World of Cox Episode 3: Spring Succeeds (Part One)

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

World of Cox Episode 2: Elimination Dancing (Part Three)

SCENE I

Samantha Chignon is at Ivy, an upscale clothing store in Uptown Minneapolis, shopping for an outfit to impress at the upcoming Barbizon call for models. The clerk is the usual flaming male Uptown type.

SAM: Are these skirts this season?

CLERK: The Marc By Marc? With the paillettes?

SAM: Those are so nice.

Johnnova Assnest sneaks up to Sam.

JOHNNOVA: Haven’t you heard? Paillettes are for tards! Those are about as hip as Kate Hudson wearing UGGs at a Winger reunion show at a sports bar in Shakopee.

SAM: I thought the saying was “Paillards are for tards,” and unlike you, I haven’t pounded any chicken in the recent past.

CLERK: Oh, snap, honey! Don’t cockblock my potential sale, though. In these economic times, if I don’t work that commission you better believe I’ll be bitchin’.

JOHNNOVA: Weak! Girl, you are on! Unlike this video ho . . . Seriously, Sam. You look borderline plus-sized in those jeans. And are they bootcut?

SAM: These are Sevens, and what the fuck?

JOHNNOVA: A hot buy from Bluefly? Always there when retail price is enough to scare.

SAM: That isn’t even witty! Hugh Jackman isn’t even feeling his Oscar job security take a minor dip!

CLERK: Count and pointercount! Watching two fierce bitches trade zingers reminds me of my days judging high school debate. If I were straight I would be pitching a tent a family of four could sleep comfortably in right now.

SAM: Four fruit flies, probably.

JOHNNOVA: Based on his feet, I’d say at least four sugar gliders.

SAM: I wouldn’t want to be guilty of penile misunderestimation.

CLERK: Sooner or later you bitches always turn on me.

SAM: I’ll go take my business away from unisex cattiness.

CLERK: Didn’t Pitchfork just give their album an 8.4?

Sam storms out of the store and runs a few stores down to Jimmy John’s, where her brother, Jogs, is waiting for her in front of the remains of a consumed sub, only the pickle uneaten.

JOGS: I just exhausted my calories for the whole weekend.

SAM: Evil whorecunt!

She grabs his pickle and bites a huge chunk out of it.

JOGS: I hope you weren’t talking about me. Or that pickle.

SAM: No, that walking yeast infection Johnnova is everywhere! It’s like she’s stalking me.

JOGS: Are you possibly facilitating that with Facebook?

SAM: Not unless she knows a lot more about atbash ciphers than I’d guess. But that gives me an idea. . . . I need to talk to your friend Boobs.

JOGS: “Friend.” Don’t rub it in.

He rubs his smaller-than-before but currently bloated stomach resignedly in illustration.

SCENE II

Slim, Chunky, and Ratso are hanging out in the latter’s basement, drinking Schlitz Ice and listening to the Doors.

RATSO: Dude, that scene in Apocalypse Now with this song is the greatest fucking scene in a movie ever!

SLIM: Oh, please. It’s not even the best Coppola scene. The restaurant scene in The Godfather rapes anything in Apoc Now.

RATSO: Wrong, but you would say that, fag.

SLIM: Fuck you! And, hello: Chinatown? Scorsese? Kubrick?

CHUNKY: Shamalama? That guy who did Superbad?

RATSO AND SLIM: Noob!

The doorbell rings upstairs.

RATSO: That dick-waving cocksucker is back from Iowa! He better have gotten some fucking serious cash shoved up his . . . What was that thing called, Slim?

SLIM: Skintastic Leopard Fantasy Enhancement Pouch.

Saggy bounds downstairs, throwing his gym bag, which almost knocks over a poster from a Monet exhibit at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts in 1983.

RATSO: Dude! Mom will shellac your ass if you break that again!

CHUNKY: It’s already shellacked, just like mine! Dude, I don’t spend hours on my glutes to obscure the definition with fucking hair!

SLIM: You have to shave your ass?

CHUNKY: Sugar. But yes.

RATSO: Of course! Don’t tell me yours is hairless!

SLIM: Isn’t that normal?

Chunky and Ratso laugh uproariously.

CHUNKY: Bareass homo!

SAGGY: I’m hella jealous.

RATSO: The inevitable has occurred. Your new job has made you a flaming homosexual gay faggot.

SAGGY: Hella no.

RATSO: Then what did happen?

CHUNKY: Yeah! Did any fags try to cup your nuts or peel your carrot?

SAGGY: Beer, then talk.

Ratso hands him a beer, which Saggy drinks in one go, then belches thunderously.

SAGGY: Another.

SCENE III

Precious Cox and her roommate Julissa are cleaning their apartment in preparation for Spring Break.

PRECIOUS: It was so sad, seeing those lower-income kids in brand new bondage gear tearing up just because I’ll be gone for a week.

JULISSA: And the tears could react with the metallic spikes on their codpieces!

PRECIOUS: I know! And that shit isn’t real silver, but some toxic shit like when you buy a ring from a grocery store vending machine when you’re seven and it leaves a green rash on your finger.

JULISSA: I always imagined an STD would be the vaginal equivalent of that.

PRECIOUS: Delish! I’ll ask my stripper friend. She has to have stories, though hopefully regarding the genitals of others.

The doorbell rings.

PRECIOUS: Ooh, is that some manpower? I hope you requested a hung Latino ranchero!

JULISSA: No, sadly. It’s Gunnar, retuning that Cynthia 12” I left at the station.

PRECIOUS: Any excuse.

JULISSA (going to the door): It’s not my fault! I was stoned and accidentally took La Bouche instead.

PRECIOUS: But that’s so much better.

Julissa shrugs and lets Gunnar in.

GUNNAR: Here’s your record . . . Hey, Precious! What you up to?

PRECIOUS: Just bracing myself for my fast-approaching return to the Land of Pop: The accents exhibiting the nasal legacy of generations of Nordic ancestors, the antithesis of the global subaltern potentially ironically back to a subject position some of us consider problematic, ideologically or otherwise.

GUNNAT: Homi Bhabha, eat your heart out.

PRECIOUS: That is dehumanizing vis-à-vis Aztecs.

JULISSA: There aren’t any Aztecs, though.

PRECIOUS: Says you!

GUNNAR: Yeah, extinction assumes a notion of temporality that Riemann shattered decades before Foucault’s asshole suffered a verbally congruous but literal fate.

PRECIOUS: Anyway, it’s Spring Break. Let’s bracket the timespace shit and break out the Thunderbird.

GUNNAR: I only drink Viognier.

PRECIOUS: Don’t push your luck, unless you want a horde of nine-year-olds in bondage gear sicced on you—and that’s pre-April Fool’s!

SCENE IV

Slim and his mother are sitting in their living room, waiting for Raymond to return from picking Precious up at the airport.

WIFE: Every time your sister comes home, I have this silly fantasy that she’s going to really try to make herself attractive to normal men. She could be such a hot piece if she just made an effort.

SLIM: Dude, I think she’s probably considered something like that at college. And now I’m never going to be able to jack off again without crying.

WIFE: I certainly understand; after all, I was brought up in a house where Catholic guilt comingled with puritanical abusiveness. We were taught to be afraid of our own parts.

SLIM: Before I go vomit and hope that fucking image is forever expunged from my psyche, I should note that some of my friends could use that kind of home environment.

WIFE: Oh, no, honey. You don’t want to wish that devilish fate on nubile, young high school boys.

The doorbell rings and wife does a plié of joy on the way to answer.

Precious is dressed for the holiday in pale green patent flats, an orange skirt with a print of the molecule structure of pollen molecules, and a khaki riding jacket over a yellow silk shirt.

WIFE: I hope Spring Break is as festive as your colorful outfit!

PRECIOUS: That’s all we can deign to hope for in an atmosphere marked predominately by the panic fear of the collapse of global markets and the system of objects that thrusts the hyperreality of the quotidian into previously untold orders of simulation.

RAYMOND: Not to mention the economy these days! Although thankfully those new finger vibes have been selling faster than it would take Slim to lose his virginity to an Israeli hooker!

SLIM: I’ll save my shekels for falafel.

PRECIOUS: That’s so played out on the sandwich scale. Even bánh mì is becoming the new torta.

