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“Unwatchable driveL: A One-Act Play”

[Set in northern Indiana, amidst a group of boys who are too old to listen to Led Zeppelin. Max is visiting his friend Chad’s house, which is also Chad’s mom’s house.]

[Chad]: Ugh, I can’t decide if I want to go to this play later or not.

[Max]: What play?

[Chad]: Frankenstein. I wish there was some NBA on tonight. That sounds a little more on my intellectual level.

[Max]: What about NFL?

[Chad]: Ugh! Unwatchable drivel, at this point. I mean, the Bears are a sieve on D, and I dunno, it’s just in that anticlimactic time of the year so far. Plus, the games never match up with the pregame sh**-talking.

[Max]: Haha. Yeah, I hear you.

[Chad]: I would offer you a beer, but I have none, and you can’t buy beer in Indiana on Sundays, and I have no car to get to Michigan.

[Max]: Hmm.

[Chad]: Yeah, a good problem to have, though, no beer.

[Max]: You still glad to be back home?

[Chad]: Hell yeah, nothin’ like it.

[Max]: You talk to Zack?

[Chad]: Yeah, sometimes. Sh**, we don’t say much, he’s got that job delivering water softener, and then he always watches like Breaking Bad and stuff with his girlfriend.

[Max]: Hmm, yeah, I only watch that sometimes.

[Chad]: I never watch it. I’m still holding out hope for it.

[Max]: You seem like you’d like this show Rise to Kill.

[Chad]: What are you saying?

[Max]: I dunno.

[Chad]: I mean, are you saying I seem violent, and like, homicidal?

[Max]: I dunno, maybe a little.

[Chad]: You fu**in’ piece o’ sh**.

[Max]: I’m just sayin’, man, I mean I dunno, I’m just tryin’ to make suggestions.

[Chad]: Do you realize that in other countries, they watch soccer, and they read?

[Max]: Why don’t you go to other countries?

[Chad]: I still remember it like it was yesterday, sophomore year at IU, April 2004, I had this panic attack type thing, the war in Iraq was going on, Fat Joe was a prominent hip-hop star, and I swear to God, I almost stood up and screamed in Latin class. I mean I was this close. I told myself, I can’t live in this country anymore, I’m going to the most obscure place in western Europe I can find.

[Max]: Haha, yeah, I hear ya.

[Chad]: But then, I dunno, you get back home, you see the effort people put in here, toward things like carrying water softener bags, I’m just not sure if I’d see that same effort abroad. I have a fear of being around lazy people. It’s like they have trust funds or something.

[Max]: Yeah, I can’t stand that either.

[Chad]: And, you know, you get home, you get to seeing the yellows of the leaves in fall. You know.

[Max]: And yet we sit inside watching TV.

[Chad]: And yet we sit inside watching TV.

[Max]: My dad cleans out ducts for a living. Well, he supervises people who do this. I think he just gets up there and does it when he’s bored of looking at the other guys doing it.

[Chad]: Union seniority, can’t beat it.

[Max]: Yeah, but it’s like, I wonder how I’m going to get a job that good. I mean, it really is a good job. You’ve got variety. You’ve got the sitting there, doing nothing, watching the ducts grow, and you’ve got the getting up there and actually doing it, until your limbs get tired. And you can put on Boston on the radio, or Foghat. Or you can turn off the radio altogether, or you can switch it to some classical, for Christ’s fu**ing sake.

[Chad]: Yeah.

[Max]: Sorry, I dunno why I said “for Christ’s fu**ing sake. It just seemed like I had to get something else off my chest, you know.

[Chad]: Yeah, I know. Remember when I broke those bottles in your living room? That was getting something off my chest.

[Max]: Yeah, but this just seems different. It’s like something I feel, man.

[Chad]: Yeah, with me it was just like, bam.

[Max]: Mm-hmm-hmm.

[Chad]: Sh**, well, do you still talk to Matilda?

[Max]: Only when she wants to.

[Chad]: She’s with someone else, right?

[Nodding]

[Chad]: Eh, transitions are good.

[Max]: Easy for you to say, you’ve got so many interests. You’re like Mr. Fu**ing Rogers.

[Chad]: Yeah, like Mr. Rogers with a di** in your mom’s a**.

[Max]: I deserved that.

[Chad]: The sweater.

[Max]: Hmm-hmm [straightens sweater].

[Chad]: Did you like hearing “The Sweater Song” at that Weezer show we saw?

[Max]: Mmm.

[Chad]: Neither did I.

[Max]: I dunno, I was down with the whole show.

[Chad]: Remember when we thought we saw Spastichead there? And Pritchard was like, “Spasticfa**et!”

[Max]: Yup. Nothin’ but class that night, as ever.

[Chad]: Yeah, Weezer albums always seem to be good, against all reason and logic.

[Max]: Whadyu mean?

[Chad]: I mean, they weren’t really that innovative in anything they did, and their singer fu**in’ whines about girls.

[Max]: I dunno, I think they’re pretty pure.

