Transcribed from: HBOCast:
Transcribed by both: email@example.com and Twangtwang@aol.com
[Scene: The Silver Dollar at closing time. Buddy's wearing a smart kilt outfit. One man is standing with a martini glass looking dazed, and the other is passed out on the table.]
- Scott as Buddy Cole
- Two extras
Scott: Okay, Okay. That's enough. You've had enough, okay?
Extra 1: Shooters.
Scott: Shooters, yes. Weren't they lovely. You had enough of them. (scoots him out the door) Off we go, there we go. Night, night. Give my best to Sky. (Looks over to see Extra 2 passed out on table) Oh, jeez!
(To the camera)
Scott: Times like this, I just don't want to be a faggot. Sorry! Excuse me for sounding bitter, but I am. I just broke up with my lover Zeke. I think he was cheating on me. His nickname for me was "Next!" So, I picked myself up, dusted myself off, swallowed my pride `cuz it's still safe. And prepared myself for battle. Although, I must confess, this time I was NOT looking forward to it. You see, during the six weeks that Zeke and I had been together, I'd become overly secure about AIDS. AIDS was something that happened to other people. But ever since Magic Johnson, I realized, it could even happen to me. All of a sudden that strange new army of penises, which moments before had seemed so innocent, now appeared to me as poisoned tipped sabres aimed at my heart.
So, not to despair, I sat right down and drew myself up a list of high-risk groups that I should avoid in my search for a new man: Africans, addicts, Americans (but mostly for their politics), Armenians (Oh, nothing to do with AIDS, it's just that I'm part Azer-Bijani). An hour later I was still in the B's. By the time the sun came up my list was completed, and everyone had been eliminated, except for one. A certain Miss Elenore Parrissi. An 83 year old virgin in perfect health. Lived at 64 Pine Avenue, so I rang her up. I think she'd been expecting my call. She was very nice, and we made a date for the following Saturday. By the time that Saturday night rolled around, I was as nervous as a long-tailed pole-cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
At 7:30 I rang her door bell. She greeted me at the door. An absolute vision, in a blue house dress smelling faintly of rose water. She invited me in; she had to, the neighbors were throwing rocks at me. We sat close together on her horse-hair sofa and watched "Hockey Night in Canada". She let me pet her cat. [(Aside) If you think I going to make a pussy joke, you're sadly mistaken!] Both of us drank way too much ginger ale, and at 10:30 she passed out. Her teeth fell out on her bosom and her knees, so I took them as a memento. Call me sentimental. So I went home. But when I got home I was still horny. So I masturbated to during a rerun of Mary Tyler Moore. Thinking of Gordy, but only during the commercials! It's just not fair to Mary!
(To Extra 2)
Scott: All right, Blondie, it's time to go. (Takes the pillow from underneath him) Oh look a pillow, already warm. (Places it under the head of Extra 2)
Extra 2: (Slurred) More shooters?
Scott: Shooters, yes, that's right.