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Disillusionment or midlife crisis?

Is it disillusionment or is this the midlife crisis? I feel like I’m falling apart. CRacking. Where there was a solid self now hangs bits of flesh from a weathered sandstone spine. hat I thought was my life was a movie poster that got taken down or blown away. Who am I? A writer who rarely writes and hasn’t had a single thing published? A musician who hasn’t played a live show since she bought you the keyboard carrying case? A father?…who doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing? I want her to grow up, and yet stay the same age. I want to instill in her wonder, but truth. No God, no Santa Claus, none of that psychologically damaging horse-shit. I bring her up with no God, and she won’t feel guilty about her lust. I canbreak the cycle. And perhaps if it isn’t presented as a forbidden treat, the allure will pacify that lust-weasel lurking in my half of the chromosomes I donated. I donated some chromosomes in there. Made faces when I did it, I’ll bet. The rock opera is not finished. The novella is. See? I finish things. And I mourn them when they happen. The creative….I dunno…creative  project…it becomes like yoga or what I imagine yoga to be. You know the ending, you dread having to leave that world, that set of characters, that headspace. Yeah, you can read back on it, but you’ll never get to go off on tangents and edit thusly, because you can’t do that with a finished product. You’ve put up walls to its future. You as writergod, have foreseen and made it so, decreed a denoument no character can bargain with because what you say goes. Because time is the way it is, you have to eventually park the station wagon and let everybody out. Identity/midlife crisis. Not making music, not writing, who the fuck is this guy? Have I given up? Or has the well run dry for real this time? Have I exhausted my supply of ideas? Maybe I should go back through the endless notebooks and cull a weird idea for every day so I can at least produce a tear-off calendar for my efforts.

A few thoughts on cunnilingus

gourmet. a name. with a delicious, throbbing vulva. blood engorged purple, inflated, oozing, ready. a slick flower delivering its nectar at a trickle. i feed there. i live for it. i whisper prayers speaking in tongues at the altar of vagina. i do time. i punch a clock and endure tongue cramps, push myself to keep going because if you haven’t come, my job is not done. god, i love it. giving head. lapping up cervical mucous like a hound who just caught a fugitive. it isn’t lust, it’s thirst. hunger. eating out. dining at the Y. devouring that most precious and sensitive of areas off the prettiest plate nature ever wrought from flesh. eat a vagina, folks. right now. put this book down and go have a clamfest. get your chin sopping and fill your ears with the sweet sweet symphony of A WOMAN climaxing, shaking from nuclear fallout of postgasm. that’s the shit that’ll keep you straight. keep you going through the job you’ve fallen out of love with. if you can dock that torpedo in the spinning-top door of her submarine hull, everything bad about the day, melts away. dissolves rather. dissipates. vaporizes. turns to TV static til you shut it off.

Wicked Thought Harpoons

wicked thought-harpoons

in the city your thought-harpoons get blocked by the noise, the thickness, the static, the close-quarters mayhem infecting every block. it’s a big net around your mind. you can’t think. the thought-harpoons get reflected, no, deflected back instantly. thoughts can’t grow. they’re stunted. you have to throw sharper, wickeder thoughts to even get one through. and that’s how negativity is born. the longing for any thought no matter how cruel and unloved, could just make it through that net. it’s gotta pierce it. but you go out west, the net…..? it ain’t even there.

Are we all just a sum-up of police photos? The end comes, the people in charge wheel out the body. The relatives or other people in charge sort through and redistribute the stuff that body accumulated during life. It gets divided that stuff between relatives and the fire. Sometimes just the fire. That’s saddest. Stuff burning, and not a single scrap clutched to anybody’s chest in nostalgia, remembrance, fucking sentimental value. Ash. Burn the body when I die. It’ll probably look like hell when I go anyway. Spread the ashes in Moab. Some at Left Hand in the creek, some under Delicate Arch, some at Fisher Towers. Then if you must erect a headstone, you do it out of goddamn Legos. Big ones. So if any kids freaked out about death visit the cemetery, they can play with my headstone. Endless configurations, that headstone. Just like my energy recycled into a moth or some shit. Always changing shape.

White Plastic Buterfly Barrette Chapter I

What have I been doing these past whatever months? I’ve worked a little on some children’s book ideas. My rock opera is nearly complete. Mostly, I’ve been chipping away at this novel which I will be shopping around for publishing in 2014. I will post some more chapters in the coming weeks. I look forward to some comments, editing notes, etc.




I’m driving back from the funeral to get my father’s affairs in order. The car radio is on low, low enough I can’t really hear it, but audible enough that there’s no silence. It’s deliberate. How can this not be deliberate? I mean, how do you choose what music to play after “laying your dad to rest?”/ saying stuff over an urn of ashes? It’s not like you can crank up some kind of empowerment anthem a la Pat Benatar’s “We Belong” or “Love Is a Battlefield” or “Stop Using Sex as a Weapon.” Shit, Pat Benatar wrote a lot of empowerment anthems. In fact, she may have written exclusively in the empowerment anthem genre. That theme from “Legend of Billie Jean,” “Treat Me Right,” “Hit Me With Your Best Shot,” “Fire and Ice,” “Little Too Late,” and “Heartbreaker.” Shit, even “Hell is For Children” takes a stand on something. She always stood for something, Pat.  Is that what happened to her career? She run out of anthems?