RAYMOND: You can buy tortas as the Mehican place two doors down from my store. Their employees are some of the most loyal patrons of the jackoff booths, but the stench in there after their visits is pretty ripe.

SLIM: That’s a fucking understatement.

WIFE: I wonder if it has anything to do with those wife-beaters they always rock?

PRECIOUS: Have you been watching Juno again?

SLIM: Bitch, dudes do not fucking talk like that. Michael Cera would get his faggot ass beat in so hard if he showed up to a party here.

PRECIOUS: Maybe he’d like that. I’ve always surmised that his doughy, sexless façade is hiding a serious taste for horsewhips, hot wax, and cock worshipping.

RAYMOND: Then he should come to my store, especially if he’ll accept strap-ons for that worshipping!

SCENE V

Slim and Precious are having brunch at a revisionist hipster diner near Lake and Hiawatha.

SLIM: So they were about to get booked for some fucking huge contract to perform at clubs and shit and get mad rich, and Saggy was making baller cash . . .

PRECIOUS: “Baller” in more ways than one, presumably.

SLIM: He’d never let a guy hit that, but apparently his moves were making fags drool or some shit.

PRECIOUS: That says something tragic about standards in the gay community, unless he got way better at dancing since that video first hit the internet.

SLIM: Fags will be fags.

PRECIOUS: I guess if thirty-year-old men are obsessed with dressing like teenagers, they may as well cut to the chase and reel in the AE, AF, Hollister, etc., crowd.

SLIM: Well, they won’t get his jock anywhere else, because his adult entertainment career is on hiatus.

PRECIOUS: Why?

SLIM: They found out he’s seventeen.

PRECIOUS: Tragic. Nine-year-olds can hover—and, in fact gyrate—under the radar of censorship, but sexually agentic teens like your friends are publicly infantilized.

SLIM: I sure as fuck wouldn’t go that far.

PRECIOUS: They only want you when you’re seventeen. When you’re twenty-one, you’re no fun.

SLIM: That sounds familiar.

PRECIOUS: That’s the first line of the song Boobs does her pole act to. I should really call her.

SLIM: These huevos rancheros are going to cause a fiesta in my digestive tract.

PRECIOUS: I love being home.

A table of heavily tattooed twenty-somethings toast bacon mimosas at the next table. A man with a monocle erotically plucks a gherkin out of his bloody bull. A waitress drops a fork on the ground; the metallic clang echoes through the poor acoustics of the dining room.

Spring Break has only just begun.

END OF PART III

END OF EPISODE

World of Cox Episode 2: Elimination Dancing (Part Two)

SCENE I

Slim, Chunky, Ratso, and Saggy arrive at school in the morning. They are immediately greeted with a chorus of hoots and wolf whistles.

MALE STUDENT 1 (singing): Baby don’t hurt me, baby don’t hurt me . . .

RATSO: I’ll hurt you when I shove that bitch’s UGG boot all the way up your ass. Fuckin homo probably already gets fisted, but now your faggot ass is gonna get footed!

MALE STUDENT 1: Ooh, threatening sexual assault. How au courant.

MALE STUDENT 2: Watching your gay asses try to dance was sexual assault on my eyes. My eyes! Brain bleach FTW!

CHUNKY: Did you know the FTW backwards in WTF, motherfucker? And I’ll WT your F’in ass if you don’t shut it.

MALE STUDENT 2: You’re pretty fuckin WT, that’s for sure.

RATSO: He’s got you there, man.

CHUNKY: Fuck you all. You’re just jealous of my glutes. Well, reality check, motherfuckers: there’s less than three weeks of juicing time before spring. What bitch will want to bite the thong off your non-ass?

Chunky’s occasional sexing partner, Tamra, dramatically limps over the support him.

TAMRA: Yeah, Male Student 1! The next bitch you’re fucking is gonna try to grab your ass and either fall over or have to settle for folds of back skin. Not fun, trust me.

RATSO: Trust the ho. She knows of what she speaks.

MALE STUDENT 1: I guess I’ve been pwned, but at least the entire interweb hasn’t seen me rip off fucking porn star pants.

SAGGY: You don’t know me, motherfucker!

MALE STUDENT 1: We were lab partners last semester.

RATSO: My brother was being illiteral, you ignorant fuckwad.

MALE STUDENT 1: Whatever, I’m gonna bounce. The bell’s about to ring.

The crowd disperses.

TAMRA: I loved your video, and the camerawork was absolutely amazing. Best cinematography since Memoirs of a Geisha!

RATSO: That sounds gay.

SLIM: I did the photography.

TAMRA: Oh, wow! Maybe you can videotape our dance team’s charity bikini performance next month.

SLIM: Are you fucking kidding me?

TAMRA: So you’ll do it?

SLIM: Hell no. That sounds like the gayest thing since Memoirs of a Geisha 2: The Gay-ening.

CHUNKY: Is that real?

SLIM: Have Saggy ask his customers tonight.

CHUNKY: You’re working already?

RATSO: He’s booked tonight at the 90’s and Friday and the Saloon, and his manager says that if he hits it fucking big they’ll go down to some faggot-ass gay club in Des Moines and rape the Iowan homos for the Benjamins there.

SLIM: Oh, yeah. Iowa doesn’t have the no booze with pubes law like Minnesota, does it? I bet that draws in the shit-stabbers.

RATSO: That law is so fucked up. Booze and pubes is like chocolate and peanut butter.

CHUNKY: Or fapping and shitting.

RATSO: Or that.

SAGGY: Hella.

SCENE II

Precious and her roommate, Julissa Rose, enter their college radio station’s Viva Indie Rawk party, held in a dorm basement’s recreational space. The radio station president, Eden Dahl, greets them with plastic cups.

EDEN: I know it’s trashay, but we’re consistent: we’ve got wop with Everclear for your imbibing pleasure.

PRECIOUS: How scintillatingly politically incorrect! Just the way I like my sexual partners.

EDEN: Speaking of scintillating, how’s your project with the lower income elementary students going?

PRECIOUS: One squat at a time. Kids these days really don’t have the hip and thigh flexibility that we learned practically from the time we could walk. I just thank Jesus H. Kristofferson that Manpower Australia doesn’t use poles yet, because we would be up the proverbial creek.

EDEN: You should write a PSA so we can advertise your show on the air.

PRECIOUS: Totes. I’ll get on that like Lance Bass on a purple-headed love warrior. Now excuse us while we get wopped.

Precious and Julissa head toward the garbage can of wop.

JULISSA: Last year at a Mardi Gras party, my friend spiked the wop with G.

PRECIOUS: That must have been a very short Mardi Gras.

JULISSA: Yeah; I wasn’t drinking because I still had mandatory piss tests for that recovery program with the crank addicts.

PRECIOUS: Did you cock-block any rape attempts?

JULISSA: No, I just left and went to Jimmy John’s and headed home for a bubble bath.

PRECIOUS: Nice. Oh, look: Gunnar’s spinning.

JULISSA: The minimalist Finnish psych folk playing didn’t clue you in?

PRECIOUS: I was too immersed in the promise of hot wop to even notice. I feel like such a pathetic excuse for a Sarah Lawrence radio DJ! I’ll have to go home and read fanzines from 1994 while listening to Danish coldwave seven inches.

JULISSA: Let’s request something.

They approach Gunnar, who takes a break from looking through bins of records to drink directly from a full-size bottle of Kariho sake.

GUNNAR: Hey, how’s late modernity treating y’all?

PRECIOUS: Victimized by the ideological domination of consumerist panic in the throes of an amodernist interpellatory-panoptic deadlock on subjectivity; in other words: same old, same old. And you?

GUNNAR: Hangin’ in there.

JULISSA: Are you taking requests tonight?

GUNNAR: Na klar! Wir haben mucho electo and wave shit we dragged out. Perhaps some Debbie Deb?

PRECIOUS: Well, if we were at a rent party in Astoria in 2004, that would have been pretty ground-breaking.

GUNNAR: Ouch!

JULISSA: I play freestyle on my show all the time!

PRECIOUS: And in the house. But nobody’s perfect.

GUNNAR: A cyborg version of Zizek would be perfect.

