Julie licks the shaft of the gun and the gun twirls around her tongue for good measure. it's as if she's inserting the bullets inside with just her tongue. justly. but the bullets are droplets. she swings the piece wildly haphazardly with no consideration for target, deliberately she shrieks like a banshee.
Julie: THIS IS FOR ALL MY...wait, whom do we have here?
Pat: this is serious business, she's using
whom...
Julie points it at the bullies on stage.
bullies: hey. hands up. our hands are up. let's be cool about this. we were just joking around the whole time, the whole four years, it's a rite of passage.
Julie: bullies change lives for the worse. it's an unnatural realignment. they shoot and kill confidence out of a lifetime, stray otherwise cogent timelines away from their intended destinations and destinies in a shocking upswing curve. take me. how do you think i feel being a ginger my whole life in a blonde world?
Pat readies his stance tho his knees tremble. using his one eye as a scope. he licks his tongue. he takes a few practice swings. the golf ball is floating right in front of his full wet lips.
JUST THEN Flowers comes back to school! he barges down the flap doors, yanks the watergun from Julie's soft hard watermarked strong powdery hand, and does not remove his thick-rimmed glasses to look cool. he'll need those.
Julie: Teacher! what are you doing here! *she wink-winks*
Flowers: I'LL SHOW YOU COOL!!!!!!
Flowers shoots the watergun at the bullies with hard ropes of water and douses the fuck outta em.
Julie turns her head around and shouts from across the room:
Julie: NOW, BABE!
with the bullies distracted and shielding their eyes, Pat drops the golf club and with his finger in the air directs the golf ball to shoot with 100mph hardness into the bullies' crotches. one ball for all the crotches, looping and looping back and looping back again. the bullies have been incapacitated without uttering another ugh.
the crowd would cheer but nobody has any fucking idea what's going on.
Julie: okay, everyone, look at me, look at my eyes, well nevermind all that, you came here to DANCE, right!?
Flowers: THAT'LL LEARN YA TO DISOBEY MY COMMANDMENT THAT YOU HAD TO WEAR PERSONAL PROTECTIVE EQUIPMENT GOGGLES IN MY CHEM CLASS AT ALL TIMES!!
Julie: thank you, Mr, Flowers, you may leave now.
Dirg: that wasn't your pee in the watergun, right, Flowers? careful, don't display the black-power fist unless you really mean it.
Flowers: as a white man all i'll say is i'm in solidarity with the looters. this place needs to burn the fuck down. start over. with a black student council. not those white bullies on stage. if it remains those bullies on stage all hogtied up there on top of the totem pole this world will go down in a heap of ash like a forgotten sniff of clay in the desert. as my macular-degeneration eyes grow older i'm opening them up for the first time. i care about my kids, i don't want the gravestone in my backyard to read i was just another ear-hair gammon. a cycle ricocheting like a droplet. don't Tulsa this school!!! make the world safe for plants again! now let me die in peace.
Julie: ladies and gentlemen, Vitamin C!
Vitamin C: so folks, i know you were expecting trip-hop like Portishead but i'm here...
Julie: you've got me thinking, Mr. Flowers. Mr. Flowers? where'd he go? and so i'm introducing the first man into the Orchid Club Girls, Evgeny Shtorn!
Michel Weiss: Pat and i are more like chaperones. *hands up* folks folks can't we all just get along? this is for all my homies whom been with me and i've been with since jump. i've seen Rodney King through the ages. look at me, listen to my words, look at my lips, i have a college-level english vocabulary. British, actually. Instagram is like your home, you may abandon your house but it will be there forever. if you're dead, your Instagram serves as your eternal vigil.
he opens his eyes and sees everyone has long-since cleared out of the gymnasium, all kneedeep in dirty water.
Michael: and now for my big speech. *clears throat* you know that's a first, folks. i've never cleared my throat before a speech, before i was about to talk to the masses. never once. i've seen it in cartoons but never done it in real life. this is progress, this is growth...
Julie: well the prom was a success! and you were great out there, honey!