So you can’t rock out to an empowerment anthem/Pat Benatar on the way back from your dad’s funeral. Then if you pick some kind of sad song, it may turn the whole moment maudlin, sappy, syrupy chick-flick. Find yourself putting on sunglasses and muted lipstick like an asshole even though it’s overcast. No music, then. Conversely, this bitch definitely doesn’t want silence. That’s the worrrrrrrst kind of music is silence. Because silence doesn’t last long. It runs out, flaps its filmstrip against the projector until it becomes a rhythm…and then…..your head fills up with phrases and ideas, rewinding and overanalyzing….ecchhh. Or worse, it could be your brain latches onto a song selected from nowhere, or perhaps just a tidbit, a refrain. Then you’re rolling in the car with a maniacal repeating loop of “all the leaves are brown.” In chipmunk voices. 

So, yeah I choose to turn on the radio, but turn it down so there is a tiny buzz. It’s probably talk radio/NPR, and at this volume I can pretend I’m somewhere else. At a…….coffee shop and two people are having a conversation that I’m attempting to drown out. I get pieces of words like “fiscal”, “tighten,” and “bemoan.” Talky talky chat chat. “Robust.” “Well, at the end of the day…” I really don’t care for the phrase “at the end of the day” at all. You listen to enough talk radio, it’s the defacto sum-up cliche. I’m listening, I’m getting into what they’re saying and one of them will inevitably drop that piece of shit idiom. Wait, is “idiom” what i want to say? I’ll look it up later. In this coffee shop trip, I want them to just shut up so I can get a moment’s peace and eat my wedge of lemon cake but……I’ll be damned if I’m going to turn the car radio off. It’s….I’m afraid to. It’s a fear. Yet this is not an all-consuming fear, nor an urgent fear, nor a fear which needs dealing with today or ever, more like a casual fear. I know nothing bad will happen if I turn the radio off, I just “choose” not to. The car radio will not turn off unless the car turns off. It’s a kinda “step on a crack” mentality.

Getting back to this whole “end of the day” thing. I have thought of the following phrases to substitute out for the above mentioned hate-ism:

"When all is said and done…" (not much better, but less used)
"When you add everything up…"
"When you get down to it…"
"Inna final analysis…."
"If you consider the big picture…" (ok, this one might not work, but I feel you can never hate something unless you can genuinely think of something better,)

I pull up in front of the house, my father’s house: a small place with windows in front which always reminded me of a boat. The windows are slatted and you open them with handcranks if you sat in one of the two lawnchairs perched in the enclosed porch/mudroom. We’d even started calling it the boathouse, me and Dad. Our codename for his pad.

The boathouse is/was a raised bungalow, larger than it seems on the outside. Two large sets of the handcrank windows, you can imagine black-n-white miniature people from Metropolis turning those handcranks in unison. So many tools for one bank of glass, and obscured by some enormous juniper bushes. He talked about making some bathtub gin from the bushes’ berries, but I guess he never did and ultimately never will. Those bushes were evergreen, so even in the winter he could sit in the living room and do illicit activities, knowing he was far back from the mudroom and partially blocked by the junipers with their hulking powder-blue spiked berries.

The boathouse had/has a basement which gets more light than you’d think. With a raised bungalow, the first floor is actually closer to the second floor and the basement is closer to the first floor, so lotsa light and big windows down there. One whole fridge in the basement was/is stocked with nothing but beer. I wonder what I’ll find when I clean everything out. Part of me is afraid to look, afraid of what my mind will do. Dad alive, the beer was just beer. Dad’s beer. Now, with him gone, I’m afraid my mind will needlessly staple meaning to everything. Was dad saving this beer in the back for a special occasion? What occasion? Should I drink it, should I not? Was it for me and him to share? In what order? What is the most treasured beer in the collection because I want to drink that last. Is this pumpkin ale being saved? It’s way past pumpkin ale season, so was he aging it? Or was it the last of a six pack that just sucked and he didn’t have the heart to throw it away? This random double A battery… what did it go to? Why would he save it? Or is it just here because…….batteries.

I know Mom won’t want to throw anything away, so I took her out of the equation. She’s doing the funeral after-party. I lied to her and said I didn’t want to go because I was “too emotional.” I don’t like lying to her, but I need to clear some things out before she gets here and tries to start saving everything. Like every scrap of rubbish in this place can reconstruct the husband and father and family she pictures.

It won’t work.

It can’t work.

They’ve been apart too long.

The “them” has dissolved, the partnership, marriage, all that. They’re more like people who used to be in a band together and the style of music they made is no longer fashionable. No amount of “stuff” catalogued, stapling meaning to it, can form the man who was my dad. Plus, I don’t want to mingle at the after-party with the stuffed shirts I barely knew putting their hand on my shoulder and shit. You knew my dad? Well you don’t know me, take your filthy hands offa me. It’s so not my style. Plus, Mom can’t really cook. Never could. I don’t want to sit on the couch, choking down her tasteless pasta salad while some mustached stranger assures me everything’s going to be alright. Is it? Is everything gonna be alright? Yeah? Have you tasted this? You get spiral-noodle fork in the eye. Stuffed starched shirt. Collar fuck.

