1988 Pilot


Transcribed from: HBO

Bruce: Hey you millionaires! Get out of that garbage!

Guys on Break

Headcrusher: Working Stiffs

Transcribed by: Cancergir1@aol.com
Transcribed from: "Best Of" video
Mark: Hey everybody! Don't panic! I mean, I'm only crushing your head!! Oh, working stiffs! (In mocking voice) 'Uh, say boys, uh, how's it going down at the plant? And uh, how're those helmets doing?' Not so good now, I'm crushing your head!! I crush your head! Crush crush crush! Hey! You know what you are? You're a yuppie! That's right! I just made that word up. It's my word! And I'm crushing your head, yuppie. Squish squish. Where do you idiots come from to get your heads so terribly crushed?

Fran: Brian's Bombshell

Transcribed by: Elizabeth Strong
Transcribed from: HBO
Cast- [Setting. The front porch. Bruce is sitting in an armchair under a clothesline with laundry.]

[Dave walks out the front door, looks hesitatingly at Bruce, and begins to walk off. Scott walks out the front door with a basket of laundry and calls to Dave.]

Scott: Brian? Be back in time for dinner?

Dave: Mom, we just ate dinner.

Scott: I don't mind, I'll put a plate in the oven.

Dave: [Annoyed] Mom, don't, we just ate.

Scott: Brian, I don't mind!

Dave: Gotta go, mom. [runs offscreen]

Scott: Well don't blame me if it's all dried out!

[Scott walks forward and stands next to Bruce, taking laundry off the line.]

Scott: Well, I must admit that I was completely floored when my middle son Brian dropped his bombshell on my husband Gordon and I the other night. We were sitting around the kitchen table having a lovely cup of coffee, [cut to close-up of Scott] and uh, I just asked Brian whether or not he wanted some more sugar, and why he wasn't married. Well, he looked at me for the longest time and then he said, "Mum, I want you to think of your very worst nightmare." So, of course, I imagined losing my family in a fire. Well, that wasn't good enough for him. He continued to stare at me in an almost, well, psychotic manner. And then he said, "Mom, no, make it worse." So, of course, I imagined setting the fire that killed my family. So, when Brian finally told Gordon and I that he was a [hesitatingly] ho- ahem, a ho. . . that he was shy, I was almost relieved. Better that than killing my family in a fire for no apparent reason. I suppose it's more difficult on the men, you know, because they wonder where they went wrong - question their own sexuality, their own manhood, blame themselves. Of course, Gordon has found a way to blame me.

[cut to close-up of Bruce sitting in the armchair, staring forward blankly, silent.]

[cut back to close-up of Scott]

Scott: He says that I smothered Brian with too much affection. Well, if too much love is a sin then I guess I'm going to hell. At least Brian'll have some company there! I told Brian that I don't want him to change now that he's uh, well, you know. . . in show business. 'Cause I don't know what I'd ever do if I came home and found him in a dress. There isn't enough volunteer work on earth to help a mother through that.

[cut to medium shot of both Bruce and Scott]

Scott: You know, it's just that, well, I. . . I just hope that he's practicing [pause] no sex, [Scott begins rubbing Bruce's head comfortingly, running his fingers through his hair.] like his father.

[cut back to close-up of Scott]

Scott: It's not that I'm judging Brian, I'm not, it's just that I didn't know any of, you know, them, when I was growing up. I had a good Christian girlhood. I didn't even know Christ was a Jew until I was twenty-one. The most exotic people in our neighbourhood was a Dutch family. My mother called them niggers. [looks down at Bruce] I wonder what Gordon is thinking now. . . .

[cut to short close-up of Bruce staring off, then cut to a smoke-filled alley behind a bar. Dave is running, looking lost, and stops. Mark, in leather jacket and no shirt, approaches from behind him and places his hands over Dave's eyes.]

Dave: Is that you, Attila?

Mark: [with strong German accent] Yes, Brian. Brian, I have an idea. Tonight, I dress you up like a woman, BUTóI make love to you like a man. [Mark removes his hands from Dave's eyes.]

Dave: Excellent! Hey, I've got my dad's car. It's a Cordoba, come on! [Dave begins running back into the alley, Mark turns to follow.]

[cut back to close-up of Bruce, still silent and staring, then cut to medium shot of Bruce and Scott.]