Pat: is my crotch all wet from my pee or the watergun shrapnel?
Julie: oh no, babe, you're dry!
Pat: and i'm dry cos of no sex. please give my lowly penis an Indian burn, i don't know if i'll ever see you again after this!
Pat closes his eyes, drops trou, and gets ready for the best tingly sensation of his life. but before he can flinch to the new touch, he disappears into thin air...
President Bump is bunkered down under the covers of his Cream House bed alone watching the tiny tv across on his nightstand, President Lincoln ordered him out of the Lincoln Bedroom so Bump instead takes the doggie-bed:
Bump: what sorcery is this? NOW The Weather Channel is sending its agents out to cover...thunderstorms? thunderstorms. i thought this was the middle of hurricane season! do i need to unleash the massive unquenchable immense undamageable show-of-force of the universe again? the best army ever? MY army? my unparalleled fleet? of hurricanes? hey can someone give Edward Colston a scuba already? young people still read history? i know what it's like holding your breath underwater to flee from the press. nothing but golf balls down there on the sandy bottom. i even put my hair in a Colston bun...
Laertus: we millennials are the most put-upon and mocked, but in many ways we're the most inspiring. cos we've always been in the thick of it. we've never not known mess, complexity, disappointment, and a longing for the past. we've never not been in a crisis. a crisis that is the culmination and result of eons of others' history. we're asked to clean up the mess...
at the Igloo, Gladyce has a surprise for Doryce:
Gladyce: we're moving out!
Doryce: why?
Gladyce: cos that's what an adventure entails. that's what adventurers do. but it's awesome cos i used to move alone but now i have you.
Doryce: my passionate pretty pet poet.
Gladyce: i know you've been sore about not being able to go to the Dutch Grand Prix. so here's something better: we're going to Keukenhof!!!
Gladyce: enjoying yourself, dear? i barely saw you on our vacation! did you take in the Pac-Man exhibit?
Doryce: Pac-Man? i fucked Pac-Man! that's how i got that V for my vagina.
Gladyce: no the flower-design display. you mean you rolled around in and on the yellow flowers of the Pac-Man flowerbush.
Doryce: no i took over Sue's job. mini Pac-Mans on the way scrolling across your screen. and while i was down there i picked up ten stray golf balls on the sandy bottom of the lake.
Gladyce: that's impressive, dear, considering the gardens aren't a golf course.
Doryce: oh yes they certainly are! it's a golf couse all right look at it! it's just all the holes and mini-windmills are covered up by the impressive rows of flowers of all the colors of the rainbow and some colors incapable of being seen with the human eye. but seen with the witch eye. i'm gonna donate these golf balls to Nice Guys High School for their protection during these difficult times.
Gladyce: as well with all our love, support, and spells of protection.
in the parking lot:
Dirg: don't knock Boston Market, Takahashi, just cos it's Boston. they have those cool black diamond raised square plates like they're from Benihana.
Takahashi: hey Dirg, the dill leaf from your Subway sandwich. put that dill leaf back in the ground in the grass you're eating your picnic on. for once in your life do something for the environment, GROW something!!!
Dirg: i'm trying. so whaddaya say, Madame Pons?
Madame Pons: no.
Dirg: please. i need this. this is my last chance to have a normal life.
Pons: huh. sigh. fine. one date. what did you come in here for anyway?
Dirg: oh, soap. i need my man soap. you know about all that stuff, right? Ponds? Dove? yeah that Dove For Men is fake news, it's just detergent. i need me my Dr. Squatch Man Soap, real soap for real men. that's not detergent. i use the rum bar to rub...
Pons: well you certainly look like Sasquatch. i mean that as a compliment...if that's possible. yeah i like the handsoap here at this Walgreens On A Hill. i need to protect my hands for spells, can't use a bath bomb for that.
Dirg: oh yeah, i get a big jar of the stuff. you know most people wash their hands with bleach. yeah that hand-soap looks like cum...i mean...
Pons: it's okay. change is hard.