SCENE III

Ratso, Saggy, and Chunky are hanging out in Ratso and Saggy’s basement, listening to Roger Waters and drinking Old Milwaukee. Saggy is playing Halo 3 on the 360.

CHUNKY: Dude, now that we’re all famous, I’m totally going to try to get Tamra to have a threesome. I bet we could ever get a porn star.

RATSO: What’s the fucking point? One bitch already has more holes than you can fill.

CHUNKY: I guess I wasn’t thinking about it that way.

RATSO: Then in what fucking way were you thinking about it? One on your dick and the other tossing your salad? You’d be the first dude ever to turn into an insta-fag while fucking two bitches at the same time.

CHUNKY: My brother said it feels awesome, though.

RATSO: Then your brother is a faggot. You’ll find a way to accept him in your heart someday.

CHUNKY: Fuck you!

RATSO: Saggy, did you see Chunky’s bro at the club last night?

SAGGY: Not that I . . . fucking zombie alien bitch!

RATSO: That motherfucker raped you so hard! Dude, you need to get that shotgun thing back. Go to the left. No, not over there.

SAGGY: Fagbug!

Ratso laughs. Slim enters the basement holding a stack of magazines.

RATSO: What up, cockmaster?

SLIM: Fuck you. Anyway, we got a magazine with a feature on our video and I brought copies for everyone.

He hands out the copies and Ratso hands him a beer.

RATSO: Freshmen? What the hell is this faggot fuckery?

SLIM: Yeah, it’s for fags, but my dad says that there isn’t really a market for straight porn featuring barely legal guys. This magazine has also featured the two legal Jonas brothers and Zac Efron, and nobody thinks they’re gay.

CHUNKY: Are you fucking kidding me? Joe Jonas is gayer than a bag of dicks.

RATSO: Did your brother tell you that?

CHUNKY: Enough about my motherfucking brother! He’s fucked more girls than the number of times you’ve fucked your right hand.

RATSO: That is highly fucking unlikely.

SAGGY: Hella highly.

SLIM: Dude, I really don’t want to think about that. Anyway, how was the gig, Saggy?

SAGGY: Noice.

RATSO: He got almost four hundred dollars that fags stuffed into his g-string.

SLIM: I told you that thing was high-quality. Most g’s would have perished under that kind of tension.

RATSO: Bulge probably knows about tension in his g, unlike you.

SLIM: Fuck you!

RATSO: Anyway, the money wasn’t all there at the same time, you idiot. He took breaks and took it out as the night went on. Dumbass shitbag.

SLIM: How would I know?

CHUNKY: How do you not know that shit? Do you not have internet access?

RATSO: Yeah, your ignorance is fucking shocking sometime.

SLIM: Whatever.

RATO: There’s some pics posted on Facebook of Saggy dancing last night. You should check it out.

SLIM: Yeah, I don’t think so.

RATSO: Don’t be so gay.

SCENE IV

Slim’s parents are having dinner at the home of Raymond’s sister, Lacey Cox-Sickle, and her husband, Dick “Enrico” Sickle.

LACEY: Can I just tell you how sweet these li’l cocktail glasses are? You just pour in some ice—nice and cold—and a pre-mixed cocktail, and garnish with a couple . . . dozen . . . bluberries.

ENRICO: This is some strong shit, honey! Are you trying to get us shit-faced before dessert?

LACEY: I wouldn’t want you to be anything but literally vertical.

ENRICO: So, Ray, how’s business at the house of dildo? Hard times for hard customers in today’s economy? Obamanomics having you holding onto your pocketbook like a pubescent boy’s death grasp on his own cock?

RAYMOND (laughing): Actually, I’m confident that people will, more and more, remember to appreciate life’s simple pleasures, like prostate stimulators and MILF videos.

WIFE: I just hope people don’t get so depressed that their libido goes away. I’ve heard that can happen.

RAYMOND: Oh, spare me your pop psychology bullshit. That stuff’s just for bored housewives who want to sound intelligent to impress morons.

ENRICO: Cheers to that!

LACEY: That’s why I only read magazines about cooking and entertaining, tablescapes, and sweet li’l things like that. Ask Enrico about my Valentine’s Day surprise. I got it from Sandra.

ENRICO: You mean the homemade edible cleavage-enhancing powder? We could barely make it upstairs before I plundered her musky treasures!

LACEY (whispering coyly): The secret is Pixy Stix.

WIFE: I’ll have to try that sometime.

ENRICO: So, how are the kids? The daughter still caught up in the feminazi bullshit?

WIFE: I hope it’s just a phase, but she’s doing some great community service with poor black children from the hood.

RAYMOND: “The hood”? Are you trying to talk like the kids now?

WIFE: Maybe I’m just a silly bitch, but I think it’s important to understand the way people communicate—even teens.

ENRICO: You’re wrong! The “LOL” and the “BFR” and the “DP” and all that hooey.

RAYMOND: Well, I know what DP means.

SCENE V

Jogs Chignon and his friend, Boobs Carlisle, are waiting in line to get into the Saloon, a gay club in downtown Minneapolis.

JOGS: So, you’re sure this isn’t going to be weird?

BOOBS: No! How many times have you had to watch gross guys hitting on and grinding with girls in douchebag clubs? At least here you aren’t competing with those Axe-wearing frat boy motherfuckers.

JOGS: Do you get a lot of those types?

BOOBS: I wish! Although lap dances are easier on fat dudes.

JOGS: Don’t say that word!

BOOBS: It’s not my fault you let yourself go, doughboy.

JOGS: I’ve lost two more pounds in the last week.

They reach the bouncer, who ID’s them, stamps their hands, and lets them in.

They head to the bar.

JOGS: Did you ever find out anything from your coworker who does pageants?

BOOBS: Yes! I totally forgot to mention it. She’s pretty incoherent, but she told me that there’s some weird shit that goes down at those things: bribes, sexual favors, crazy shit.

JOGS: It’s so disgusting to see girls being taught that they’re only valuable for their bodies, like tools.

BOOBS: You’re a tool, asshole!

JOGS: Oh, sorry. It’s just that I think sex workers are forced into a situation that’s painfully unsubversive vis-à-vis the liberatory strategies of post-feminists.

BOOBS: You need to drop that sociology class. Look at that guy in the cage!

JOGS: Gross!

BOOBS: Whatever. He’s wearing a g-string! And he can’t take it off. Remember the pubes and booze law?

JOGS: Yeah, but does that count when he’s suspended in a cage up there? I mean, it’s not like we can climb up there and grope his zipper knight.

BOOBS: I actually don't know how the law works in situations like that. But I do know how I'd work in a situation like that guy's bedroom.

JOGS: Jesus, I already have to see him practically naked and now you say shit like that.

BOOBS: So what? Everyone's seen a dick outline in a thong by sixth grade these days. It's no big deal.

JOGS: His doesn’t look like a small deal, either.

BOOBS: Jealous?

JOGS: Maybe.

BOOBS: Well, you know what they say: lose ten pounds, gain an inch. Your dick is just hiding in all that unsightly blubber.

JOGS: I didn’t know about that! But now that I think about it . . .

BOOBS: See? Sometimes clichés are true.

JOGS: I guess they are. I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover.

BOOBS: Tell that to Michael Crichton!

World of Cox Episode 2: Elimination Dancing (Part One)

SCENE ONE

Slim is sitting in the family room with his mother, who is watching “Seinfeld” reruns and drinking a wine spritzer on a Friday afternoon.

SLIM: Oh fuck! I would totally rape that faggot-ass midget if he tried to pull that shit with me.

WIFE: I believe the politically correct term today is “little person.”

SLIM: I believe the politically correct term is shut the fuck up, you fucking nosy cunt.

WIFE (laughing): Stupid me, always correcting potty mouths. It’s that gosh-darned liberal media training us all to be overly sensitive.

SLIM: Abso-fucking-lutely. Media fags don’t know how kids today actually talk.

WIFE: They should rent Juno and get teen talk all up in their brainizzles.

SLIM: Whatever. Dude! That midget sort of looks like that one guy from the Orange Glo commercials, only more midgety.

WIFE: Yum, that Billy Mays really double-clicks my mouse.

SLIM: Sick! That is sick as shit! I’m gonna have to drink a liter of Goldschlager to erase that image from my head.

