if that’s going to cause nightmares or the opposite, but I kind of wish they had pool tables here right now.
PRECIOUS: We can go somewhere and play later, but I really want to stop at Sex World tonight. I have to pick up some porn for this project I’m doing on the subversive potential of generic appropriation for my Performativity seminar.
JOGS: Can’t you just get that from your dad’s store?
PRECIOUS: Maybe, but Sex World’s discount section is hilarious, and I was considering getting some nitrous, which Fantasy Experience doesn’t carry.
BOOBS: Fine with me. I’m in the market for a new pair of crotchless tights anyway. My old ones didn’t survive the last Promise Keepers convention in town.
JOGS: As long as pool is involved at some point, I’m down.
SCENE III
Slim and Chunky are hanging out in Slim’s bedroom. Slim is in front of the computer and Chunky is checking out the photo section in a biography of Roger Waters.
CHUNKY: Dude, last year we had Easter at OCB. That was pretty awesome, but lots of people were there dressed for church, which was kind of random.
SLIM: Great white trash minds think alike, apparently.
CHUNKY: Actually, lots of them were black.
SLIM: Dude, look! Ratso just logged on. Shouldn’t that fucker be paying some Mexican whore to give him the clap or some shit?
CHUNKY: Or watching a donkey show! I heard you can pay money to watch those bitches get fucked by donkeys or burros or whatever. Ask if he’s gonna check that shit out!
SLIM: Haven’t you seen shit like that on the internet?
CHUNKY: Of course, but it would fucking awesome in person.
SLIM (typing): I’m asking if Saggy and Ratso like slathering suntan lotion on each other’s bare torsos.
CHUNKY: Who cares about that shit?
SLIM: Don’t you think that’s really gay?
CHUNKY: What?
SLIM: He says they have new pictures on Facebook already. Dude, why are you updating Facebook and chatting online? You could do that shit here. Their Spring Break is lamer than ours.
CHUNKY: They’ll get fucked up and fucker sooner or later. What are we gonna do? Drink your mom’s fucking wine coolers and go get lap dances again?
SLIM: Can your poor ass afford one?
CHUNKY: My ass may be poor but at least it’s built. That Boobs bitch should be paying me to rub her snatch against it.
SLIM: I don’t think you understand the concept of a lap dance. You make it sound like the guy gets spanked by a chick’s crotch. That would require some motherfucking contortionist-type shit.
CHUNKY: We could check out the Vu or another strip club tonight.
SLIM: What the fuck is this bullshit? That sack-wrangler is wearing a thong. Are they at Spring Break for fags?
CHUNKY: Lemme see.
He goes to the computer.
CHUNKY: Noice. You get less tan lines that way, although I tan naked so my ass looks even better. Plus it’s still buffer.
SLIM: Well, hooray for fuckin’ you! Unfortunately I don’t want to spend Spring Break discussing male asses, so let’s bounce.
CHUNKY: Wait. I want to check out the rest of the new pictures first. . . . Hah, Ratso is doing body shots off some ugly bitch.
SLIM: I wonder if they’ll try to see a fucking “Girls Gone Wild” video shoot.
CHUNKY: Or maybe they’ll try to get in “Guys Gone Wild.”
SLIM: Does that shit even exist? Saggy better watch out.
CHUNKY: Why? Dude, that would be awesome.
SLIM: That’s not the word that pops into my mind.
SCENE IV
Slim and Chunky get out of the latter’s discount-modded El Camino into the Third Street parking lot in downtown Minneapolis and take the stairs down to exit on Second Avenue.
SLIM: We should go somewhere different this time. What sounds good? Dreamgirls? Pole Position?
CHUNKY: Dude, I want to see Boobs, though.
SLIM: You’ll see more than that at any of them.
CHUNKY: No, dumbass, the person Boobs.
SLIM: Oh. She doesn’t want your jock, moron. And I don’t fucking think strippers go to work hoping to meet high school juniors to go out with, like, ever. What, do you think she’ll go to the prom with you?
CHUNKY: Why not? At least I have Tamra to fall back on. You’ll be the first Edina dude since my brother to go to prom with your own right hand.
SLIM: Fuck you! Anyway, I’m pretty sure my sister was hanging out with Boobs tonight, and I don’t think they’d go to the Vu. Although with those bitches, who knows?
Waiting to cross Third Avenue, they see a group of people walking down the opposite side of the street, laughing hysterically.
SLIM: Fucking downtown crowds, drunk idiots stumbling and puking surfers on acid. Downtown Minneapolis should not fucking be Tijuana Part Dos.
CHUNKY: Isn’t that your sister? (Calling out) Precious! Boobs! That guy with the hot sister!
Precious et al wait for Slim and Chunky to catch up to them.
PRECIOUS: Delving into Downtown’s musky crotch? I hear Lickety Split is having a fantastic sale on silicon two-headed dongs this week. You two can play Requiem for a Dream!
BOOBS (to Jogs): You can get hooked on diet pills like that batshit old bitch.
SLIM: Ellen Burstyn was fucking robbed at the Oscars that year! Aronofsky directs the shit out of people and nobody notices.