[Chad]: Pure, that’s an interesting word. I almost feel like it’s so close to impossible to actually be pure in life that I stopped trying years ago. Actually, I remember the exact moment when I stopped trying. It was in 2004. I conked myself out on antidepressants in order to be able to continue existing in America, amidst the war in Iraq and all the absurd patriotic sh** that was goin’ on. I still remember that comment you made, about “They’re going to take over Iraq and form a new country, and call it Verizon Wireless.” I got that, but it seemed like nobody else got that, or nobody cared. It was when people started dissing on Clinton that I really got tizzy.

[Max]: Dude, don’t even get me started on it.

[Chad]: I won’t. You wanna play some air hockey?

[Max]: Sure.

[Chad]: Here, I’ll put on this Iron Maiden album.

[Max]: Why not. Can I light this J down here?

[Chad]: I don’t see why not.

[Max]: Hell yeah. The peppercorn on the patty.

[Chad]: Haha. What’s Nate up to?

[Max]: I called him I think he’s with his baby’s mama.

[Chad]: Ah, yeah. Screw that guy anyway. How is that?

[Max]: Here.

[Chad]: Mm, yeah, not bad. That’s all I need though. You’re goin’ down now, a**hole.

[Max]: Chad, I’m gonna be scrapin’ you off this table by the time we’re done.

[Chad]: Hehe. If only games were won with vocal chords, the glory would be all yours.

[Max]: Well, considering winning air hockey games is about all the glory I get nowadays, I don’t see you standing much of a chance.

[Chad]: We playin’ to 10?

[Max]: Sure are, bring it on you fu**in’ vicodin snorter.

[Chad]: Hell yeah, I can take a puck to the nose and just laugh, motherfu**er.

[Max]: Trust me, if I could shoot it straight at your bit**-ass girly nose I would.

[Chad]: Aww, you’d do that for me?

[Max]: Here, wait, Nate’s callin’ me. ‘Di** licker. State your case. Haha. At Chad’s, where the fu** you think I am. Do you have that Wolfmother CD or WHAT. K, then we might let you come over, but you can’t bring that skeeze bag sperm dumpster you’ve been datin’. No, I don’t want to talk to her. Aight, peace.

[Chad]: The more the hairier.

[Max]: Why, you wanna see Beth?

[Chad]: Haha, I dunno, whatever. If she had some Hot Damn. Doesn’t she drink Hot Damn.

[Max]: I guarantee she doesn’t have Hot Damn, ’cause if she did there’s no way Nate’d be parting with her.

[Chad]: True. T. True. T. True. Oh! One nothing.

[Max]: Lucky bastard.

[Chad]: Yeah maybe I do need some Hot Damn.

[Enter Nate]

[Nate]: I’ve got an order here for 20 dildos. [Max throws the puck at him] Agh!

[Max]: And I’ve got an invoice.

[Chad]: Well if it isn’t Mr. Nate, the great jailbird free from his pu**y cell. She put a collar around your ankle?

[Nate]: Hehe. ‘Sup guys. Look what IIII brought.

[Chad]: The fu**, that’s not Hot Damn.

[Nate]: That’s not what?

[Max]: Chad said that’s not a hot dame. He was hoping you’d bring him a hot dame, he hasn’t been laid in months.

[Chad]: Hey, don’t talk about your mom like that.

[Nate]: Tss-sss.

[Chad]: We were just talking about that Weezer show, when we thought we saw Spastichead there.

[Nate]: Mm-hmm.

[Max]: Chad’s got spastichead on the brain, if you will.

[Nate]: Sounds like it.

[Chad]: Tss. I dunno, it just would’ve been funny.

[Nate]: Surely.

[Chad]: I don’t think he listens to Weezer though.

[Max]: He probly doesn’t know Weezer from Wyclef.

[Nate nods, sipping on the Bacardi]

[Chad]: Wyclef certainly sucks.

[Nate]: Are you guys not watchin’ the game?

[Max]: Chad hates the NFL. He says it’s unwatchable drivel.

[Nodding all around]

[Chad]: And ain’t got no monkeys on my back or NOTHIN’.

[Nate]: Uh, we’re happy for you Chad.

[Nate]: Yeah, so happy for you we’ll call Spastichead and invite him over.

[Calls]

[Chad]: Lemme talk to him. [Taking phone] What up, dude. The hell you up to. Yeah, you’re always practicing guitar. Havin’ a ball, playin’ air hockey with Nate and Max, at my place. Gettin’ a little faded. Yeah, definitely roll through dude.

[Max]: K.

[Chad]: Puck’s on your side, dips**.

[Wack]

[Nate]: Ugh, I am just gonna sit myself down on this couch and frickin’ snooze out, ’cause I am BEAT.

[Chad]: Yeah, we hate you too.

[Nate]: Hahahahaha! Chad, you still got that baseball game?

[Chad]: Yeah, it should be in that right stack o’ discs.

[Nate]: CLUTCH!

[Max]: What game is that?

[Chad]: MLB ’05. The old school, you know.