Raymond enters holding a bag from his erotica store, Fantasy Experience.

WIFE: Sup, boo? How was your day at work?

RAYMOND: Oh, you know, the usual: a fistfight broke out in the jackoff booth after a customer thought his neighbor was trying to spy on him waxing his dolphin. Some dyke tried to return a used tit clamp and nearly FUPA-slammed me when I explained why that was illegal.

SLIM: Dude, gently used sex toys are fucking gay.

RAYMOND: I mean, a used tit clamp is far less unsavory than a soiled set of anal beads, but the law’s the law. I put my foot down.

SLIM: You should have put it up her fatass. Anyway, I gotta go.

RAYMOND: What’s on the menu for tonight? Got a hot date?

SLIM: Dude, dates are fucking gay. Nobody goes on dates anymore. I’m going to hang out with my friends, drink some beer, watch that figure skating shit with Pink Floyd—you know.

RAYMOND: Oh, that reminds me . . .

He hands Slim the bag.

RAYMOND: Here are some slightly irregular novelty thongs I found in a shipment today. They’re fully functional, although the lining has slightly perished. In this economy, I’m not going to sell anything but a perfect product.

SLIM: Thanks. Later.

He leaves.

RAYMOND: Do people really not go on dates anymore? Sometimes I feel like the world changed while I wasn’t looking.

WIFE: I guess people skip the dinner and the movie and get straight to the hanky-panky nowadays.

RAYMOND: And our boy doesn’t seem to be getting any pussy, which is really starting to worry me. I just don’t know what to do about it.

WIFE: Why worry so much? There’s nothing unusual about teenage boys wanting to hang out together wearing thongs instead of trying to woo hot, horny chicks.

RAYMOND: I guess. Maybe I’ll encourage him to try out one of the Cyberskin pink lips pussy strokers I sell in my shop. It could give him a real jones for the real thing.

WIFE: Or it could obviate that need.

RAYMOND: True. This is a real source of consternation. Is this that episode where the midget fucks over Kramer? I love that one!

SCENE II

Saggy, Ratso, and Chunky are hanging out in Saggy and Ratso’s basement, drinking PBR tallboys and listening to the Allman Brothers. Saggy is playing Mario Kart 64.

Slim enters carrying the bag of thongs.

RATSO: Dude, you just got raped so hard by that banana peel. You gotta get back at that fucker, Yoshi.

SAGGY: Faglizard!

SLIM: Hey. We got some extra thongs we can’t sell at my job.

RATSO: Awesome! Pass that shit over here!

CHUNKY: Once you try thongs, you will never go back to normal underwear.

RATSO: What is “normal” underwear for your family? Fucking strips of dishrags held together with duct tape?

CHUNKY: Fuck you!

RATSO: Ooh, this silver one is pretty tight. Let’s see if it fits.

He takes off his pants and puts on the thong over his boxer briefs.

RATSO: Not bad.

CHUNKY: Not fucking bad at all. I guess it’s made for dudes with no ass.

SLIM: Speaking of which, did you guys see that 13-year-old dad in England? That shit is completely fucked up.

RATSO: Yeah, that fucker looks like a 6-year-old fag.

SLIM: It’s hard to believe that dude would take off his pants to reveal hairy, functional genitalia—I’ll tell you that much.

RATSO: As gay as that sounds, it’s fucking true.

CHUNKY: Shit yes. The ship cannot sail without se(a)men. Right, Slim? Or did you go through “the change” last weekend?

SLIM: Fuck you, you poor white trash piece of shit! I’ve been able to . . . I don’t need to tell you fuckers anything. Fags.

CHUNKY: Just remember: dry orgasms don’t count.

SAGGY: Yes! Shrunk those homo racer fucks!

RATSO: Be right back.

Slim and Chunky drink and watch Saggy play video games in silence for the next minute or two. Then, the Allman Brothers is replaced, very loudly, by “What is Love” by Haddaway. Ratso appears wearing only the thong and holding a DV camera.

RATSO: We have to make one of those fucking gay YouTube videos!

CHUNKY: Yes!

SAGGY: Hella!

SLIM: No fucking way.

RATSO: You can be the cameraman. We just gotta figure out the fucking choreography or whatever.

CHUNKY: Dude, do you have those warm-up pants that you can violently rip off?

RATSO: Oh my God, you are a fucking genius. Saggy, go grab those porn star pants from our rooms. We’ll plan out the moves.

CHUNKY: We don’t want it to look too gay right at the beginning. Like, we can just stand there with our arms crossed or some shit.

RATSO: Yeah, okay. We can stand in a triangle.

SLIM: Yeah, that’s really not gay.

RATSO: Shut the fuck up. This video is going to rape all other shit on YouTube so hard. Now, should we start with shirts on? And don’t tell me your nipples are gonna look weird on low-ass quality internet shit.

SCENE III

Boobs Carlisle and Jogs Chignon are on the side of the dance floor at a large suburban nightclub. A catwalk has been set up down the center of the floor; it is currently empty.

Boobs hands Jogs a cocktail and takes a large sip from her own.

JOGS: How much?

BOOBS: Don’t worry about it. I had a very good night last night.

JOGS: God, sometimes it really hurts me to think of all the gross, old, ugly men who just use your body as a tool to release their sexual tension.

BOOBS: They release something a lot more specific than that! And you aren’t such a treat yourself, lunchbox.

JOGS: I can’t lose all the weight overnight, especially with you feeding me these high-calorie cocktails. Do you know what the caloric count of just the gin in a gin and tonic is?

BOOBS: No, and I don’t care. You sound like my bitch mother who will eat half a piece of birthday cake and them yell at herself for the rest of the day.

JOGS: Well, we’re all fucking positioned as panic consumers in the late modern West, so it’s easy to see how these things can turn neurotic.

BOOBS: Jesus, where’d you get that shit? You sound like Precious.

JOGS: Something from my cultural studies class.

BOOBS: I am so fucking glad I’m not in college. I’d rather be exploited for my tits and snatch than my brain. Hey, here comes your sister: I bet she thinks so, too.

Sam Chignon approaches wearing a red vinyl jumper with deconstructed faux-snakeskin accents and lace-up bondage boots.

BOOBS: You look hot!

SAM: That toxic bitch Johnnova is backstage! Her parents pay the agency thousands of dollars so they can let her walk in the show with the real models so she can pretend to be legit and not a pageant whore.

JOGS (to Boobs): The actual models hate the pageant girls.

SAM: She is made of pure fuck! She gives off more stank than a roomful of fags watching Cinemax titsploitation shit.

BOOBS: And what the fuck kind of name is Johnnova?

SAM: Johnnova Assnest.

Boobs laughs hysterically.

SAM: I’m seriously considering trying to figure out a way to sabotage her at Miss Teen Slut Bitch or whatever the fuck the biggest pageant is called.

BOOBS: I work with a girl that used to do those. I’ll ask her.

SAM: That would be awesome.

BOOBS: It’s no problem, but she’s done a whole lot of K and G since then so I can’t promise that her memory is flawless.

SAM: Anyway, I gotta go. I’ll be sixth and then up again later in some puffy knitwear monstrosity designed by a “Project Runway” reject.

JOGS: Walk fierce for us!

BOOBS: High school girls can be such toxic bitches. I sure feel bad for your sister, having to deal with that one.

JOGS: Yeah, but she’s okay. She has a unique perspective on high school girls, which I think helps.

BOOBS: I wonder if we’ll be able to guess which one is Johnnova. God, what a name.

SCENE IV

Precious Cox enters her apartment in Bronxville and sits on the couch with her roommate, Julissa Rose.

PRECIOUS: What a fucking endless day from hell. I could go the rest of my life without explaining to first grade boys how to rotate their pelvises sufficiently rhythmically.

JULISSA: Well, the show is soon, at least.

PRECIOUS: That’s true.

She takes out her laptop and opens an internet browser.

PRECIOUS: I hate being sans email for hours. Let’s see what’s on the 'Book . . . "Gunnar has joined a group called 'Save the Favelas from Appropriation by Opportunist Hipsters.'" There’s a shocker!

JULISSA: What does that even entail?

PRECIOUS: Not going to parties where the people are passé enough to still spin baile funk? Don’t ask me.