I should probably mention I’m on my period. Aunt Flo, the ol’ redhead come to visit once a month. Just what I needed. Up at that podium on the altar, shifting uncomfortably, trying to say some things about Dad and everyone probably thought I was nervous/grief-stricken or whatever. The issue was I had my little mousefriend up in there, familiar but uncomfortable.

"Hickory dickory dot,
The mouse ran up my twat,
He got a bad angle, the tail did dangle,
Let’s hope the panties don’t blot.”

That would be a helluva eulogy.

Back in the idling car, my boyfriend texts again. I don’t read it. Not now anyway. It’s probably some variation of “Be strong” or “Thinking of you” or “Where’s the cashew butter” like that. I’ll sort through all of them later.

I sigh.
Breathe deep.
Sigh again.

Still in the car. That fear is getting more urgent, so I kill the radio along with the engine and immediately open the door before any vacuum of sadness can fill the car. Walking up the sidewalk I expect to see Dad’s neighbors, but no one’s around. Stan, the guy on the left whom I’ve met a few times, is one of those fishing hat and hiked-up pants guys who obsesses over his lawn. Hybridized fine fescue from Sweden, his grass. Got a weather-rotted rancher fence separating the property line.

Mitch, the guy in the house on the right: I’ve only ever seen him in one of three stages: taking the cover off his car, putting the cover on his car, washing his car. He appears to have added a fourth stage: not at home. Or else he’s hiding in his place out of respect for Dad, chewing his nails because he wants to Armourall his dashboard to orgasm; his. There’s nothing to denote perimeters on his property-line apart from lawn quality. There’s a distinct line of dude’s okay-grass and Dad’s don’t-givva fuck-grass. I’m going to keep with my estimate that neither one of them is home. There’s no motion save a light drizzle on dead leaves. I’ d expect if either one was home they’d be running out falling all over themselves to console me. Or maybe they’re lying in wait, waiting for each other to make the first move so they don’t seem like creeper old dudes trying to take advantage of the bereaved daughter beaver.

It’s late afternoon, that magic time before evening. Too late for lunch but just right to start cocktails. I wonder if Dad has left any gin. None of this seems real, by the way. He’s not gone, he’s just “away.” That’s how it feels. Half a city away, a metal urn with his ashes is on a white painted mantel, being stared at by people with plates full of pasta salad. Flavorless dry pasta salad. But he’s not gone, he’s merely “away.” He’ll be back. And when he comes back, the key in the door will sound like this: Skuh-chunk. Thrunk.

I open the door. Inside: Mess. Dark. And smell. But not an unpleasant smell. Can’t pinpoint it. Just the smell of him. The mess however, I can pinpoint. So I go with the tangibles. Empty glasses laced with beer foam residue. A bowl of pistachio shells. Little scraps of paper, receipts. Notebooks, the dollar ninety-nine ones, some half-open with a phrase or crude cartoon, or series of dialogue. Dad described himself as a pugilist. “I punch up dialogue,” he said. Some screenwriters would write some stuff and he would be called in to punch up and polish these scripts and that’s how he put me through college. Dad was a ghost writer. Now, he’s just a ghost. (Rimshot) That was stupid.

The dialogue would need more “pepper and pop” he would say. He’d flesh out conversations between characters, stretch scenes. Most screenwriters can write stories but they suck at dialogue. My dad was the opposite. He couldn’t come up with any original ideas…. okay he did, but they all turned out to be accidental variations of something already produced…but man, could he riff on dialogue. He was a master of beefing up two people talking about stuff and getting at a root trait or plot point. And mostly it’s uncredited. My dad’s life’s work is mostly behind-the-scenes stuff, much like his extra-curiccullars.

I drop my keys on the coffee table and the impact/vibration sends a pistachio shell to the floor, just missing the Mexican throw-rug. The rug, a gorgeously cheap array of rainbow color swaths evoking New Mexico from a road-trip he had once. Though moth-eaten and faded, the rug still bursts with adventure or alludes to an adventure-in-promise. There’s a patch next to the coffee table’s leg that looks like a mouth; a cantaloupe wedge with threaded teeth, made from years of pulling the rug flat while most of it’s pinned to the floor. A dead leaf has beached itself on the southwest corner.

On the south wall: a green silkscreen print of three Indian horses housed in a rattan frame: he had found it on the street during an evening walk  post tacos. Cheap. Beloved.

Warm-white roped Christmas lights wrapping around the pedestals of his mantel, plugged in whenever the sun went down, December or no. They set the mood. I plug them in now, so that they’ll be aglow when the sun goes down and I won’t have to get up. Plus, it seems like a beacon, a lamplight to his memory. To not have them lit is like flying the flag at full mast. Dad’s place needs the damn mood lights plugged in.

His beat-down couch, armrests vomiting cotton, is/was still one of the best things to sleep on. It would rival any futon anywhere anytime for comfort and pass-outability. The pattern on it is floral, nearly grandma-ish, but with the sun-n-moon tapestry across the back (which doubled as a pass-out blanket many a night) it transcended style, it simply WAS. I lay my coat across the back of it, head into the kitchen.

Ecch. Dishes in the sink. I put my hands to my hips and survey the nasty. What was the last thing he ate? How long was he going to let this pan of burnt scramble egg patina soak? Seventeen knives and only three forks. I shake my head and a half-grin takes over my face. I feel a familiar scene unravel before my brain can shut it down. My half-grin used to vex him, but it vexed him adorably. “Kenz,” he would say. “You can let the rest of that smile out.” Then he’d touch the corner of my cheek and I could feel an uncontrollable dimple crease and a blush develop. Every time.

