by Kyle Dudley
Beavis and Butthead meet Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
|Location: a filthy, scummy divey piece of shit bar with two pathetic degenerates discussing the finer points of failure.
Kyle: What the fuck are we doing.
Bob: I don't know. Rocketman is on.
Kyle: No, I mean what the hell are we doing in general. With our lives.
Bob: Hold me closer Tony Danza.
Kyle: I can't get anywhere with you. It's like talking to a god damned... Nevermind. Look, we have to do something.
Bob: I have a very particular set of skills.
Kyle: Are you going to move in?
Bob: Will I get to see your roommate naked?
Kyle: It's certainly within the realm of possibility.
Bob: No I need a guarantee of full frontal nudity before I will commit to anything.
Kyle: I think I'm going to kill you.
Bob: I mean, she sounds hot.
Kyle: I haven't decided how but I'm thinking with something large and sharp.
Bob: I haven't had sex in over a year.
Kyle: Let's do something important. I've got a friend who has an idea for writing a manual on drinking.
Kyle: Tom. He's unemployed and unemployable. A lot like you really. What the fuck is wrong with me.
Bob: Sounds like too much work.
Kyle: God dammit. We have to fucking do something. We're losers. Did you think this is where we would be ten years ago?
Kyle: Fuck. Yea thats probably true.
(Orders another round)
Kyle: I tell you what. If I don't meet a woman in the next 15 minutes Im going to become gay.
Bob: IM GAY.
Kyle: Yea but at least you have a girlfriend, I can't keep a woman around long enough to figure out her last name.
Bob: Yea but I hate her. She told me if Rusty comes over again shes going to get a restraining order against him.
Kyle: That's it. That's fucking it. I'm going to go in to the bathroom, and smash my head against the mirror. Then I'm going to impale you with one of the shards of glass.
Bob: I need to see the blood!!!!!! Dude, there is so much blood in my stool.
Kyle: Do you ever think its odd that we never address each other by our actual names? When was the last time we didn't just say “Dude” when trying to relate a story.
Bob: I don't even know your name.
Kyle: I think I'm going to get so drunk I might die tonight. Maybe take some pills. Basically whatever I can get my hands on. What do you think about that?
Bob: Dude it takes one hour for your liver to remove 8 ounces of alcohol. You're probably going to die.
Kyle: Maybe it will fail. I'm gonna work it like an underaged child in a sweatshop. That'll show it who's the boss.
Bob: I like that show.
Kyle: Yea, Judith Light may have been bangable. I probably have the lowest standards of anyone alive.
Bob: I'd have sex with Rudy from the Cosby show.
Kyle: Where the hell do I find you people.
(Location still the same. A few more minutes pass, a little more booze kicks in.)
Kyle: So Ive pretty much stopped masturbating.
Bob: Well you know thats one of the first signs of depression. You are probably going to kill yourself.
Kyle: I don't know, maybe. Whats there to live for? I got no money, no girl, a shitty car, a run down apartment, and people in general don't like me.
Bob: You could get AIDS.
Kyle: That's too slow. I need this done before the weekend. I'd prefer it to happen during the work week. I'd hate to die on a weekend, by the time its the weekend I almost want to live.
Bob: Well man you gotta quit your job. Every day is the weekend for me. I masturbated 7 times to German porn yesterday and made a bologna and corn dog cassarole. I don't really see what the big deal about having a job is. Its all a bunch of capitalist propaganda anyway.