JULISSA: I remember him raving about Slumdog Millionaire. He said it was the closest thing to the resurrection of Satyajit Ray.

PRECIOUS: What a retarded fuckwit. He also became enraged when I said City of God was overdirected, which doesn’t even get into the political bullshit. Except he refuses to call it by the English title.

JULISSA: Did you see about that 13-your-old daddy shit?

PRECIOUS: Yes, but maybe there’s an update. Let’s see what Dlisted has to say . . . Oh, great. Another YouTube video of teenage boys dancing shirtless. Which Village People song will it be this time? Bet you an IPA that it’s “Sodom and Gomorrah.”

JULISSA: Sure.

PRECIOUS: Damn, they went newer school. This is truly abysmal, although the camerawork isn’t bad. And they have the porn pants, of course.

JULISSA: Just the idea of the pre-planning involved in those things is kind of brilliant.

PRECIOUS: I know, right? And look: thongs! And . . . actually . . . holy mother of fuck! That kid is friends with my brother!

JULISSA: Shut the fuck up.

PRECIOUS: I’m serious. The YouTube account name is . . . Ratso69x420. Location: Edina, MN. At least Slim isn’t in the video. I would have to get a lobotomy.

JULISSA: Either that or recruit him to be your choreography assistant.

PRECIOUS (laughing): I guess. This is too insane.

SCENE V

Slim and his father are working at the latter’s erotica store. Slim is behind the counter while Raymond sets up a display of tongue vibrators.

SLIM: So apparently, some fag posted the video on this blog that like every other fag in the world reads, and now Ratso and Saggy are getting buttloads of comments and emails and Facebook messages. Some guy asked Saggy if he would be an exotic dancer.

RAYMOND: Is he going to?

SLIM: I think so! Apparently you can meet a bunch of girls that way, even if you dance at a gay bar.

RAYMOND: Yes, women do like establishments geared toward gay men. I always thought it was because they could escape being sexually assaulted, but now that I think harder, the man candy could also be a compelling factor.

SLIM: Although Saggy doesn’t have a problem with the bitches anyway.

RAYMOND: Have you ever considered being a go-go boy? It wouldn’t be a bad idea: extra money and a solution to your girl problems.

SLIM: I don’t know; the idea of dancing in underwear in front of a bunch of guys sounds kind of gay to me.

RAYMOND: But don’t you want to meet girls? I’ve been trying to avoid the subject, but I can’t help wondering whether you’ve even had a taste of pussy yet.

SLIM: Jesus Christ! I have a taste of vomit right now in my mouth and it’s about to be projected onto that row of Hitachi Magic Wand G-Spotter attachments!

RAYMOND: I just worry sometimes.

SLIM: If I choke to death on my own vomit, you wouldn’t have to worry anymore.

RAYMOND: Fine. Point taken. But can you at least talk to Saggy about his experiences as a go-go boy after he’s done a few gigs? Maybe check out the scene?

SLIM: I’ll think about it.

RAYMOND: I’m happy to hear that. And I’m happy those irregular thongs were put to such good use. And so quickly!

END OF PART ONE

World of Cox Episode 1: Calendar Boys (Part Three)

SCENE ONE

At the Chinese New Year party, Ratso is wearing a traditional Asian farmer’s hat, doing air guitar to “Houses of the Holy” while Saggy and some of his friends are playing Wii bowling. Kristi comes downstairs with her friend, Tamra, who is wearing a pink calf brace with many signatures.

RATSO: What’s up, bitches? Ching chang chong! Why you not dress up for Chink party?

KRISTI: I was gonna wear my mom’s old kimono, but it’s way too long.

RATSO: So cut it off at the cheeks.

KRISTI: I didn’t think of that.

RATSO: No shit, Sherlock. Anyway, we got Tsing Tao in the fridge and shit.

He returns to air guitar, getting into it and splashing some beer in the process. Kristi and Tamra walk over to the refrigerator, where Slim and Chunky are hanging out.

CHUNKY: That is the gayest thing I have heard since that one fag from “Project Runway.”

SLIM: That guy has the same fucking hairstyle as a bunch of chicks on porn covers, except theirs is dyed in big patches. I can’t really explain it.

CHUNKY: Dude, I totally know what you’re talking about. That one girl with the black and pink hair like that from the creampie website and shit? Total fap material.

SLIM: TMI motherfucker! (to the girls) Oh, hey. What’s up?

CHUNKY: How’s your calf?

KRISTI: She doesn’t want to talk about that.

TAMRA: Tonight I just want to get shitfaced and forget about what I should be doing . . .

She trails off and starts crying. Kristi quickly grabs two beers and then takes Tamra off to the bathroom to calm down.

SLIM: Smooth one, dude. You’re halfway to snatchville already.

CHUNKY: What the fuck? I was just trying to show some fucking concern. Anyway, after she’s faded and sees the calendar, she’ll totally be down on all fours and shit.

SLIM: Just make sure she’s drunk enough not to notice what your nipples actually look like.

CHUNKY: Shit! Good call, man. I totally didn’t think about that.

Kristi and Tamra come back.

TAMRA: Sorry about that. I just get so emotional sometimes.

CHUNKY: I totally know what you mean, dude. Like when the Steelers won the Super Bowl, I really felt something.

SLIM: You probably just had to shit really bad.

Everyone laughs.

CHUNKY (to Tamra): Want another beer?

TAMRA: I just opened this one!

CHUNKY: So slam it. Let’s all slam it! Slam it, slam it, slam it!

They all chant together and slam their Tsing Taos.

SCENE TWO

Precious enters a crowded party of Sarah Lawrence students at an upstairs apartment, where groups of kids are talking, drinking from plastic cups. Generic indie dance music is playing, and two flaming boys are erotically dancing next to the stereo. Precious’s acquaintances Gunnar and E.Lin call her over.

GUNNAR: Join us. We were just talking about the Global South.

E.LIN: The world formerly known as third.

PRECIOUS: Naturally. Nothing goes better with Siberian Ice than pseudo-post-colonialist posturing. So, how about them Eritreans?

E.LIN: My friend Jedidiah’s partner is doing a film project on parallels between African starvation and bulimia in upper middle class American high schools.

PRECIOUS: That certainly sounds vomit inducing. Speaking of which, I’m going to acquire a cocktail. I’ll catch you presently.

She walks over to a table of assorted liquors and mixers, where one of the party’s hosts, Sassy, is selling cups.

SASSY: Sorry for the white trashiness, but it’s always a rent party concept.

PRECIOUS: I’d just be spending it on dick otherwise.

She hands over money and gets a cup.

SASSY: I saw you were talking to Gunnar. He’s in my Japanese Film class.

PRECIOUS: That must be a bitch and a half. What does he do? Rant about how Jim Jarmusch and Hal Hartley are the only two men he’d bend over and present his untouched raisin to?

SASSY (laughing): Pretty much.

PRECIOUS: Unfortunately, he has a radio show before mine, and he always goes at least five minutes into my time because he just has to play some obscure European psych epic from the mid-70’s that no one reasonable cares about.

SASSY: Yeah, I remember he has a show. What’s it called?

PRECIOUS: Mutant Frequencies. Surprisingly not as horrifying as you might expect, but then again, he’s always full of surprises. And, mostly, himself.

SASSY: Sebastian and her friends just got here. I should go say hello.

PRECIOUS: Later.

She pours herself a very generous amount of Siberian Ice with a hint of Diet Dr. Pepper and a lemon slice. Her classmate Bill “Samurai” Jones approaches, clearly intoxicated.

SAMURAI: Precious! I was just thinking of you. We were talking about liberatory sexual theory shit and I was like, “Dudes! Precious is totally down on that!” But no one was really listening because they’re all kind of drunk.

PRECIOUS: That’s certainly as good a reason as any. But yes, my pet project with the underclass children has been going well. I would hand out fliers for our performances next month, but they’re still at the printers.

SAMURAI: Awesome! Totally hook me up with that shit when you get the chance.

PRECIOUS: I will.

The music changes to Girl Talk.

SAMURAI: I totally love this album!

PRECIOUS: Greg Gillis is a clothing-averse idol for the masses, all right.

SAMURAI: Come dance!

