Transcribed from: Comedy CentralCast-
Transcribed by: Elizabeth Strong
[Setting. Buddy's bar. Buddy, in beret and black and white striped shirt with gold fringe at shoulders, gives a monologue about falling in love in Paris.]
- Scott— Buddy Cole
- Man— Skeptical bar patron
- Four other male patrons
Scott: Falling in love in Paris is such a cliche. I mean, it even happened to the Facts of Life girls. But cliches are so important in a phony world. Take love, for example. What is it but an allergic reaction to the proper lighting? [Low lights come up behind the bar; Scott sighs.] Under the right circumstances—and on the right drugs—I could fall in love with a chair. [Scott takes a patron's empty martini glass.] I did once, in Miami Beach, but I didn't stand a chance. It was a Corbusier, original, [said as Scott makes hand motions to illustrate the angles of a Corbusier chair] uhhh! [Scott moves behind the bar to refill the martini glass.]
I spent one summer in Paris. I'll never forget it. I ran with a pretty fast crowd, centre ville. [Scott refills the martini glass from a can of Molson beer.] There was Sylvie, a prostitute from Pagalle, Chloe, from Clichy, a hair sculptor, the Marquise Nina de Samones Perrera del Bueno, and Engelli, a pop singer from Senegal, and moi, Todd Vincent, American archaelogist. Oh, hmm hmm hmm, that was my nom de plume that summer. I always travel under an alias. For all I knew, everybody was lying about who they were that summer.
I'll never forget the day that I met—Monsieur Correcte, mmm. [French accordion music plays; Scott returns to the other side of the bar to give the martini glass back to the patron.] His name was Ferize. He was the young Tunisian who delivered all the wine in the Latin Quarter. The first time I saw him, he was striding barefoot along Rue Madeleine, carrying a crate of Beaujolais Nouveau over one shoulder like a pirate with his booty. Black eyes, caramel skin, and the deed to my heart. I had to have him. [Sets the martini glass on the patron's table] Toute la gang said he was straight. But I don't care if you're from Canada, Holland, or Togo. If you're gay and our eyes meet it's message received. And his message said, "Sister!" I figured since he was from such a strict Muslim family, he was forced to stay in the closet. Luckily they liked me; his father thought I was a woman.
[The sceptical patron laughs.]
Scott: Ferize, on the other hand, was the first man that I've ever known who thought that I was macho. [Scott shoots a glare at the sceptical patron, who turns his head away. Scott turns toward two patrons at another table.] Oh, I know what you're thinking. "What, was he blind?" No, deaf. With me, hearing is believing! But communication was no problem. We communicated the way that I always do: with my hands. Ferize loved archaeology, so I hired him as my assistant at a dig I was conducting at a public toilet. Mmmm. We were looking for evidence of a Roman tea room—and we found it. [Arabian music plays] One afternoon, my suspicions about Ferize and the ruin proved correct. We discovered an ancient scroll depicting Alexander the Great getting a hand job from his lover Darius. Ferize could read cuneiform so he translated. As he read the story, we both became aroused under the hot Parisian sun. I grabbed at him through his flimsy cotton pants and yanked off his rope belt. We fell to the ground, signing frantically. Suffice to say I ate a lot of figs that summer. [Scott moves back behind the bar and then jumps up on top of it, crossing his right leg over his left.] People always ask me, "Buddy, why is it you never fall in love in Toronto?" Well, Toronto is a great place to raise a family—or a plant—but it's no place to fall in love. [Scott points and snaps at the sceptical patron.] You! You're outta here!