Scott: Oh, I wish I drank. [cut back to close-up of Scott] I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish I was one of those bingo women, you know. One of those bingo women with the bleached-blonde hair, unfiltered cigarettes, hockey jacket and a welfare scam. And all day long I'd play bingo. And I'd call it out too, wherever I was, even when I wasn't playing. Bingo, I'd say! Bingo! Hello, Mrs. Morton, bingo to ya! That was a lovely sermon, Reverend Wilson, bingo to you and your family. Bingo, bingo, bingo. I'd start to talk in a southern accent. They'd call me that crazy lady, the one with the bachelor son. And the neighbours would throw rocks at me as I shuffled down the street in my filthy bathrobe, clutching coupons for crackers and soap and hacking up blood. Oh, Gordon would leave me for a younger woman. . . or man. And I'd end up living in a shopping cart at the end of the block where the fields begin. I'd rub cherries on my lips and cheeks to feel pretty, and wear sausages in a link around my neck, on Saturday night when my son Brian came to visit with his...travelling companion.

[cut to medium shot of Bruce and Scott]

Scott: It's Gordon I worry about though, he is obsessed with this thing. He's like a dog worrying[?] a bone. Penny for your thoughts, dear?

[Cut to close-up of Bruce, who turns to look at Scott, then cut to the alley again. Dave and Mark emerge from the alley]

Dave and Mark: [singing] Somewhere over the rainbow, la, la, la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

Dave: You know, Attila?

Mark Yes, Brian?

Dave: You remind me of my father. [Mark grabs Dave in a passionate kiss.]

[cut back to close-up of Bruce]

Bruce: [screams] Aaaaaaaah!

Cabbage Head: Goodnight Nookie

Transcribed by: mckay@execulink.com
Transcribed from: CBC
Cast- [They arrive at Mark's apartment.]

Mark: Well thank you very much for a lovely evening. I had a wonderful time. Well goodnight.

Bruce: So are you going to sleep with me or what?

Mark: No I am not going to sleep with you. I hadn't thought about sleeping with you actually.

Bruce: It's because I have a cabbage for a head, isn't it?

Mark: Um, no I don't judge people on their race, creed, or colour.

Bruce: Unless they have a cabbage for head, which I do.

Mark: Well, um, I'd hardly noticed. Someone had to point it out to me.

Bruce: Which they were awful quick to do on account of it's so freaky to 'em - like at the restaurant, ha ha.

Mark: Um, I don't think anyone would have noticed if you hadn't screamed, I bet we got such shitty table because I have a cabbage for a head.

Bruce: So what's the word on that goodnight nookie?

Mark: I don't think so.

Bruce: I had a bad childhood.

Mark: Oh, did you?

Bruce: Yeah the other kids wouldn't let me join in their playful games.

Mark: Oh, that's terrible.

Bruce: My dad's a farmer, got drunk, tried to harvest my head. [to camera] Could be true.

Mark: I'm sorry.

Bruce: So how 'bout it? The mommy and the daddy dance.

Mark: A flat no.

Bruce: Hey! I'd do you if you had turnip tits.

Mark: Look, I don't love you. I don't even like you, alright?

Bruce: Does it really matter?

Mark: Look, if I slept with you it would be out of pity.

Bruce: Hey, I'm the king of the mercy fuck!

Mark: I'm sorry.

Bruce: Atleast let me come in and water my head, otherwise I'll go bald, buhu, buhu, buhuuuuuuu.

Mark: Alright, you can come in for 5 minutes, but that's it; I'm tired.

Bruce: Yeah, in and out, real quick.

Mark: Then NO.

Bruce: [pointing to his head] Buhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Mark: Alright, one glass of water.

Bruce: Hey listen, if Mr. Baker's dough doesn't rise, don't blame me, blame my cabbage head.

Mark: Everyone's Friend

Transcribed by: Sarah Newhouse
Transcribed from: HBO

Mark: And now, a story.

I seem to remember a time - and that weren't too long ago you understand - that all my friends would treat me like a *king*. First thing in the morning when I got up, I would get up and go out of my little one bedroom apartment. The one that Frank had spent *weeks* helping me to find, and I turned aloft down to the bathroom. The same one that Heather *insisted* on cleaning for me, every time she brought over cakes from her bakery for me to eat. And as I opened the door, if I wasn't quite awake, I'd nearly trip over the small pile of notes, knick-knacks and presents that had been deposited by my dearest friends overnight. And this morning, as I examined the scraps of valentines and gifts, I sighed with inner contentment at the bounty of friendship left for me. And I wondered aloud, as I did every morning, whether I could be any happier, and I was gratified to hear, as I did every morning, the muffled giggle of some friend who had decided to wait downstairs to see if I *was* happy.

