Gigantic Fail

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

Hello California!

Scenes from the Class Struggle in and Near the 2009 Cow Palace Tattoo Expo (Or: I Skipped the 2009 Minnesota State High Kick/Precision Dance Team Tournament For THIS?!?)

1. Alfie Patten

In 2008, Alfie Patten experienced an instantaneous but incomplete puberty: his outward appearance, when clothed, remained staunchly pre-pubescent, yet underneath, undeniable secondary sex characteristics were visible to whomever Alfie chose to expose himself to.

One such person was his girlfriend, Chantelle. Chantelle was a slut; she never met a pair of balls that didn’t scream “Squeeze me!” to her. Sliders confused her—the hamburgers, that is. She spent her afternoons teaching local chavs the way of the world, and although as many as ten had been playing bury the carrot with her around the time she got pregnant, she was always certain the baby would be Alfie’s.

Chantelle was very excited to be pregnant. Because she was poor and trashy and ignored by her parents, she thought a child would fill the tenderness void in her heart. Chantelle also had very painful periods: her tampons could barely withstand the menstrual tornado that churned inside her once a lunar cycle. So, she wasn’t too sad about giving up heavy flow days for morning sickness.

Their daughter, Maisie, was born on February 14: Valentine’s Day. Alfie sent a picture of Chantelle’s dilated vagina to everyone in his phone book, which of course is why you have all seen the viral videos and remixes of Chantelle’s fanny on YouTube now.

One of the mixes, the happy hardcore remix, is set to the song “Heart of Gold” by Force & Styles, the first happy hardcore song I ever heard in public.

2. High School

When I am around high school students, I usually feel homicidal, and occasionally suicidal. This is true because high school students are supposed to be our future, and imagining a future ruled by the kind of culturally illiterate, horny, pathetic retards that are poisoning our institutions of secondary education right now is pretty fucking awful.

“Dude!” they say. “That bitch totally just got raped!” And this is a description of how they want their Subway sandwich prepared.

They’ve destroyed our language, reduced it to an incoherent code of interwoven images, abbreviations, references to niche market pornography, encrypted Peter Frampton chord progressions.

Just try talking to a high school student. Ask them something basic. Ask them, “Where would you like to have lunch near the Berkeley campus today?”

“Played-out fag crepe shit’s dece, but I love the fuck out of Fat Slice no homo.”

Smoke was coming out of my ears, and I’m not even smoking cigarettes at this point in time!

3. THC

Teenagers also love smoking the drugs. They tell very long stories about people on drugs, stories that are not at all interesting and even less appropriate.

“Dude, remember that one time when we smoked the medicinal-grade shit and then went grocery shopping and I ate an entire box of Lucky Charms and then the next day we had extra cheese and garlic pizza on Potrero and on the way to Japantown I was barely able to restrain myself from taking a huge shit all over the bus and those black people in the back were listening to crunk and that fat fag next to me said Pass the malt liquor! which was pretty funny but I was afraid to laugh because I could have shit.”

I mean, yes, obviously I enjoyed the odd hit from a three hundred dollar bong back in my day, but back then there was some class involved with the whole proceedings. Today all the class is gone from drug use, which is really a sign that society is being flushed down the toilet of chaos.

4. I Love Money

“I’m on the cutting board, and they’re gonna cut the cheese.”

5. Fuck Those Cathedral Bitches

Is that of justice too much to ask? I mean, it’s Valentine’s Day, the day of love, so why can’t we have some nice, sturdy justice alongside the love?

What is love?

Resolved: One is such a lonely number.

What to expect: binaries, Zizek, gendered language, phallic numerology, determinism, drag, conversation hearts.

High school dance chaperones across the country are freaking out about a new dance craze. The dance, known as the “dick to face sweep,” is already the subject of much consternation . . .

Urban Outfitters sold x-rated conversation hearts this year. The most infamous varieties include “my backdoor is always open 4 u” and “meet me outside for hj after geometry class.”

They’re on clearance now, so act fast and stock up on enough love to last you until 2010.

Top Ten Movies of the 21st Century

Obviously, this excludes a massive amount of stuff I should have seen but haven't. My number one in that category is The New World, which I have, but haven't watched. In alphabetical order:

4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days (Christian Mungiu)
The Flight of the Red Balloon (Hou Hsiou-Hsien)
The Heart of the World (Guy Maddin)
A History of Violence (David Cronenburg)
The Holy Girl (Lucrecia Martel)
Paranoid Park (Gus Van Sant)
Paris Commune 1871 (Peter Watkins)
Unknown Pleasures (Jia Zhang-Ke)
Werckmeister Harmonies (Bela Tarr)
Yi Yi (Edward Yang)

Honorable Mention:
Café Lumiere (Hou)
La Cienaga (Martel)
The Death of Mr. Lazarescu (Christi Puiu)
Elephant (Van Sant)
Mulholland Dr. (David Lynch)

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