At the funeral there were a number of women neither me nor Mom knew. (Who?) In these situations you always assume they’re past school chums (Are they really?) without ever pursuing the hunch that perhaps something more (A ‘sexy’ more?) is there. (Who were they?) And why dig up? (How can you NOT dig up? This is the time for truth and no more hiding from uncomfortable facts.) What good does it do? (What good can come of ignoring a gnawing question mark?) Who has ever healed by ripping stitches? (Who has healed by turning and ignoring certain….indiscretions?)

Dad’s funeral drew all types of women. One gal was fairly immense, and one could have blown away with the right umbrella. “Put both of ‘em in a bag, shake ‘em up, and pour out an average woman.” That’s something he would say. Many others, unknown women, each with a face and maybe a story. And all with names, signed in a book. One was named Judy. Who is Judy? What was the nature of their contact? Was Judy one of the skinnier women, plain women or big women at the funeral? There were more women than men. I’m not going to do these dishes.

I open the fridge and there’s no light on in the inside. How long has that been out? I take the phone out of my pocket and make it light up. It’s not dark outside, but the angle of the kitchen window allows precious little of the fading overcast light. I see the last text from Teddy: “Be strong. Thinking about you.” Called it. I shine the phone for as long as it lasts over the contents of the fridge, feeling like a crime scene investigator looking for semen. I find it. Gin, not semen. Dad always kept the gin in the fridge. This is a bottle of Bombay Sapphire, barely touched. Was he saving it for a special occas…oh shit, I’m starting to do that. I locate the vermouth and hope it hasn’t oxydized. Unscrew the cap, take a whiff. It’s fine. I trigger the phone light again. Olives. He’s got to have olives. Ooo. Jalapeno stuffed. Huzzah, Dad. Good call.

Top shelf behind the dessert plates, I find the stainless steel cocktail shaker and a cocktail glass. I don’t know why he kept them all the way back there out of the way. The dessert plates rarely got used, whereas the shaker and glasses got used nightly and daily. He could have moved them to a more accessible spot. Why have to move and remove dishes because you won’t rearrange the…..Keeping up appearances even to himself, I guess. Or it was habit from when he lived with Mom.

Ice. The freezer iss snowed over, but the ice bucket is in a well-hollowed cavity. There’s a pint of ice cream captured stock-still in the avalanche, ice crystals sprouted all around the rim from where it burst. It’s on a ledge above the ice bucket never to be rescued. Some darker shapes are imbedded in the ice behind it, equally hopeless. Mint chocolate chip, we hardly knew ye.

Arms full of the kitchen payload, I sink into the couch and spread everything before me. But I forgot something. I sigh, slap my thighs, go back into the kitchen, retrieve a toothpick from the junk drawer, return to my seat, begin the martini ritual Dad had taught me. The ratio is the 1901 recipe, which is 2 capfuls of gin, one capful of vermouth. This is a wetter martini than what’s fashionable present day, but Dad also taught me that vermouth (German for wormwood) packed a body high punch, much like absinthe, whose active ingredient is wormwood. I like the taste of vermouth, or else I’m just accustomed to it, much like someone who’s never had a porter thinks a beer should be yellow and tasteless. A dry martini might eat my pussy harder than the one I’m used to, but I like what I’m used to.

I make a double, which I know will push the limits of the glass but I do it anyway. If some spills, fuck it. I spear only one olive (a martini should either have one olive or three, but three to me is like a damn salad bar kebab) set it in the bottom of the cocktail glass. Three ice cubes tumble into the shaker and I suddenly realize how quiet the house is. It’s like I’ve woken the dog or something. Pulse getting rapid. There’s a remote on the coffee table and I press it, the stereo lights up piece by piece until finally there’s some other sound in the room. The song: “Fannie Mae” by Buster Brown, one of Dad’s old blues tunes. The first words: “I want somebody /what’s wrong with me”

I continue the ritual, pour two capfuls of gin into the belly of the shaker. Then two more, because it’s a double recipe and I had forgotten. Two capfuls of vermouth next. Then I affix the cap onto the lid, place both cap and lid onto the cylinder and… I shake in a waltz signature about seven times, remove the cap and pour through the strainer, drowning the olive which seems to grow larger in the cloudy liquid. The juniper and bitter herb scent stings my nose as I sip. Exotically simple, o martini. You have warmth despite your iciness. My throat seems to enlarge as the alcohol soaks into membranes, grabs hold of my spine with cartoon hands and through some sort of vertebrae asphyxiation, it relaxes me. I toast Dad in mid-air as the second sip goes down, shake my head. He’s gone. This is one of the last times I’ll be in this house, on this couch. The gin works quickly and I realize later…