My duty done, I set of course straight for the washroom where I found a bubble bath already steaming. I gently closed the door and slid my body into it. *Suddenly*, from down the hall, I heard a shriek of something that sounded like anger. Imagine my surprise a second later when I actually heard a great fist punch the door, and then began banging the wood. I gave a silent thanks for locked doors. And even more vulgar than this, this *huge* voice began to shout, and me, barely awake: "Hey you fucking ass hole get the fuck out of my bath."

Well I could barely answer. Who *was* this person? "Yes," I said, in a voice clear enough for him to recognize and apologize, "What is it?"

"I said get the fuck out of my bath before I break down this fuckin' door."

Well I was stymied. This was no friend. "Who are you?" I asked, stressing each syllable just in case they missed who I was the first time.

"Who the fuck are *you*?" came his hasty reply.

"Why I'm a friend!" I said.

"Who's friend?" he screamed.

"Why I'm *everybody's* friend." I said a little defensively.

There was a second of silence, and then the door seemed to *lift* off its hinges. And this man I'd never seen before stood before me. He was bigger than I was. He was bigger than most people. I thought he was finally ready to apologize. But instead, he reached into the bathtub, and grabbed my arm and sent me hurdling across the tiles until my back lay against the radiator. My back started to burn, and I remember - I wanted to leave.

But the man, he wouldn't let me! He put his knee on my chest and began to yell even louder: "You ever fuckin' do that again and I'll fuckin' *kill* ya!", he said, punctuating his speech with head slaps.

I stood up. The suds from the bubble bath ran down my belly and dripped off my penis.

"You got a *needle*-dick!", he said spitefully. I didn't know how to answer. I spent the rest of that day in my room. And the next morning when I got up to go to work, there were no notes for me and my life had changed forever.

Oversensitive Guy

Transcribed by: Laura Cihocki
Transcribed from: "Best Of" video
Completed by: Trista Lycosky
Completed from: HBO

[Scene begins in a dark room; we can hear someone pounding on a door and sobbing. Bruce enters in a bathrobe, turns on a light to reveal a living room, and crosses to a door on the other side of the room.]

Bruce: Coming. [Opens door. Dave steps into doorway.]

Dave: [sobbing; continues to sob throughout scene with Bruce] Hi.

Bruce: Hi.

Dave: Oh, no, did I wake you? I'm sorry!

Bruce: That's okay, what's wrong?

Dave: Laurie threw me out! [Comes into the room, carrying a duffel bag over one shoulder. He takes this off and tosses it on the floor. Both sit down on the sofa.] Oh, God, there's no warning, you know...we were just sitting, having dinner, talking about our day!

Bruce: Thats--that's horrible. I...I--I don't know what to say.

Dave: She just gets up, starts throwing my stuff in the hallway! Oh, God, I must've retraced my steps a thousand times, you know, just trying to figure out if it was something I did. But everything just seemed so perfect, right from our first date!

[Flashback to a candlelit restaurant. Dave and Woman are seated at a table. Dave lowers his menu to speak, and it becomes obvious that he is crying.]

Dave: [sobbing] Order anything you'd like. I think I'm going to have the duck! Waiter, is there anything you'd recommend?

[Camera stays on Dave's crying face for a second and then cuts back to Bruce and Dave on the couch. Dave is still crying uncontrollably. He stops momentarily to take a drink from his glass, then begins again. Bruce is eating cold pizza from the box.]

Dave: [hysterical sobbing] Oohh!!! Living with Laurie was the happiest time of my life.

[Bruce feigns interest. He nods a couple times.]

[Flashback. The woman is sitting on the sofa reading the paper. Dave sits down with an empty coffee mug.]

Weatherman on TV (O.S.): ...The temperature dropping rapidly--

Dave: [sobbing] Honey? I'm gonna make some more coffee. Would you like some?

Woman: No thanks.

Dave: [sobbing] Are you sure? It's no problem, really.

Woman: No, I'm fine.

[Dave slowly gets up, still crying.]

[Cut back to Bruce and Dave on the sofa. Dave is still sobbing; Bruce looks uncomfortable. The food and drink are gone.]

Dave: Oh, Laurie! [Looks at Bruce] Hey, is it okay if I sleep here tonight?

Bruce: Uh, no, that's a problem. See, I don't have a bed for you.