Takahashi: all i want to know is how Sprite Ginger tastes. haven't had it stocked since covid…...and they still don't have it here!!!...
Pons: i forgot to have lunch...one time, not all the time just this one time...and i took a Vanquish at noon and didn't feel anything in my stomach the rest of the day. no hunger pangs. pangs of guilt still tho.
Eye Luggage: Pepcoin? it should be called Pepsicoin...you know, for PepsiCo...
Gladyce: dear that reminds me, can i borrow that coin you have in your hand for the DIY self-grooming doggie bath here at Walgreens? my cat familiars are getting restless...
their first date is at Unoppressive Nonimperalist Bargain Books in NYC:
Pons: remember what i taught you. i'm a witch, not a bitch.
Dirg harasses the hippie bookkeeper there later admitting he was jealous of his hairbun.
Dirg: unimpressive. they didn't have the comics collection i thought they should have. where's the Ashley Wood!!?
Pons eventually becomes manager over there in the empty summers to help stock her Lush for winters. hand-sanitizing the public doesn't pay the bills.
Pons: strike one.
Macy's finally opens up again and Dirg is there first in line to buy Takahashi a leather Dopp kit. he should have been there to buy Pons a gift.
Dirg: remember Taka buddy, always be a man. be a man in a motel bathroom when no one's looking. hey, at least i didn't get it at The Leather Warehouse.
Madame Pons: Dopp kit, cooler name than toiletry bag. strike two...
Eye: what were we talking about again?
Tyzik: i just realized
Space Jam was a Ralph Bakshi movie...
Laertus: and now the Juneteenth in
Jason's Lyric means more to me, i am here, i am mute, i am listening and learning...
Eye: oh and never forget! never forget the mnemonic paintings. the all-black mnemonic paintings, as the tensions die down so will the memory of those who died...
Dirg: hey. come on. you gotta give credit where credit is due. the actions of NASCAR saved a black man who was short of breath...
Eye:
The Prince of Tides and go...
Laertus: i always get Nick Nolte and Busey confused. Nolte can act, Busey's the crazy one.
Dirg: see? a gammon can do good work. i mean i dunno, he looks a certain way...
Laertus: without a doubt Nick Nolte is the finest artist to EVER come out of Omaha, Nebraska...Omaha, Nebraska, not exactly a hub for actors...
Dirg: cept Peyton Manning.
Eye: Nick's a dreamboat in this! just don't go on a date with him, he'll drink all your supply of GHB like soup...
Laertus: give that man a pair of cop cuffs instead and leave him now on the streets to his own devices...
Dirg: in Nick's defense, he thought it was that other alphabet advocated by Dr. Sanjay Gupta. he had just seen
Life of Pi. CBD isn't just for cats and dogs...
Laertus: it's like the guy who goes to the circus and sits in the stands wearing one huge bulbous clown shoe on one foot for protection...
Eye: people say Barbra Streisand did a good job directing this. of course in the original book the psychiatrist scene was, like, one scene.
Dirg: you mean Joanie Sands. now that's a porn-star stripper name if i ever heard one...and i have...
Laertus: i don't blame Barbra, it's hard. you think you know a man your whole life. it's difficult to find out the kids were right and he's a pedo. using a drug not for its intended purpose doesn't help. Milius Loyalty can only go so far...
Laertus: yeah but the rest is old-timey boring Southern stuff we've seen a billion times before.
Dirg: and a million now. i mean who here hasn't wanted to fuck their psychiatrist on the couch? suck her while you're writing the check and tearing it off? kiss her while she whispers sweet nothings of advice in your ear? she's the one person who actually LISTENS to your plight in life!!!
Eye: up, mother's racist against Jews. this is what would have happened if
Gone With The Wind were allowed to continue to the present age...
Laertus: don't feel bad, Nick, all the great artists were suicidal. just means your sister writes some damn good poetry...
Laertus: i know it's the '80s and everything---well late '80s---where the answer to everyone's problems was to move to New York City---hicks and Hartford-habitaters alike---but that IS the answer. everyone needs to get cultured. life is too slow in some places. we all gotta
Bob's Burgers it.