PRECIOUS: Just give me five more minutes to become unsober, and I’ll shake it like a Polaroid snapshot.

SCENE THREE

Back at the Chinese New Year party, the basement is fairly crowded, with containers of Chinese take out laid on the tables along with beer cans. Saggy is making out with a topless girl on the couch. Ratso and Slim are standing again the wall, both somewhat drunk.

RATSO: Dude, someone needs to take a picture of that shit. Do you have your cell phone?

SLIM: Yeah, but I’m not gonna do over and do that. I’m not gonna take pictures that seem gay or some shit.

RATSO: What if they start fucking? Someone better tell them to get a room.

SLIM: Look at Chunky trying to hook up with Tamra.

RATSO: That piece of trash just might get his dick wet tonight. Fuck! We need to give out the calendars! Is it midnight yet?

SLIM: This isn’t a fucking New Years Eve party. You don’t have to wait for the ball to drop.

They both laugh uproariously.

RATSO: Dude, okay. I’m gonna go upstairs and get the calendars after I piss.

Ratso goes upstairs, leaving Slim standing alone. A very attractive girl walks up to him a moment later. It is Jog Chignon’s sister, Sam.

SAM: You're Precious’s brother, right?

SLIM: Yeah, the bitch is . . . Holy shit! You’re the girl from that fashion show. I totally didn’t notice you were here.

SAM: Yeah. I have no idea why your friend asked me to his party, but I’m so sick of the ones at my high school. Just a bunch of cockmasters listening to shitty classic rock, a giant circle jerk—a pissing contest.

SLIM: Shit, that sounds weak as fuck. Our parties are way better than that.

SAM (sarcastically, which Slim is too drunk to detect): Obviously. So, tell me something entertaining.

SLIM: Okay . . . Well, I work at Fantasy Gifts, you know, that porn and sex toy store next to Dollar Experience in that ghetto strip mall right off 494 and Portland?

SAM: Actually, I don’t know.

SLIM: Well, anyway, the craziest thing happened last week. This really fat guy walked into one of the jack-off booths with a Cub Foods grocery bag, and . . .

His riveting tale is interrupted by Ratso standing on a table and wolf whistling.

RATSO: Bitches and gentlemen! We have some wild shit going down tonight: a special surprise for you. For the Chinese New Year, we made a calendar of a bunch of the guys and you should totally check that shit out. The box is over there next to the 360.

CHUNKY: Tell them why we made it.

RATSO: Oh, yeah. Sorry about that, fag. We made it to cheer up Tamra because she can’t compete at some stupid dance fuckfest after she fucked up her calf.

Tamra bursts into tears and run off to the bathroom. Chunky grabs a calendar and heads after her.

SAM: Are you in this thing?

SLIM: No, but I did almost all the photography and art direction.

SAM: That must have been really fun.

SLIM: Yeah, it was pretty tight.

RATSO (interrupting): Not as tight as my brother’s pecs though. Look at this shit!

He displays one of Saggy’s photos.

RATSO: And here’s one of me. Dude, thanks for making my thighs look so good.

SLIM: Yeah, they do look nice.

Sam looks incredulous but slightly intrigued.

SAM: Can I have one?

RATSO: Dude, I will totally sign your copy. Aren’t you glad you decided to come to this party?

SAM: I can’t tell you how glad I am.

SCENE FOUR

Raymond and his wife are watching a marathon of “The Real Housewives of Orange County.” Slim walks in from the kitchen, holding a glass of water and two Alleves, which he quickly swallows.

WIFE: I would say good morning, but it’s nearly 2:30! You must have had quite a time at that party last night.

RAYMOND: I remember when I was in high school. I would get wasted and, half the time, have no idea what happened the next day. Hopefully I never accidentally impregnated anyone!

WIFE: No indeedy!

RAYMOND: Imagine the child support lawsuits!

He pauses a moment to do just that.

RAYMOND: So, how was your party?

SLIM: It was okay. Everyone liked the calendar, and I met this hot bitch whose older brother knows Precious.

WIFE: Oh dear. I hope this girl isn’t a pretentious hairy-legged feminazi like most of the “girls” your sister hangs out with.

SLIM: Not at all.

RAYMOND: So she wasn’t frightfully butch?

SLIM: Nope. Totally femme.

RAYMOND: Not that I have a problem with butchies. God knows, I love it when they come into my store and buy artisanal strap-ons, tit clamps, and other toys. They have a discerning eye for sex toys, those butch dykes!

SLIM: Yeah, dude, but is there even porn starring butch chicks? All the lesbians I’ve seen look pretty straight.

RAYMOND: I’ve wondered about that myself, but I think lesbian porn is just for men who enjoy masturbating without having to see a big old penis on the screen.

SLIM: That’s cogent.

WIFE: So, did you get this girl’s number? Are you going to take her to the movies and poke your candy car into her popcorn box?

SLIM: That is fucking revolting. And no, unfortunately I didn’t get the digits. Ratso was trying to mack on her, but that didn’t really work. It was actually pretty fucking funny to see his self-assured ass get denied.

WIFE: I’m surprised he’s popular with the ladies. He’s always been a very homely boy, that one.

SLIM: Yeah. I guess self-confidence goes a long way.

RAYMOND: It does! And you need a hot beef injection of self-confidence. Act like you’re Casanova and this girl will melt in your arms. And your mouth!

SLIM: That is fucking sick as fuck!

SCENE FIVE

Jogs and Sam are having coffee at a diner on East Lake Street.

SAM (laughing): So, you better watch out! You’ve got some competition.

JOGS: It’s really strange that that kid has the hots for Boobs.

SAM: Yeah, but maybe he’ll start dating the girl with the cast. They were all over each other right before I left.

JOGS: I guess those parties haven’t changed in the last two years.

SAM: Yeah, they must be the same everywhere. Or variations on a theme.

JOGS: And I still cannot get over that calendar. What the fuck is wrong with people?

SAM: I don’t know. The horse picture was pretty hot. And the cock one was . . . well, I’ll leave it to your imagination.

JOGS: What about the dude who’s crushing on Boobs?

SAM: He was the tiger, and maybe one other one. He did have a pretty built ass.

JOGS: Fuck. Maybe I should get a personal trainer.

SAM: You better!

JOGS: So, Precious’s brother sounds nothing like her.

SAM: Yeah. I didn’t get much of an impression of him, but that might be a good thing.

JOGS: He seemed okay to me.

SAM: Well, I doubt I’ll see any of those guys again. But at least I have good stories.

JOGS: And the calendar!

SAM: Yes. The best part.

END OF SCENE FIVE

END OF EPISODE

World of Cox Episode 1: Calendar Boys (Part Two)

SCENE I

Slim and Chunky are at Dollar Experience, the cheapass, ghetto store next to Fantasy Gifts, looking for props for the calendar photo shoot.

SLIM: What the fuck are we going to do for the Rat? What do rats do other than hang out in the sewer and garbage cans and shit?

CHUNKY: We could just have Ratso coming out of a garbage can like the one bitch who’s always coming out of that fucking clam shell. Who the fuck is that, anyway?

SLIM: I’m not sure. But Ratso said he wanted to show off his legs. Did he mean his thighs or calves or what?

CHUNKY: Well, Saggy has pretty nice thighs, but I don’t know about Ratso. I’m trying to picture them.

Boobs Carlisle spots Slim and Chunky and walks over, bumping fists with both of them.

BOOBS: What are you guys doing in a ghetto shithole like this?

CHUNKY: My family buys all our shit here. Slim can probably afford K-Mart but we aren’t rich like that.

SLIM: I’m gonna call Ratso and ask about his thighs.

He walks a few feet away to make the call.

CHUNKY: So, how’s work?

BOOBS: Not so great lately. They hired some psychotic bitch named Takela who was putting holes in the free condoms backstage, the ones girls bring with them when they fuck johns after work.

CHUNKY: What the hell?

BOOBS: Yeah, so there’ve been a bunch of pregnancy scares and shit. I’ve done enough drugs so my uterus is shot to hell, thank Goddess. But it still sucked. Anyway, I gotta go check out and get downtown. Stop in for a lap dance if you ever win the lottery.

CHUNKY (dreamily): I will.

Slim walks back over to Chunky.