Dave: Oh...hey, doesn't this couch fold out? [Gets up]

Bruce: No, I don't think so, I just--

Dave: Oh, sure it does! [Starts hauling on the couch seat, with Bruce still sitting on it] Come on, look!

Bruce: No, it--

Dave: Yeah, it does!

Bruce: Oh--

Dave: Come on, come on... [Couch seat comes free and flips up and out. Bruce bounces but manages to stay on.] Thanks, man! [Hugs Bruce, still sobbing]

Headcrusher: Old Lady/Battle

Transcribed by: Cancergir1@aol.com
Transcribed from: "Best of" Video

Cast: Mark: (waving) Hey!! Old lady!! I'm crushing your head!!

Scott: I beg your pardon?

Mark: I'm just crushing the heads that need to get crushed. Like yours, madam!

Scott: My head is perfectly fine, thank you.

Mark: No it's not. It's shaped like an acorn. Can I flatten it for you? Squish squish squish.

Scott: No!

Mark: C'mon! Take out your dentures! It'll be fun! I'll crush your head!

Kevin: (pushing old lady away) Get out of the way old lady!! Your head's in serious trouble!! (to Mark) I'm crushing your head!

Mark: No, *I'm* crushing *your* head!!

Kevin: No, I'm crushing *your* head!

Mark: How can you when yours is already flat!?!

Kevin: Victory!!

Mark: Not a chance!

Kevin: Victory!! I've crushed your head!!

Mark: No, you didn't! My head is fine!

Kevin: I'm number one! I'm number one!!

Mark: No, you're number *flat*!!

Kevin: I'm number one! I'm number one!!

Mark: Sure is getting crowded around here... I crush you!

Buddy: Love at First Sight

Transcribed by: Trista Lycosky
Transcribed from: HBO

Scott: They say, hmm, that the notion of love at first sight is an impossible idea. Now, I may have been born yesterday, but I still went shopping. It happens; well, it happened to me.

It was years ago, when I was living in Baghdad. On the day in question, it was a sexy, sunny Iraqi day. Mmm. And I was lounging about the pool at the Danish consulate wearing next to nothing. Ooo. In fact at one point, all I was wearing was a diplomatís hand. Hmm-ah. Oooh, it was a crazy, crazy time for me. I was the top male model for an Egyptian line of jeans. And my face and figure were plastered on billboards all over the Middle East. And still, the fighting continued. Serge, the man, came striding into the pool area like the Colossus of Rome, and shot me a look of raw passion that heroes have been shooting at heroes for thousands and thousands of years. I froze. Haa. And buried my face in a copy of Omar Khayyamís "Kubla Khan." But it was upside down, so I feigned dyslexia. He saw right through my onion-skinned charade (pronounced "shur-odd") and dove into the pool, fully-clothed. And in one, clean, swift movement, he was there, beside me--a pepper mill looking for his salt seller. Oh yes, Serge was black, which is odd, donít ya think, him being Danish and all. But I figure if the French can worship Jerry Lewis and the Turks can invent the croissant, anything is possible in this crazy, crazy world. I turned to Serge and with the spontaneity of champagne in a slipper I said, "I need a lover." And that was it. We were together for six months, which in heterosexual terms is three reincarnations with the same mate. But Serge is dead to me now; theyíre all dead to me now. He walked out of my life and smack into the front of a bus. All my lovers have been killed by buses. I really must get a place in the country. Oh well, live and learn.

You know, itís hard for a faggot to take risks nowadays. But youíve gotta try. For example, you know that feeling you get when you donít know if itís gonna be a shit or a fart, but you let her rip anyway? [hesitates, then goes through the motions of letting one rip, and being relived it was the latter] I hesitated to use that analogy to a heterosexual audience, because whenever you mention anything remotely anal they always rush out to vacuum their cars. It all reminds me of something Molliere once said to Guy de Maupassant in cafe in Vienna, "Thatís nice. You should write it down."

But do you love *me*?

Transcribed by: Trista Lycosky
Transcribed from: HBO

[Note: The sound on my copy of this skit is bad. There are some words I am unsure of, and some entire sentences. Such unknowns are followed by a (?)]

[Romantic, sweeping music plays as Owen--Dave--and his girlfriend--Kevin--run hand-in-hand down the street. They go to kiss, but bashfully, turn away. Music ends.]