Laertus:
we lived directly on top of a tidal plain, the rip current was a bitch. life in the tidepool was...dangerous...the three of us kids made a pact whenever mom and dad started violently fighting we'd skedaddle and jump in the water. and hide at the bottom...too bad none of us could swim...never did see those golf balls...
Eye: okay that's pretty clever, the matriarch feeds her abusive husband dog food.
Dirg: i've had to learn how to develop a taste for ALPO in my time, i'll need it going forward. thankfully dog food is better now, The Farmer's Dog is like a gourmet meal.
Dirg: okay let's give it up for George Carlin. i mean right? i wonder if he did this to show himself he could. play gay so effectively. like to prove to himself he wasn't an -ist.
Eye: Carlin was down with the brothas from jump. the clubs, the nightclubs, the underground clubs, the jazz clubs. jazz and
SNL! he was the non-country Willie Nelson. George knew about being silenced...
Laertus: the gay lisp, like the fried voice, doesn't actually exist...
Laertus: the father was a real asshole. he was like if Sling Blade was competent and knew what he was doing. it's that signature fisherman spit when he talks, from being out on the water too much. the spit of spiteful spiel. so what if your son is a girl? girls are better! I CANT BLIEVE THE FATHER LIVED TO BE A GRANDFATHER! SURVIVED TO BE AN OLD MAN AND GRANDPA! was sure the trauma came from that father being killed. like by the oldest son who was the only one not afraid of him. well whaddaya know, the older brother was killed by the government for being a protester...
Eye: that was some fucked-up shit. yep, male rape, that's the cruelest of them all, the most traumatic, female rape is almost blase and predictable and forgettable at this point. that's Barbra's real-life son in the role of her son. i'm sure his rudeness in the film is just an act in the script, not taken from experience. you wonder if Barbra cast her son in the role of a football player to hide the fact from the press that she knew he was real-life gay.
Dirg: Tom can't concentrate, dem gams tho. The Southern Way, not a minstrel show, just Jeff Foxworthy.
Eye: line should have been:
Barbra: laughing at everything? do you know who i am? i'm the original Funny Girl.
Dirg: and when they first meet Tom asks Barbra if her nose is the result of being thrown a football at it. whoa woman that's a little forward, you just assume Tom will coach your son football in exchange for the shrink fees? you were just using him! Tom's a football coach but no relation to the ESPN anchor. i take it Barbra doesn't make sandwiches in her real kitchen, too...
Laertus: it's okay to cry, Nick Nolte, real men cry. Tom is crestfallen not that his wife is having an affair, but that it's with Chris Martin...
Laertus: snooty father of the shrink's kid. a crabby man.
Dirg: fathers fathers everywhere, not a good one on film..
Laertus: during the candlelight mood dining scene the two men should have had a Faulkner-off, whoever can't come up with a quote loses. that's the REAL South! it's weird cos the woman Barbra's husband is having an affair with looks like Tom's mother when she was young...that had to have been deliberately Freudian...
Dirg: "Camptown Races" everyone! still missing a scene. the one where Tom holds the art-fag's violin bow and sticks it up his ass unless he stops cheating. even tho HE is cheating with HIS wife...
Laertus: holding that priceless Stradivarius over the balcony like that as if it were Vanilla Ice's ankles...
Eye: Tom should have let it drop to the ground below and shatter in a million wood chips and his line is:
Tom: sorry, i really didn't mean to do that, i was a quarterback, not a wide-receiver
Eye: you know why adultery feels so good? cos it's taboo...
Eye: oh and there it is, Laertus! just like you say! the word
fuck is said demonstrably in place of
make love. this happens in EVERY '80s movie! and it only happens one time each movie! for emphasis!
Eye: oh that's hilarious, the boy plays the violin like a maestro in the middle of a full train station and nobody stops to take notice of the Mozart in front of them...
Dirg: fuller than Grand Central Station now...even tho GCS is open now...the covid conspiracy really fucked up the world, put fear in people's heads forever...