SLIM: He said he did want to show off his thighs, but apparently they can’t find twelve guys to do the calendar so he can take another sign. I guess Horse or Dog?

CHUNKY: Is there a bathroom here? I really need one.

SLIM: If not, you can use the employee one next door, or the jack-off booths in the back if they’re empty. I’ll look for whatever the fuck we can turn into fire for the Dragon picture.

SCENE II

Slim is hanging out with his parents in their living room.

SLIM: We got bananas and this fake plant for the monkey, a carrot for the horse. I’m not sure if he’s going to cover his dick with the carrot or just put it in his mouth or what.

WIFE: It seems like that would depend upon the camera angle and, of course, the size of the carrot and his unit.

SLIM: Yeah, I’ll guess we’ll see on the day.

RAYMOND: I’m telling you, you should really advertise my store on the calendar. And not just because we provided the body paint and edible glitter for the Tiger, but because we could really use more female customers who aren’t dykes.

SLIM: Dude, I already told you, it’s fine with me but I have to wait and ask my fucking friends.

RAYMOND: Just let me know.

SLIM: Obviously. Anyway, I need to go upstairs and research what lighting shows off pecs.

Slim heads upstairs.

WIFE: Sometimes I worry that Slim is spending too much time around men and lesbians. He really needs a strong, female influence in his life. Maybe we could find a nice girl and pay her to have sex with him and hang out with him.

RAYMOND: Except for that last part, you sound like Precious! Like feminazi daughter, like mother, I guess. Our boy is completely fine. He’s healthy, he’s working with high quality anal beads and Fleshlight Ices, he has this calendar. All healthy, manly activities.

WIFE: I know you’re right. It’s just that his babydaddy was always talking about how, if a man doesn’t hunt and shoot and sexually harass his coworkers, he might switch teams.

RAYMOND: You mean become a shit-stabber? That’s a bunch of hooey. That hunting and shooting shit is for people that live on farms and fuck goats, not gals. And the only coworker he has to harass is me! Should I ask him to grab my basket while we’re arranging ball harnesses tomorrow?

WIFE (laughing): I’m glad you can talk sense when I let my female irrationality take over. I am sorry, but you knew about my crippling emotional baggage when you asked for my hand.

RAYMOND: I sure did! Now, if only I can convince Slim to pose for that calendar . . .

SCENE III

Slim, Chunky, Saggy, and Ratso are in Saggy and Ratso’s basement, setting up equipment for the photo shoot.

RATSO: So for the dog one, Bulge said he didn’t want to pose with a real dog because he was afraid it would bite his dick or some shit.

CHUNKY: Dude, have you seen Bulge’s dick?

RATSO: We all have.

CHUNKY: If I were a dog, I might bite that shit.

SLIM: I think you’d be too busy licking your own balls.

CHUNKY: Oh yeah. That’d be awesome.

SAGGY: Hella.

SLIM: So we’ll get a stuffed dog or something like that. Which one should we do first?

CHUNKY: I’ll go first.

SLIM: Okay, Tiger first. Are you gonna go paint your stripes with the edible body paint? Here’s what you’re wearing.

He hands chunky a tiger-pattered loincloth.

RATSO: That is so fucking perfect! Your job is making this shit super-easy. Dude, we should totally put on some sexy music before we start. How about CCR?

SAGGY: Hella yes.

SLIM: Whatever. I’m going to set up my computer so the picture will look like it was taken in the jungle.

He sits down and starts working while Ratso opens a beer off another beer and loudly sings along to “Fortunate Son.” Saggy opens the second beer with his teeth and turns on the 360.

SLIM: This is fucking awesome. We can have him next to a giraffe, or by this river . . . I wonder what body position would look the best here. Will you check this out, Ratso?

Ratso continues singing but walks over to check out Slim’s computer.

SLIM: Should he be lying on his side, or maybe just lounging, like reclining? Like this?

Slim demonstrates the position; just then, Chunky comes out of the bathroom.

SLIM: Do you think you would look good lying like this?

CHUNKY: I thought the point of the loincloth was to show off some of my ass, and that pose wouldn’t do that at all.

SLIM: Dude, look at this background! It’s going to be fantastic. Also, where do you want me to rub this body glitter on you?

RATSO: Chunky, your ass does look pretty nice. Do you do pull-throughs?

CHUNKY: And squats. You gotta isolate, fuckers!

RATSO: Tamra is totally going to let you hit that after she sees this.

Slim rubs a blob of body glitter between his hands and begins slathering it on Chunky’s chest.

CHUNKY: You guys haven’t even mentioned my nipples yet.

RATSO: Oh, yeah. Dude, those are pretty fucked up.

SCENE IV

Slim, Chunky, Ratso, and Saggy are eating at Chipotle.

RATSO: This piece of meat looks exactly like the face of that bitch you can fuck in GTA: San Andreas! Look at it!

CHUNKY: That is fucking uncanny.

RATSO: “Yes, I would like to eat you.”

He devours the meat chunk.

SLIM: So, the guy at Kinko’s said they’ll definitely be ready for Friday.

RATSO: Awesome! We can sell them at the Chinese New Year’s party. Oh yeah, Saggy, did you ask mom about getting us a keg of some chink beer?

SAGGY: Forgot.

RATSO: Dude, you have to fucking ask her tonight! She might pick up some American shit instead and the party would be fucking ruined. We’re gonna get food from the Great Wall.

CHUNKY: That place is kind of expensive.

RATSO: Yeah, for poor motherfuckers like your white trash ass.

SLIM: It was interesting finally meeting Bulge. I always wondered if maybe his nickname was really ironic, and now I know.

RATSO: Yeah, you fucking know all right. Bulge is a tight du, but he can be a little bit flaky sometimes. He hangs out with too many bitches.

CHUNKY: Did you remember to Photoshop my nipples?

SLIM: Yes, dude. Your fucking nipples are going to look normal. They’re going to scream out to Tamra, “Tweak me! Pinch me! Nibble at me bitch!”

The Hispanic family at the next table gives Slim a strange look.

CHUNKY: Okay. I trust you.

RATSO: Dudes, we are going to be fighting the bitches off us. They might even get desperate and try to go for Slim’s jock at the party. You can finally use the condom that’s been in your wallet since 2004.

SLIM: That isn’t a condom, you ignorant piece of shit. It’s a novelty bubble gum product. I don’t think I’d have a hard time getting condoms.

RATSO: But you’d have a HARD time using them. Literally!

SLIM: Dude, that makes no sense.

SAGGY: Hella true.

RATSO: So now everyone’s a motherfucking linguist? Shut up and eat your fajita burrito bowl. Are you gonna finish your extra thing of corn?

SCENE V

At the health club, Chunky is spotting Ratso, helping him with his pull-through technique, while Saggy is doing ab exercises with a hot pink rubber ball.

RATSO: Bulge won’t even do these because he thinks they look gay. What a fucking loser.

CHUNKY: Dude, you gotta clench harder. Focus, concentrate, and clench. Bulge’s ass is pretty flat.

RATSO: It’s very fucking flat.

CHUNKY: Nothing to grab onto.

RATSO: I know! What the fuck is he thinking?

Jogs Chingon, an alma mater of the boys’ high school, walks over wearing a pea-green tracksuit.

JOGS: Hey, aren’t you guys friends with Precious Cox’s younger brother?

CHUNKY: Yeah, we’re bros. Aren’t you the du from that fashion show? With the hot sister?

JOGS: Yeah, I’m Jogs.

RATSO: Dude, no offense, but you don’t look like the kind of person who hangs out at the gym.

JOGS: Yeah, but actually I’ve lost fifteen pounds recently. This girl said she would date me if I stopped being so fat, and I’ve been real motivated.

CHUNKY: What kind of bitch is worth that much fucking trouble for? Sure, I juice my glutes, but that’s not just for girls and it’s not like losing the weight of an entire person.

JOGS: She’s a pretty special girl.

RATSO: I fucking hope she’s a porn star.

JOGS: Actually, she is a sex worker, but just a stripper. Are you guys old enough to go to the Vu?

CHUNKY: We got ID’s, and I’ve been there.

JOGS: Well, maybe you’ve had her gyrate on your crotch then.

CHUNKY: Lap dances are sort of out of my price range.