Kevin: [wholeheartedly] Well, this is my door here. Thank you for the lovely evening. I had a wonderful time. Well, this was our fifth date and may I say it was magical. Theyíve all been magical. The first date was the best, but theyíve been getting better. Theyíre better than best; theyíre. . .bester!

Dave: [unemotional] Why, thank you. I think I can honestly say that these evenings have all been magical for me as well.

Kevin: I have something Iíd like to ask you. But I donít know. Maybe I donít have the right to ask. But then, should I live life as a coward? Living in a Hell of unanswered questions? Or shall I rage forward into the still waters of my future? Letting my wake ripple word may, perhaps, tossing the metaphorical boats of less daring souls aside. . .(?)

Dave: Please, ask me.

Kevin: I donít know if I should.

Dave: [now sincere as well] Ask me.

Kevin: I really donít--

Dave: Ask me.

Kevin: Do you love me?!

[long pause.]

Kevin: Hmm??

[another long pause.]

Dave: I love your joie de vivre...

Kevin: [giggles a bit] Joie de vivre.

Dave: ...Your level-headedness and yet your quirky sense of fun.

Kevin: Then you love me.

Dave: I love your righteous indignation, your moral outrage, and still your compassion for the failings of others.

Kevin: So you love me.

Dave: I love your hair; oh there are so many things about you that I love.

Kevin: But me, do you love *me*?

Dave: No, I donít love *you.*

Kevin: [the innocent loving tone is gone, replaced with a more direct tone] But you said you love everything about me.

Dave: I know itís funny, isnít it?

Kevin: How could you love everything about me and not love *me*?

Dave: [sincere and poetic] Well, take the tree, for example. [music] I can love the roots of the tree, each tangled, each elated fiber. And I can love the trunk of the tree, and the bark that surrounds. And I can be enthralled by the branches, each bud, twig, and leaf. But put them all together and--nothiní. Icky icky tree! I *hate* that tree. [pause] And itís very much the same with you.

[Kevin does a spit take without the water.]

Dave: But I love all your component parts; honestly, I do.

Kevin: Well, you love all my parts. You must *like* me an awful lot.

Dave: No! Thatís blanked(?) wholly irony of it. I donít even like you! [gets down on his knee] Will you marry me?

Kevin: No, I will not marry you!

Dave: Whoosh, thatís a relief! Well, I guess Iíll pick you up Wednesday for the ballet, huh darling?

Kevin: No Owen, for I cannot see you anymore.

Dave: But, why?

Kevin: Because you donít like me! How can I see someone who doesnít even like me?

Dave: Gee, I guess I never really thought of it like that. I guess my problem is that I donít take the time to step back from things to see them for what they really are.

[As Dave says this, he leans in close and they almost kiss. But then he steps back. He does a head-to-toe glance over of Kevin.]

Dave: Agh!! God!! [runs away, frightened]


Transcribed by: Trista Lycosky
Transcribed from: HBO

[Dave and Scott are on the couch, drinking tea, in Daveís living room]

Scott: I-I was reading in the obituaries the other day, June.

Dave: Oh no.

Scott: Oh yes. And I see Miss Ida Kinkade has passed away.

Dave: Ohh.

Scott: Cancer.

Dave: Sad.

Scott: Sad.

Dave: Cancer.

Both: Ohh, sad. Ohh, cancer.

Dave: Oh, cancer is sad.

Scott: Itís a very sad thing.

Dave: Oh, cancer, cancer, cancer.

Scott: Oh, and my daughter, Janie--

Dave: Oh, is Janie dead?

Scott: Oh no, sheís getting married, dear.

Dave: Oh, how wonderful for you. Oh, but you must be so--

[Bruce enters]

Bruce: Hi mom.

Dave: Oh, hi, son. Have you met my son Rusty?

Scott: No.

Dave: He just finished high school, but he hasnít found a job yet. He doesnít know which direction heís going in, but Iím sure once he does, heíll go in that direction directly. Perhaps he--

Bruce: Mom! Get off my back!

Dave: Was I on your back, son?

Bruce: A little bit.

Dave: Oh, Iím sorry. Have you met my friend Mrs. Wilson?

Bruce: No. No, I havenít.

Dave: Well, her daughter Janie is getting married. Do you know Janie?

Bruce: No, I donít. But if sheís anything like her mother, I'm sure sheís quite ravishing.

[Scott giggles and has a sip of tea.]

Bruce: Mom, Iím hungry.

Dave: Are you hungry?

Bruce: Yeah.