Laertus:
i love it when you talk French off a menu, i have no idea what you're saying so it sounds dirty to me. we'll always have this verson of Paris. imma take these two menus back to our room...
Eye: this entire love story wouldn't have happened if that were a paperback dictionary...
Dirg: the mother was the one who did the stabbing of the back...hey i would have buried my attackers in my own backyard, too...all of my family are buried in my backyard...no i mean officially sanctioned by the Catholic Church, they all had their funerals there...
Laertus: the Catholic Church caused slavery and 400 years of racism...
Laertus: and when the sister finally wakes up from her dissociation, the scene goes:
Tom: what did you see while you were under, sis?
sister: aliens...
Eye: oh come on! it really is a missed opportunity here! missed the adventure. Tom should have chosen to be with Barbra and an exciting brave-new-world life in New York City, taking a scary leap-of-faith Kierkegaard-style instead of just returning blandly to the old staid ways of the South and the cloth and the tree and the cloth over the tree and boring farm-life where Family kills you. to his dysfunctional marriage for the kids. take a chance, Tom, live and love with the gay and the divorcee!
Dirg: not better, just longer. like my cock. a man really should have a wife and a mistress. no i mean out in the open, out on the divorce-court steps. it really would save on cab fare.
Dirg: hey, this is coming from me now: George Michael's "Monkey" is a GREAT song. not racist.
Laertus: yeah but what are you gonna do, it's the Reagan ending. return to family. return to tradition. he wasn't a bad father, just a damaged one...
Dirg: Lowenstein, a prayer? doesn't exactly roll off the tongue...
Takahashi: Prince of Tides? okay but there's gotta be a better name for this. it sounds too much like this film is
Aquaman or something. i would have gone with
Our Mother Who Art In Heaven...…...g'night, folks...
Pat re-forms and materializes in an empty schoolroom isolated, no one else here. there's only one chair in the middle and his butt is in it. he hears a voice...
but will you reform?...
three in the room.
Pat and his parents. the desk in front separates them. the mother and the father are together. the father and the mother kiss robotically. they speak into each other's lips instead of kiss...
the father: so good to see you, the mother.
the mother: likewise, the father. i mean
same as the kids say.
Pat: but i don't...
the father: it's so good that this brought us together! i missed you, the mother. have you been schooling our boy on chem?
Pat: sorry, i never went. it's boring. you always needed a keycard to get in the lab. i know magic instead, that's what makes life livable.
the father: you are woefully underprepared to pass the entrance test. that's why you will stay with us all summer in this hot room until you can get into Princeton. college prep, it's a course unto itself now...
the mother: a class...
Pat leans back in his chair. tilts his head back all the way so he can see the rows of cyclical cylindrical tubing ceiling lights in the wayback of the room. he closes his eyes. thinks back to all the times he felt adequate. it was more fun to be inadequate, that's when he got help. he thinks about graduation, the graduation ceremony, he cringes when he thinks about it being at the track, he can't go through that, be back on that ground, the memories are too raw, too harrowing. his poor feet's memories. his poor toes' memories. that brown hot red curved track surface will remain in his forever nightmare. the white lines undulating from his toe's-eye view. he thinks about who his new roommates are gonna be in the dorms next year. he'll have one who's a ginger who never says a word but is anything but mute, he's a genius. he loves Conan O'Brien and didn't pay a cent for private school cos the one school-nurse thought he was defective for the red hair. and another who's a fat Iranian. played in his high-school band. plays the tuba for college football games now. music saved him, got a scholarship---no scholarships for public-school kids---he tells Pat music, not singing, kept him out of trouble, didn't become another unwed father. tells him he had a vision once of God Himself playing the glockenspiel with the Goonies. at which point Pat counters that that was probably Bach...
Pat: *softly to himself in his head* who knows, maybe all this pain will be worth it. maybe i'll be a professor some day. but i'll miss Julie's touch over there. it's a missed opportunity, a fixed point in time which will never return across the multiverses. i'll never know as long as i live what a magic handjob feels like...