RATSO: I’d be up for that, if you . . .

CHUNKY: Stop joking and start clenching! (to Jogs) Precious has a friend who works there too, named Boobs.

JOGS: You’ve met her?

CHUNKY: Just for a minute.

JOGS: Well, I gotta go work off my own boobs in her name. It was nice seeing you.

RATSO: Wait a fucking second, fatass! I want to hear more about your hot sister and whether she would be up for the best fucking Chinese New Years party this side of Tokyo.

END OF PART TWO

World of Cox Episode 1: Calendar Boys (Part One)

SCENE I

Slim Cox is having breakfast with his parents in their kitchen.

RAYMOND: It’s amazing, really. His description of the Vibro’s ability to stimulate the “P” spot is so vivid. I can’t believe how many people come into my shop looking for just some Magnums and lube, and leave with a 150-dollar prostate stimulator.

WIFE: That is so sweet. And I got some great news from Precious last night. Remember that center for underprivileged youth she’s working at?

SLIM: Children of Malt Liquor?

PRECIOUS: That sounds racist to me.

SLIM: That’s what it’s called, bitch!

WIFE: Oh! Well, then, I sit corrected. Anyhoo, Precious has choreographed a routine where the 7- to 9-year-old boys are going to perform an exact replica of a performance by Manpower Australia!

SLIM: With the same outfits? The red thongs or whatever shit they have now?

WIFE: Gee, I didn’t think to ask. Sometimes I really can be shockingly stupid, but you guys know that.

SLIM: Why the fuck is she making them do that gay shit, anyway?

WIFE: She said something about deconstructing the hegemonic conception of the sexualization of something or other. It didn’t make all that much sense to me.

RAYMOND: Well, that is nice! I’ve got to head out, though. We’re getting a shipment of Spandex bodywear that I need to tag and display. It can be a real bitch putting stuff like thongeralls on my mannequins!

SLIM: Using baby powder helps with that.

RAYMOND: Geez, you just know everything! And I bet you have some baby powder upstairs you can lend me.

SLIM: Dude, hello. I have balls.

RAYMOND: Do you ever!

SCENE II

Ratso and Saggy Rubinstein are in the boys’ locker room after gym class, sitting facing each other, topless.

RATSO: Dude, that creatine is really fucking working on your bitch tits. Can I touch them?

SAGGY: Hella yes.

Ratso tweaks his brother’s left pec surreptitiously.

RATSO: Dude, I need to start lifting. Who the fuck says January is too early to start juicing?

RATSO: Hella not me.

Slim and Chunky enter the locker room.

RATSO: Look at my brother’s tits! Dude, do you want to touch them?

CHUNKY: Fuck no.

SLIM: That’s pretty fucking gay.

RATSO: What the fuck is wrong with you? If it’s gay to fucking admire another man’s pecs, then pretty much everything in the world is gay.

SLIM: Fine, but I’m not going to touch that shit. And also, your brother needs to not fucking sag his boxers because I don’t want to see his pubes and what may or may not be a section of his dick.

RATSO: Dude, you’re the one looking there!

SLIM: Because it’s a fucking train wreck!

CHUNKY: Who cares?

RATSO: Dude, you’re the one that won’t even take off your shirt when we go swimming.

CHUNKY: I’ve told you that I have weird nipples. I don’t like showing my nipples to people.

RATSO: Why? Are they hairy? Mine are super hairy but I shave them every couple of weeks. See?

CHUNKY: Your boobs look fine.

SCENE III

Slim, Chunky, Saggy, and Ratso leave the locker room and walk down the hallway. Kristie, Saggy’s friend with benefits, approaches them. She is wearing Juicy Couture sweatpants, Uggs, and a puffy Abercrombie vest.

SAGGY: Hey bitch.

KRISTIE: Have you heard what happened? This is seriously like the biggest tragedy since the fucking Holocaust!

CHUNKY: Is that the thing from that one movie with the guy from Batman Begins?

KRISTIE: That is so not important right now.

RATSO: So what the fuck happened?

KRISTIE: Tamra sprained her calf and now she can’t be in the section dance team tournament!

RATSO: How did she sprain it? Trying out some kinky new sexual position?

SLIM: We have a great product for that called the Liberator Wedge; it’s one of our top sellers. Often called the connoisseur's serving spoon of choice, the Wedge offers delivery at a divine incline for deeper penetration and G-spot navigation. The 27-degree angle excels every oral performance, eases any anal expedition and intensifies every single sensation. Always a favorite with the ladies!

RATSO: Dude, that sounds amazing!

KRISTIE: Aren’t you sad for Tamra though?

SLIM: This is the same bitch who bruised her sternum getting titty-fucked by . . . actually, was that you, Saggy?

SAGGY: No idea.

SLIM: Whatever. Until I hear how she hurt herself, I fucking reserve judgment.

KRISTIE: You are such a fucking asshole! God, I can’t believe you guys.

CHUNKY: Hey, I totally feel sad for her.

RATSO: Yeah right. You feel for her but that feeling isn’t called sadness.

CHUNKY: Whatever’s it’s called, let’s think of something to cheer her up.

KRISTIE: Saggy, you’re going to help with that, aren’t you?

SAGGY: Whatever.

RATSO: Dude, I’m in. Anything to help a bro get pussy. What about you, Slim?

SLIM: I think I’ll stick to the periphery on this one. But if you want to get her an Odyssey Tickler or a Slimline Waterdancer or something , you know where to go.

SCENE IV

Ratso and Saggy are hanging out in their basement with Chunky, drinking Natty Ice. Ratso is playing Street Fighter II on the modded XBOX Classic; his fighter of choice is Chun Li.

RATSO: That is so fucking not the best Pink Floyd album! Dude, you are fundamentally retarded for even thinking that shit!

CHUNKY: I don’t get all your post-Barrett apologist bullshit, but I’m not gonna argue about it.

RATSO: Yes you are. You’re going to fucking argue until you admit that you’re a bitch that doesn’t know shit about the second-greatest band of all time.

Ratso’s phone rings and he answers it.

RATSO: Bulge! Dude, why the fuck aren’t you here yet? . . . Okay, just grab whatever bitches are around.

CHUNKY: Dude, Chun Li just got raped by that sumo fatass. I bet dude would rip her snatch a new asshole if they could actually fuck.

SAGGY: Truf.

RATSO: Hey, Chun Li reminds me that Chinese New Year is next weekend. We should totally have a party and invite some bitches and eat chink food and whatever beer they have there.

SAGGY: YES.

CHUNKY: Dude, I just got the perfect idea to cheer up Tamra!

He stares blankly into space for 30 seconds.

CHUNKY: Yeah! This is going to be totally awesome. And you guys will finally be able to see my nipples.

RATSO: Actually, when you passed out on New Year’s Eve . . .

CHUNKY: Are you fucking serious?

RATSO: Someday the truth will come out, my man. Someday.

Saggy angrily slams down his beer can, splashing foam on the floor.

RATSO: Mom is going to be so pissed if you don’t clean that up.

SCENE V

Slim is behind the counter at Fantasy Gifts while his father arranges a display of flavored body oils, foams, and sprays.

RAYMOND: We’ve sure had some strange ones today. I never thought I would see dwarves in bondage gear buy so many nipple clamps. Do those things have other uses?

SLIM: I’ll check online when we get home tonight.

The phone rings and Slim answers.

SLIM: Fantasy Gifts. . . . Dude, I’m working here.

He waits as the caller talks for some time.

SLIM: Okay, I can look for something, but there is no way in fuck that I am going to be photographed for that shit. Or photograph it. I’ll be the art director but that is it!

He hangs up.

RAYMOND: What was that?

SLIM: Some of my friends are going to pose for an erotic calendar based on the signs of the Chinese Zodiac.

RAYMOND: That sounds like a fantastic idea!

SLIM: Yeah, I’m going to find them props and help out.

RAYMOND: Are you going to be one of the models? When I was your age, I would impress girls with photographs of me pointing at my bare, ripped abs. And the special ones got a little bit more, if you know what I mean.

SLIM: T to the fucking M to the I! I’m about to throw up all over these vagina bottle openers!

RAYMOND (laughing): Someday you’ll meet a girl worth exploiting your beautiful young body for.

END OF PART ONE