Dave: Oh, well then, I better get you something to eat then.

Scott: Oh, well let me help you in the kitchen there, June.

Bruce: No no no no. You stay here.

Dave: Yes, you stay put. Now Rusty, you make sure Mrs. Wilson doesnít get bored.

Bruce: Okay.

[Dave leaves. Bruce smoothly leaps onto the couch beside Scott.]

Scott: Oh-ho ho.

Bruce: So, where have you been hiding all these years?

Scott: Oh, oh Rusty, I havenít exactly been hiding. Iíve been writing for the church newsletter for 34 years.

Bruce: Wow.

Scott: [nervous-like] Ho-ho.

Bruce: I think words are just so, so. . .sensual.

Scott: Oh! Are you a bit of a scribbler, dear?

Bruce: Yeah! Iíve got some poems on restlessness in jean jacket. Iíll read you about--

Scott: No. Oh, Iím sorry, I just never read a friendís work.

Bruce: So Iím a friend then, am I?

Scott: Oh, Iím fond of the whole family, dear.

Bruce: Itís not much of a family, is it? Just me and my mum. . .and Iím the black sheep. Does that scare you?

Scott: [pauses. closes his eyes and bites his lip] No.

[Bruce gets down and shows off his push-ups. Heís able propel himself up high enough in the air to clap his hands together. Then he gets up and jogs in place.]

Bruce: I. Want. You!

Scott: June!!

[Dave re-enters carrying food, unaware.]

Dave: Iíve got a fist full of finger sandwiches.

[Dave and Scott giggle. Dave sits down.]

Dave: Ohh. Tell me, whatcha gonna do now that Janie is dead?

Bruce: Mom. Iím thirsty.

Dave: Are you thirsty? Oh, I bring sandwiches, I donít bring anything to drink. Where was my head?!! Iíll get something, what you would you like?

Bruce: Um, Iíll have a root beer, mom.

Dave: And for you, dear?

Bruce: And for the lady, a brandy alexander.

Dave: [sing-songy] Brandy Alexander!

[Scott nervously nods and takes a sip of tea. Dave leaves. Scott gets up.]

Scott: Oh my! What a lovely view of the construction your mother has across the street.

Bruce: My, the light really brings out the blue in your hair.

Scott: Itís just a rinse.

Bruce: Itís hot in here, isn't it?

[Bruce begins to take off Scottís sweater.]

Scott: I canít recall a hotter January.

Bruce: Here let me help you with your sweater clip.

[Takes it off and throws behind him.]

Bruce: Oops. The wind.

Scott: Oh.

Bruce: Iím on fire. Let me run through your sprinkler.

Scott: Stop it, Rusty! Stop it! You donít want an old relic like me! You need a younger gal.

Bruce: Iíve dated younger women--women 40, 50. Theyíre children! Itís you I want.

Scott: Oh.

[They almost kiss, but Dave re-enters carrying a tray of drinks. Scott and Bruce act innocently and again Dave is clueless.]

Dave: I couldnít find any brandy anywhere, for the life for me. But I did manage to find a tray of martinis in the crisper.

[Dave sits and starts to drink. Bruce and Scott remain standing.]

Bruce: Mom, thereís an off-chance I might wanna watch TV later.

Dave: Oh! Then I better go leaf through the TV Guide with a highlighter, then.

[Dave leaves through the other door this time.]

Scott: Oh, Rusty. How can it work? You have no job, no future.

Bruce: Sure we might have to live in the garage for a while, but thatís okay--Iíve got my own little fridge.

Scott: Oh, theyíd laugh us out of town.

Bruce: Youíre right. Weíll have to run away together.

Scott: My ankles would never make the trip.

Bruce: I would carry you to the ends of the earth.

Scott: Oh...

[They join hands. Dave re-enters. Bruce and Scott quickly separate.]

Dave: Well look who happened to drop by. I found her pacing on the porch.

[A walker comes though the door first, itís Kevin.]

Dave: You know Mrs. Beemish, donít you, Rusty?

Bruce: Hello Barbara.

Scott: Barbara?

Kevin: Helen!

Scott: Rusty!

Bruce: I see you got the walker.

Kevin: Yes, thank you very much.

Bruce: Iím sorry about your hip.

Kevin: It was worth it. [pause] Well Rusty, I guess you wonít be running through my sprinkler anymore. [begins to leave. takes a step] Oh the sprinkler! [another step] Oh the water! [another step, is at the door] Oh the fire! [exits through door] Oh my hip!