PRECIOUS: You and your testosterone canon—that’s one “N.” I may be tipsy but I’m not about to start spouting vastly unrealistic phallic platitudes.
SLIM: Fuck you!
CHUNKY: Dude, you guys should totally buy us some beer.
PRECIOUS: That would be wildly immoral. How dare you assume I would ever encourage you to behave like normal high school students? If you want to comport with normalization, don’t look at me to do anything but shed a single Foucauldian tear.
JOGS: We just studied that fag in my sociology class.
BOOBS: Not that again. You two can can it with the smarty bullshit. Are we going to Sex World or what?
PRECIOUS: Yes! I refuse to end the evening without European retro-colonial-historical anal videos, or something equally brilliant.
BOOBS (to Slim and Chunky): Are you coming with us or what?
Slim and Chunky look at each other and shrug.
PRECIOUS: Of course they are.
She puts her arms around them and skips toward the entrance, humming the Thunderpuss 2000 mix of “Sexual” by Amber.
SCENE V
The group has entered Sex World, which occupies three floors of a late nineteenth century warehouse. The upper portion of the vaulted ground level is interspersed with flat-screen televisions, all playing the same scene, which involves a cherry lollipop.
CHUNKY: Dude, internet shit is so much more hardcore than this. It’s like, a bitch sticking a sucker in some other bitch’s cunt and the licking it: big fucking deal. I saw worse shit in fifth grade.
SLIM: That may be due to your brother’s collection of tranny punch-fucking videos.
CHUNKY: True. Or those Russian guys coming in bowls of milk shot out of some bitch’s ass and then they both drink it.
SLIM: What the fuck!?
PRECIOUS: Jesus, I don’t think I’ve felt a hint of prudishness since the Larry Clark retrospective. I sure hope it’s the booze.
BOOBS: I’m gonna go upstairs and look for those tights.
SLIM: Don’t spend your sex paraphernalia dollars here! Come to our store. We have tons of different tights: edible, leopard-print, metallic . . .
BOOBS: Crotchless?
SLIM: Of course!
BOOBS: I don’t want to drive all the way to fucking Richfield when we’re already here, though.
SLIM: But our mall is fucking awesome. You can get Indian food, shit at Dollar Experience, black people fried chicken, checks cashed . . .
PRECIOUS: It’s like Williamsburg without the scruff-core hipsters discussing steampunk over Zywiec served by 60-something Eastern European women dripping with costume jewelry.
CHUNKY (looking at video): Why does every bitch in porn have a pierced clit there days?
JOGS: I know, right? And that weird chunky two-toned hair.
PRECIOUS: I don’t think you’re in a position to decry anything for merely possessing qualities denoted by the adjective “chunky.”
CHUNKY (laughing hysterically): Pwned!
SLIM: Dude, your fucking name is Chunky.
CHUNKY: But it’s illiteral.
PRECIOUS: Literally illiteral, as Sandra Lee might say.
BOOBS: We should get moving it we want to play pool later. I’m going upstairs to check out the clothes.
JOGS: Can I join you?
BOOBS: Sure. At the rate you’re going, you won’t get to hit this for another decade or two, so at least I can give you something for the spank bank.
They leave for the elevator.
SLIM: This place is so much worse than our store. It’s huge and nasty.
PRECIOUS: Yes, Dad’s store never had the overpowering aura of semen that always seems to be lingering here.
SLIM: That’s because we hose down the jackoff booths like a fucking Ebola monkey had been in there.
PRECIOUS: Well, going to those booths is a tremendously exciting experience for some people. They’ve been waiting for days to relieve all this built up—I guess “tension” is one word for it—and anticipating closing the door, sliding a stiff bill into the slot with trembling hands, carefully selecting the channel called “teen” and watching a 23-year-old girl styled to look much younger with plastic butterfly barrettes rub her tight pink hairless pussy through translucent underwear while a man ten years her senior with decent musculature but a paunch expresses his desire to penetrate one or more of her holes with his disproportionately large cock . . .
CHUNKY: What floor are the jackoff booths on?
PRECIOUS: There’s a directory in the elevator.
Chunky hobbles as quickly as he can to the elevator, leaving Precious and Slim alone just outside the “mature” section.
PRECIOUS: So, are you going to help me find discount videos to subversively dub over, or were you in the market for a prostate stimulator or some sort of fucksleeve, or what?
SLIM: Why the fuck are you dubbing porn?
PRECIOUS: It’s for school, of course.
SLIM (sarcastically): Sure.
PRECIOUS: What, you think I’d be embarrassed to buy porn for any other reason? I’m all for embracing the liberatory potential of sex publics in all its messy contingencies. If you like fisting, buy or find a fist. Rimming? Find a disinfected asshole. Edgeplay? I don’t really know what that means, but I’m all for it as long as it’s consensual.
SLIM: I’m surrounded by this shit all the time. . . . I don’t know.
PRECIOUS: Maybe you need to find your niche. Enjoy your fetish. The discount wall has all sorts of shit, possibly including shit itself.
Slim is hesitant. Precious leaves him to contemplate and starts browsing the sale wall.
END OF PART ONE
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