A buzz wakes me. My eyes are closed? How did that happen? It’s dark and I’m confused. I’m on the couch. Dad’s couch. A light in my pocket. My phone. I pull it out and squint at the new light filling the room. I see a half-bitten olive in the glass before me. I squint at the screen. Teddy. “Mmyeah?”
"Hey. Everything ok? Your mom said to call, she says you haven’t called her since the service."
"Mmyeah. I’m fine. I’m, over at the boathouse. Guess I fell asleep."
"You sure you’re ok?"
"I know, I said I wouldn’t do this."
"Aaaand you’re doing this."
"I know. Are you going to call your mom back?"
"No. No, can you do it for me? Just tell her I’m at Dad’s sorting things out."
"McKenzie babe…."
"Do it. I’ll blow you when I get home. And swallow."
"(Snort) I’ll hold you to this."
"Kiss kiss. You’re the best."
"Love y-…"

I hang up. I have a second wind now. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s falling asleep before the sun goes down and waking up after it’s night. I feel like I’ve missed something, some event the rest of the world was privy to. Even if that event was opening a can of Chef Boyardee, I missed out on it by skipping that all-important transition from day to night. I was cheated of a life happening, no matter how mundane. What if the day never comes back again? I would have missed the last minutes of day ever. What’s funny is I could care less about seeing the goddamned sun come up. That transition is for assholes. No one needs that. That only makes you think you could have been sleeping. Waking up at night when you fell asleep during day makes you think you could have been awake.

Fucking Teddy. I love that guy. Sure I’ll blow him. But I’ll forego the swallowing. I feel like if I do it once, he’ll expect it every time. Best to let it be some unattainable horizon for him. It’s best for everybody. Most of all for my gag reflex. Now. Two things: Change the ol’ tampon and find Dad’s stash.

I take my purse into the bathroom. Random hairs everywhere. Dad had no hair on his head, but had a plentiful crop of it everywhere else. He rarely wore sunblock, because it would just smear into his arm hair and leg hair. Messy. Didn’t rub in like for the rest of us. Teddy’s not as hairy, although he could trim his bush a little more often so I wouldn’t have to go fishing for his cock out of a pube nest. Hairs. In Dad’s bathroom. I’m not disgusted. I more feel sorry for him. What could he do? After a while he would have to feel like his own body was against him and not give a fuck anymore. Dad in my gin movie: “I clean up the hairs, the hairs come back. Fuck it.” Good for him. Teddy, you still need to manscape though. Just a little.

I sit on the toilet, pull the tampon out. There’s always a discomfort at the first tug like I’m unsealing a secret scab up in the business. Ridiculous, I know, but tell my brain that. Then there’s the decapitated mouse down there in the bowl, gore trailing off in a thick cloud. Mad props to Teddy for being such a voracious pussy-eater. He loves it, is driven by it and moments like this right before I see a spiraling bloodweb and string whoosh away, I wonder how anyone could want to put their mouth anywhere near girljunk ever. I prep for the next one, the peeling back of the paper, applying the pantyliner, the unwrapping of the new tampon, the sigh of the new insertion with “toxic shock” in the back of my mind the whole time. Ecchh.

It’s funny. Dad loved the desert, the sun. His body had a natural sunblock of hair so he didn’t wear sunblock. And skin cancer got him. That which he loved destroyed him. Allegory. How has that changed me? Well, me and Teddy have been together five years and we’re still not married. He’s tried, I’ve postponed. Dad and Mom didn’t work, why should I believe we will? Whatever we are, I like it for now. Maybe it’ll change to something else later, but if you force it to change to something else before the other person is ready, it’s a recipe for disaster. Maybe a double recipe. Now. I pull the liner-fortified panties up, fix the skirt. Where would Dad keep his kit?

I search the bathroom lazily knowing it won’t be in there. Medicine pantry has mouthwash, toothpaste, bodywash, powdered cleanser, TP, etc. I move to his bedroom. The nightstand has another notebook, open to a page reading “Is she real? Pursuit is bad idea but non-pursuit is recipe for madness.” (Double recipe?) Top drawer has a garishly day-glo green camera bag or something in which I feel a lumpy bonelike something and a soft something. Smells like burnt pork. Paydirt. I take the bag and contents out to the living room. That was none-too-hard. I guess Dad didn’t hide his stash during his final moments. Unzipping, I immediately see a plastic bag of some pretty shit weed and a tacky glass bowl. After sorting out some decent smokeable stuff from the myriad of stems and seeds, I get enough to pack the bowl. It’s a bad hippie nightmare of a bowl, blown-glass and colored yellow, with swirls of blue and white. Crap, but at least it’s got a carb hole, which is more than I can say for the first stone bowl I bought in college. Lighter?

Me. Smoking my Dad’s weed. In his house. The day of his funeral. He would approve. And I have a martini. He’s “smiling down” whatever that means. The familiar burn on the thumb-spot, which no amount of guitaring will numb. And I’ve tried. My father is a man with appetites and passions I will never understand. But I get his thing with the weed. He and I share that creative headspace when we alter ourselves. Mom couldn’t. He told me one time about how he tried to give Mom pot brownies and she woke up for work the next day thinking someone was clawing the inside of her skull and she repeatedly asked him if she was going to die. So when I went to college he told me that story and then  said matter-of-factly, “Yeah, so this is the thing about weed and you have a 50/50 chance of it being really great and a creativity tool or you could be allergic. I’m not going to tell you what to do, just be aware these are the two options and make your own decisions based on that.”