[Max]: Can’t think if that’s the one my roommate has or not.

[Nate]: It is the cat’s pajamas and the NOON DAY PIE, gentlemen.

[Chad]: Haha. Is that Bacardi all you’ve drank today? Whatever, at least you can walk home. I’d definitely have to kick you in the nuts if you’d drove here.

[Max]: Chad’s very responsible like that.

[Nate]: Chad, I’ll knee your grandma in the nuts.

[Chad]: That’s why you play with the Baltimore Orioles on that sh**.

[Nate]: Pff-fff-fff! Hey, your ass buddy Spazz-cock-fiend’s here, why don’t you go up and french him.

[Chad]: ‘Cause I’m too busy texting your aunt.

[Nate]: Haha. Fu**! How the hell’d you get my aunt’s number dude.

[Enter Spastichead]

[Max gets up and starts jabbing Spastichead]

[Chad]: Sup dude, we got some Bacardi if you want it.

[Max]: Yup, and if you chug the rest of that bottle I’ll let you hit this J.

[Spastichead]: Really?

[Max]: Yup.

[Spastichead]: Lemme see that.

[Chugs good portion of bottle]

[Chad]: Good man. Leave us some.

[Spastichead]: Fu**!

[Chad]: The shame of defeat, eh Spastichead.

[Spastichead]: Man. Like you wouldn’t believe. What’re you guys listening to?

[Max]: Iron Maiden.

[Spastichead]: Nice. This ain’t too bad. I never would’ve guessed that. I don’t even need weed with this sh** on.

[Chad]: Haha.

[Chad’s mom, Mrs. Raymond, comes down]

[Mrs. Raymond]: Nobody’s driving, are they?

[Max]: I am, Miss Raymond, but I haven’t drunk a thing.

[Mrs. Raymond]: K. [Stares]

[Exit Mrs. Raymond]

[Nate]: Tss. Chad’s mom just saw me so sh**-faced.

[Max]: Join the club.

[Spastichead]: Your mom seems pretty cool.

[Chad]: Yeah, she ain’t bad.

[Max]: She’s like the crust on the pizza, always somethin’ to grab onto.

[Chad throws air hockey knocker at Max.]

[Max]: Dude! You tryin’ to start sh**?

[Chad]: Just watch your mouth or I’ll re-a-fu**ingrange it.

[Max]: Oh yeah? When’s the last time someone punched you in the face?

[Chad]: You wouldn’t.

[Max]: Oh yeah? [Walking up to Chad]

[Spastichead]: Guys, guys, come on. There’s no need for this.

[Max]: (To Chad) I bet you’d cry like a fu**ing baby.

[Chad]: Try me, motherfu**er.

[Max shoves Chad, Chad rebounds, gets in position to throw a haymaker at Max, Spastichead jumps in the middle, Max accidentally punches Spastichead in the nose]

[Spastichead]: Ohh! Ahh!

[While Max is standing, crestfallen, Chad drives his fist into Max’s gut, Max keels over.]

[Enter Chad’s mom].

[Mrs. Raymond]: Out! Now! Everybody OUT! RIGHT! NOW!

[Nate]: Sorry, Mrs. Raymond.

[Mrs. Raymond]: Chad, come upstairs, you’re going to scrub the bathtub.

Scene II

[Spastichead, Nate and Max are walking to Max’s house, along the train tracks]

[Max]: Sorry about that, man. Chad’s lucky he fu**in’ wants your balls so bad and invited you over, I would’ve got him even worse than I got you.

[Spastichead]: Fu**in’ A.

[Nate]: What TIME is it.

[Max]: Like quarter after six.

[Spastichead]: You and Beth hang out earlier?

[Max]: Yeah, she got him all sh**-faced, as you can see.

[Spastichead]: I figured that. Over there on the couch in fu**in’ hog heaven.

[Nate]: Haha.

[Max]: Let’s go watch a football game at The Pub. How’s your nose feeling?

[Spastichead]: Alright. It just keeps bleeding, but it’s not too bad.

[Max]: You know what Chad fu**in’ said about the NFL. He called it like unviewable detritus, or something.

[Nate]: Chad seriously needs a girlfriend.

[Max]: He needs to shut the fu** up. He’s got his mommy, that’s for sure.

[Nate]: Or keeping a job, so he could live at his own place, that would work.

[Spastichead]: Didn’t he get in a fight at his last job?

[Nate]: Uh, like a shoving match.

[Spastichead]: Really, that’s it? It seems stupid to fire someone just for getting in a shoving match.

[Max]: Dude, they’re around all that equipment.

[Spastichead]: That’s true.

[Nate]: Fu**in’ Chad. What a maroon. This one time he told me he was thinking about moving to some remote part of eastern Europe or something.

[Spastichead]: Might as well, this country is plagued with sundry pervasive motifs of violence and depravity.

[Max]: Oh, and Chad isn’t?

[Nate]: Haha, yeah, I don’t see him leavin’. He’s American through and through.

[Max]: Ahh. Fellas, it’s time to drink up.

 

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