Bruce: Mum, youíre looking sleepy.

Dave: Am I?

Bruce: Yeah, your eyes are getting heavy.

Dave: Are they rea--[drops his head back, but remains standing, and begins to snore]

Bruce: Let me explain. Some men search their whole life to find love. And I was lucky enough to find two women in one semester. Am I in heaven or am I in hell?

Scott: [takes his sweater and lightly taps on Daveís cheek] Wake up June, dear, Iíve got to go.

Dave: Are you going?

Scott: Yes, I must, dear.

Dave: Well, thanks for cominí ta tea. You will come again tomorrow, wontcha?

[Bruce walks over to the door, with Scottís purse.]

Bruce: Wonít you?

[Scott grabs the bag.]

Scott: Iím not a play thing; Iím a senior! Youíve got to learn the difference!

Bruce: Then teach me, teacher.

Scott: Maybe.

[Scott leaves, Bruce follow after him.]

Dave: [into camera] What a lovely. . .tea.

David Foley's Power/Mark McKinney's Confession

Transcribed by: Sarah Newhouse
Transcribed from: HBO

Dave: Good evening. Good evening. My name is - David Foley and I am a man, with an unusual power. A power that I myself little suspected I posessed. I chanced upon it quite by accident one summer while a doing a little bit of volunteer dentistry for the river people of Batswana. I discovered that *I* had the ability to induce honesty in my fellow man. So now, for the scientists amongst you...[hops down from stage]...a confession. [takes seat next to Mark who's in a dentists patient chair] Hi Mark!

Mark: Hi Dave. [Dave stares at him] What's up? What's up, did something happen? Did something happen I should know about? Well if it did tell me! [more staring] Dave, I didn't do anything. Dave, I *didn't* do anything. You're wasting your time, I didn't do anything, alright? Wait, you don't think I had anything to do with that bit of buisness up at the mine, do ya? [voice changes to a southern feminine accent, Dave crosses his arms] Becuz I din'nt! I waz no whea nea the mine-I don' even know whea that mine eis Davit. My eit's hot in hea, don' you fin' eit hot in hea Davit? [pulls out fan and begins fanning his face] Now Davit you stop lookin' at me like that becuz I'm tellin' you hones'ly I waz no whea nea the mine. If you don' beeleeve me, why don' you go ask Bobby Jo an' Timmy Ray 'cause I waz wi' them all af'ea noon. We wuz playin' caads, now go on! Go on, ask 'em, they'll tell you I was no whea nea the mine, David, I swear to god I din'nt do anything! David, I swear to god, now you got to--[Dave lurks forward quickly]--Alright I did it! I did it! But I had to do it! I wuz bein' controlled! Bein' controlled by mister Vitalis! [Mark peeks in his shirt pocket] C'mon out, mister Vitalis. Tell him what you made me do. Oh mister Vitalis is shy. [voice turns to low evil growl] But that don't mean he ain't evil, David. I don't think you wanna go messin' wi' mister Vitalis, I had to do it. I'd do it again. Wasn't my choice. [Mark looks aside and Dave giggles, then rolls his eyes upward with an incredulous face] [Mark in his normal voice] Come on David, I told you I did it. I was being controlled, Dave, I did it, can I go now? [Dave sarcastically nods head in agreement] Can I--I did it, alright, I did it, come on, belie--I did it, alright, I did it, I me--[Dave lurks forward quickly again]--Alright I didn't do it! I don't even know what the hell I'm confessing to!

Dave: [Bows to audience] Thank you.

Naked For Jesus

Transcribed by: Olivia Shank
Transcribed from: HBO

[Close up of Bruce's face]

Bruce: When I first met Sportka, she was standing, with her nose pressed up against the used bookstore window. Beneath her arm were some flowers. And oh yeah, she was naked. Well, she was more than naked, she was naked for Jesus.

[Camera zooms out showing Bruce's upper half bare.]

[Sportka is covered by a sign reading, 'Naked for Jesus' and also handing out flyers.]

[Bruce and Sportka walking along the sidewalk, signs covering them saying things like 'Back to Eden' and 'Naked for Jesus']

Bruce: That night at Sportka's house I undressed for the, witnessed together. And the next morning when I looked at the sky, or at least that part of the cieling where the sky might be. That's when I vowed to remain naked. Naked for Jesus.

[Up close shot of Bruce in front of a wall being painted with naked people on it.]