Self medication. Not for everybody. Dad and I have always been responsible with our herb intake. Never missed a shift at work, never late to anything, never flaked out on plans. Libertarians, us. Where that’s concerned. Coming home from college and getting baked on Dad’s couch. Great times. It softened the blow of he and Mom’s separation. Made it make a little more sense. And now that he’s gone it seems like a brave decision. The proactive happy approach. Owning it. There’s only this life and we’re not going to suffer cogs that don’t mesh. Gotta end it.

Oh, how we laughed our asses off. Years and identities melted away. We were one singular voice and vision cackling on the couch. I’ll never hear his laugh again. I mean in memory I’ve got several, but a new peal of laughter will never drop. I imagine a grape raisining on the vine. That’s Dad’s laugh. Withered. Gone. Still there, but dead and soon to be thrown away. The schwag has a little potency after all, or else it’s the gin and weight of the day all cloaking me. I get stirrings.

I have an urge to go to the bar a few blocks down, to flirt. Maybe even make out with a guy. Nah. I have a tampon in. And I have Teddy. The Urge is still there. I can ignore the Urge, but the Urge is standing there in the hallway. It needs an RSVP. I’m sure other people don’t even get a visit from the Urge. I feel bad that I even have to deal with it, but I didn’t invite the fucker in the first place. He just shows up. Some nights I turn him down, some nights I give in. It’s a struggle. It helps to have a tampon to fall back on.

I have no idea how guys say no to the Urge at all. I sometimes wish Teddy would cheat on me so I could identify with him, relate to the Urge. And I could make fun of the skank he took home. But he doesn’t seem to even be aware of the Urge. He’s so damned polite. I need it to balance myself, but I wish he would be a little dark and selfish in the bedroom sometimes. Tear my clothes off, bite my nipples, turn me over, put it in my ass because it’s his idea, his Urge. It seems like he’s too eager to do whatever for me, too giving. I want him to take. Take me. Throw me down, collapse on top of me with his manweight, drive into me, thrust away as his lust gallops and overrides his brain. Lose himself. So I won’t feel bad when I do it.

I contemplate opening a window but the paranoia of having two weird neighbors smell the potsmoke overrides the fear of having Mom smell it when she comes over tomorrow to clean and organize. It’s Dad’s place, it’s Dad’s blame. I can justify. I’ll spill some cleaning chemicals before she gets here, cover my tracks. She’s got a powerful nose, Mom. I could go to the bedroom, but the boathouse’s couch is what cushions my sleeping form this evening.

Napoleon’s Explosive

To mark Napoleon Dynamite’s 8th year anniversary, here is the transcript from the Chinese DVD English-from-Mandarin subtitles; painstakingly typed out by me. Enjoy.

Opening scene on the bus…

Kid: You do what today, Napoleon?
Napoleon Dynamite: I what also oes not want to do!

At school…

Teacher: Naploeon, you came.
ND: Last week, Japanese scientist. The bomb sets off inside the gram.
For frying out water is strange. The Dutch space you calls Native evil
sorcery teacher Give the lake with the protection curses sexually
Still have the allies mile peaceful coexistence.

Don: Naploeon, last year do you do what?
ND: I said me that with the uncle of Alaska We returned to go snares
the sea strange.
Don: Grasp to have no.
ND: Have, 50. They still want to walk my cousin. If is you, would you how do?
Don: What gun do you use?
ND: 12 number diametral, you think is what?

ND: Hey, can borrow your telephone?
Office lady: Out what matter?
ND: I am not that comfortable.
Kip: Hi.
ND: Grandmother at?
Kip: Not, she is doing the hair. Do you need what?
ND: Does helping me call how is her?
Kip: I am very busy now.
ND: Call she to pick me up.
Kip: Why?
ND: Because I am uncomfortable.
Kip: Did you sought the school nurse?
ND: Have no, she what also does not know. Do you come to connect to how am I?
Kip: Help me why?
ND: Helping me take my lip block to good?
Kip: Not line, Napoleon.
ND: My lips are very suffered.
Kip: Borrow to school nurse line. I know there is 5 lip blocks in her drawer.
ND: I just do not want to use her.
Kip: See again.
ND: Idiot.

Principal: You understand English. Dining room the right side in
hallway down stairs.
ND: Is he newly arrived boy?
Principal: Napoleon, this is in shell. Can take he go to his save the
thing cabinet?
ND: Certainly. Leave.

ND: There is a lot of ball teams in this school. A ball team hases
been seeking I join Because I fuck quite good. You take does the
school bus go school?
Pedro (AKA “in shell”): Not, I ride the bicycle.
ND: Do you ride the what kind of bicycle?
Pedro: a
ND: Wheel gear, bolt, lock. Do you did to jump up?

(Pedro jumps the ramp)

ND: You flew 3 Chinese foots high. Is it all right to let me taking a shot?

Back at home…

Grandma: How is school?
ND: This is worst a day in inside in my whole life. You think how?
Grandma: I think you see the again at leap to jump.
ND: The virtuous today dids not leap to jump.
Grandma: Boy, hear good.
Kip (AKA “is virtuous”): Do what?
Grandma: Tonight, your aunt w find out the some friend. We will just
come back tomorrow. The steak was not a lot of The will solve it
ND: Do we eat what?
Grandma: Please, Napoleon. The oneself boils the thing.
ND: Literally.
Grandma: I will come back tomorrow.
ND: We need a lot of the slice of.
Kip: Nepoleon, do not envy me Because I whole line treasure plays. We
two all know to be the warrior.
ND: When to start? Your reaction is worst.
Kip: Come over to see Nepoleon.
ND: What?
Kip: I say that come over if you want to help me.
ND: Is really an idiot.
Kip: You have what fresh?
ND: I open.
Kip: Day.

Deb (AKA “wear the ratio”): How are you, liking this foppery?
ND: This is a girl.
Deb: Because this is the haircut of folds.
ND: My hair has managed in the.
Deb: Perhaps you are i of handicrafts.

Rex Kwon Do commercial…

Rex: This is the to defend the system. Train a week with me. You can
have the to protect oneself The glint that is quickly As cleverness as
bear. Take a shot to class freely for today.

Deb: This is adornment with the key chain. The all is what this season spreads.
ND: In the star I have done a lot of.
Deb: Want to make a deposit for the last university?
Kip: Who to go to the last university?

Feeding Tina…

ND: Kitty, fatty dog, have a meal, eat eat into
Kip: Is it all right to pull the city to me?

Rex: My name calls. If you study with me these 8 weeks’ course You can
the system association ego defend Is I am in the ground two seasons
establishment of It is called the karate. I need a volunteer. Good,
you can, come over. Bow with the teacher. Bow with the teacher! Good
now I want an opportunity to you. Everyone, opportunity once.
Mercilessly shot I. Like very good. Everybody sees now this. Grasp my
hand Another hand My another hand. See this, I want to interrupt the
wrist Then escape from. Like, so simple. I want now you kick me. Come,
kick me. Good, again. Again. Good, you can shoot each time of. Sit
down. Besides you see just now of If learn these 8 weeks’ course with
me You will learn this. The karate adopts colleague’s system Can’t act
alone. You need forever at the back protects you. The second, you will
learn the discipline. You thinks me today can here Because elephant I
dress up Peter? See the clear the thing that I wear. I wear the brand
of the exciting boy. You think that to ask for me? Impossible.
Finally, my student association to oneself. You feels other think I am
a failed Because do I star night club? Only 300 beautiful circle You
can now register my 8 weeks course.

Kip: Feeling the elephant is to cheats the money.

Back at school…

ND: We now is a friend?
Pedro: Is.
ND: You can at the back protect me?
Pedro: What?
ND: Calculate. Did you find out the of the dancing party?
Pedro: Is.
ND: Does someone invite you?
Pedro: Have no, I may can’t seek this school of.
ND: You think invitation who?
Pedro: There of girl.
ND: section? Do you how can make?
Pedro: Give her the cake.
ND: Old girlfriend in horse in Can take airplane e dancing party
originally. But she can’t at be the mold with.
Pedro: Is she very hot?
ND: The oneself sees. There is a year in her birthday I take her to go
to claps the star shines on.
Pedro: I like her fringe of hair.
ND: I too is.


ND: Your beard grew long how?
Pedro: Several day.
ND: Really hope me to have also. You do not eat the piece of.
Pedro: Not.
ND: Is it all right to give me?

ND: See the girl of the that direction? She came to my day before yesterday.
Pedro: Why?
ND: Do not know, doorway to a heap of discards.
Pedro: She is pretty beautiful.
ND: Does wanting me go to say with her?
Pedro: Good.

ND: I see you at drink 1% milk. Is because do you feel that you are
fat? Because you are not fat. If would like drink the milk of whole.
My save there is the thing in the cabinet. You should take because my
thing all put to do not enter.
Deb: Your save which thing cabinet is?

ND: Is it all right to give me a key chain?

Bully: Nepoleon, give me the piece of in some.
ND: Eat own.
Bully: Give me the your the piece of in some.
ND: Not line, I am famished today I what also did not eat.

(Bully kicks the tots)

ND: Disgusted. Damned idiot.

Rico arrives…

ND: You is doing what, gram uncle?
Rico: Grandmother today at to go to the sand dune.
ND: What? She goes to the sand dune when.
Rico: Look you and do not nderstand her very much.
Kip: When does the grandmother come back?
Rico: Do not know, my indetermination.
ND: You do not need to we are not childs.
Rico: Fall with the card aunt Lin say.
ND: The is virtuous already 32 years old.
Kip: I do not mind you leave.
Rico: Thank you, the is virtuous.
ND: Does the grandmother in the sand dune?
Rico: She has the boyfriend.
ND: Boyfriend?
Rico: Want to go to the movie?

Rico’s football video…

Rico: Feel how?
Kip: Pretty cool.
Rico: Really think that the time turns in reverse. I will win it.
ND: This is the worst have ever seen to take.
Kip: Nepoleon, have who would know?
Rico: Know, Nepoleon? You can go away.
ND: You is an idiot.
Rico: See that?

At Big J’s…

Kip: You return with company with?
Rico: Not, have no.
Kip: Why.
Rico: She is good at to envy. Say what me too how. I abandoned her.
Your girl friend?
Kip: More and more earnest now. We chat everyday two very earnest that
I think. I think of only several dollars now can just take her
Rico: She grow what kind of?
Kip: Thin light hair, pretty good-looking. Just she did not shine on
my whole body.
Rico: I have an item, the money perhaps.
Kip: True? Sound good.
Rico: Heard of the nylon.

Rico: In 1982 I can throw the quarter to the ball.
Kip: True?
Rico: Is true certainly. See this.