Bruce: Just last week I was driving along in my usual enlightened state, when I a peace officer pulled me over. He was going to arrest me, but when I explained to him of my new found fate, he let me go. In fact, now officer Woodworth walks his beat, naked...

[Shows Officer writing a ticket for a car, naked.]

[In front of painting again.]

Bruce, Sportka, and Officer Woodworth: ... Naked for Jesus.

Bruce: And we are not alone. I see a time coming when people from all walks of life rise up and strip down. I see doctors, lawyers, management trainies, pharmacists, and socialists reunited. [shows doctors, ect. as he says them] [shows clothes being thrown into a pile] I see cowboys and indians. Farmers, drifters, whole choirs. All standing, naked. Naked for Jesus.

[Back to painting.]

Bruce: So when you go home tonight and undress, be at the shower or to sleep, take a look in the mirror and ask yourself: "Am I merely naked? Or am I...?"

[Camera zooms out while Bruce turns out showing his backside along with others, facing the painting that says 'Naked for Jesus']


Transcribed by: Trista Lycosky
Transcribed from: HBO

Bruce: Last time I saw him, we didn't even talk. We just watched "The Flintstones."

Kevin: It's always that way. The last time you see someone you just wish you had said more.

Dave: Yeah, but it's not like you know it's going to be the last time, right? I mean, if you knew it was going to be the last time, you'd say something.

Scott: Anything.

Dave: Yeah.

Mark: The stuff I remember about Reg--it's the little stuff like how he'd always make sure you had a lift home.

Dave: Even if you had your car with you he'd still insist on giving you a lift. Of course, the next day, you'd have to go back for your car. But, he'd give you a lift then, too, if he could.

Bruce: . . .If he could.

Mark: To Reg!

Kevin: My God, he could skate! I never saw a man more graceful on two blades and a sheet of ice.

Scott: Remember his hair?

All: Yeah.

Scott: It was always perfect.

Dave: Yet, you never saw him with a comb.

Mark: I can't believe he's dead.

Scott: To Reg!

Dave: To Reg!

Rest: To Reg!

Dave: Gee, you know guys, it seems like only yesterday we were a bunch of kids hangin' out, gettin' Slurpees. Next thing you know we all got jobs.

Kevin: . . .Or girlfriends. Next thing you know, they're moving in with ya.

Bruce: Next thing you know, you're out buying piano wire, good strong piano wire, and sneakin' up on ol' Reg while he reads.

Dave: Jobs become careers.

Kevin: Girlfriends become wives.

Bruce: And Reg becomes a lifeless corpse in your arms.

Scott: Kinda--it kinda makes you think about the furgility of life.

Mark: Not really. Remember how he fought back?

Scott: What a death grip! Almost broke my wrists!

Dave: Hey--easy to beat up; hard to kill.

All: To Reg!

Kevin: I wonder where he is now.

Scott: What?

Mark: He's in his shallow grave.

Dave: Yeah, out by the tracks. Don't you remember?

Kevin: No, no, no, no, no. I know where his corpse is. I meant spiritually. I wonder where his soul is.

All: Ohhhh.

Dave: You know guys, I'd like to think, if there is a heaven, our buddy Reg is up there helping folks out, maybe even jamming with Jimi Hendrix.

Scott: I didn't know he could play guitar.

Bruce: Oh, yeah, he was great.

Mark: Just goes to show you--you can kill a guy, fold him up, stuff him in a car trunk, and still you don't *really* know him.

Bruce: Although, you get to know a guy pretty quick when you watch him beg for mercy, eh?

Kevin: To good friends!

Scott: To good times!

Bruce: To ritualistic murders!

All: To Reg!

Headcrusher Quits for the Night

Transcribed by: Trista Lycosky
Transcribed from: HBO

[A couple, Dave and Kevin, dance by.]

Mark: Oh that's it. I quit. I'm retired. I will crush no more heads.

[Cabbagehead, Bruce, walks by muttering. Headcrusher observes.]

Mark: What a head! What a head! Oh! He's gone! What an opportunity missed! Geez. He was trophy material. Oh, I will crush your head, my little cabbage friend. But first, I practice.

[Faces audience.]

Mark: I'm crushing your head. I'm crushing. . .

[Businessman, Scott, walks by.]

Mark: You'll do. I'm crushing your head Mr. Businessman. Knck. See that? Your head's flat. Your mother still dressing you? She should have just crushed your head! Goodnight.

Credit to Kids in the Hall/Broadway Video