(hits Napoleon with the steak)

ND: Do you is fucking what?
Kip: What I say be this.
Pedro: I wanted to walk.
Rico: Want to make a bet to the rugby there. If the coach let is a
national champion early. Absoluteness can’t mistake. Circumstance am
an occupation player. Earn several million in certain place. In the
hot water bathtub bath. The is virtuous, conjecture world very much.
Do you meet the dated a trip?
Kip: Easy, myself all did.
Rico: True severe.

At school…

Summer: Virtuous in shell today at?
ND: I want to have no why?
Summer: Ask literally, can give him to this?
ND: Good. Want to play with me?

Deb: You is drawing what?
ND: Liger.
Deb: That is what?
ND: Is an animal that I like most. Lion with the admixture of the
tiger. The elephant magic is general.
Deb: Your friend?
ND: Do not know, do you saw him today?
Deb: Have no.
ND: I also have no.
Deb: You need does the person drive to send you?
ND: Not, today I miss the school bus however the uncle will pick me
up. See again.

At home…

Rico: The grave eastern region is a good location. But do not go to
here, don’t be rich there.
Kip: We plan how long is work?
Rico: Did your enthusiasm cool off?
Kip: Is not, 4:00 I occupy to cut wood. I regain to come to here.
Rico: All right, start earlier line. Is after end otherwise again
work. Demand how long?
Kip: 3, 4 hours.
Rico: Is money what you pay the bill?
Kip: The grandmother also helps to pay 1:00.
Rico: If have, I fling out the window outside to you.

(on the phone)

Pedro’s sister: Hello?
ND: Hello?
PS: Is who?
ND: Napoleon's Explosive.
PS: Who?
ND: Napoleon's explosiv. I am the good friend of the virtuous in shell.
PS: Is your name Napoleon?
ND: Is, virtuous in shell at?
PS: Not, he now not at.
ND: Good, then see.

ND: How.
Rico: I think that we should r having the privacy.
Kip: Good idea.

At the bowling alley…

Kip (talking to his ball): Descend descend go to. Good.
Rico: Before beginning to work have the some concerns. The first, I
worry about your transportation. Can your someone borrow the car?
Kip: This is a problem. What person do I want to do not out.
Rico: Current you can borrow my truck. I may as well walk. We want to
let oneself look the elephant us.
Kip: The bracelet of gold?
Rico: We need the famous brand, have own photograph up. The appearance
wants to look the legality.
Kip: Yes.
Rico: Know where can take example and mutually?

At Deb’s Glamour shots…

Deb: Good. The head changes direction the side. The fist puts slowly
in the chin. Look very good.
Kip: You can say so.
Deb: Good, do not move. Think the elephant oneself has no weight in
the ocean central the surroundings of small sea horses All right, this
piece will good to look at.
Rico: All right? I feel to realx very much. Thank you, wear the ratio.
Change you, the is virtuous.
Kip: Can having the vest me wear?

Lunch again…

ND: Where did you go?
Pedro: I got sick.
ND: The talked with you?
Pedro: No, return to have no.
ND: She say can’t is?
Pedro: Another girl?
ND: Which girls?
Pedro: Leave the discards t your family a that.
ND: You are to say that wear the ratio? Be she what’s#the matter with her?
Pedro: I also want to invite her.
ND: What?

ND: No one wants to be with me to date.
Pedro: Did you invited the anyone?
ND: Have no, but who would like to? I some social intercourse
technique also has no.
Pedro: What mean?
ND: Seek the work technique for example. Break the computer technique.
Girl’s likes the technical boy.
Pedro: Are you good at painting animal?
ND: To, that may be I am the most experienced.
Pedro: Make uniform a want to date of girl. Then do the gift to it to give her.
ND: Good idea.

Rico makes a sale….

Rico: If you invest in this 24 of combinations I want a small gift to you.
Man: What gift?
Rico: Believe you two have no this.
Woman: I want that.
Rico: This is not general to help the brand.
Man: If we buy 24 combinations small sailboat too present together?
Rico: Yes, Sir. It is strong boy that you look. Take a shot whether it
can tore it bad. Do not hurt the oneself.
Man: Can not do it.
Rico: Does trading the term feel good?

Kip: Damned.

At Trisha’s house….

ND: With at?
Trisha’s mom: Sorry she is not at. She now goes to the friend there.
Rico: Hey Napoleon. Napoleon is my nephew.
TM: Very good.
ND: Is it all right to give her to this?
TM: Certainly.
ND: Thank.
TM: See again.
Rico: Pitiful child. Ever since the grandmother always at look after.
He is most the child of the stick. Very weak boy, were usually
humiliated. Like a 32 combinations?

At home…

ND: Does he fuck go girlfriend house?
Kip: Do not make my neck.
ND: You is doing what, want to break my life, shows me to rise to
think the idiocy?
Kip: Gram the uncle order the business. You made to break my hai. Is at bleed?
ND: Anything of.
Rico: The Hey is virtous. Do not see me so, Napoleon.
ND: Hoping you shut last your mouth.
Rico: Let me tell you be shell the virtuous play of time Your gram the
uncle earned 120 pieces.
ND: I use 5 second can earn to so many money.
Kip: Certainly, Napoleon. I earn 75 pieces today.
Rico: Napoleon you the good elephant has no work. You go out to feed the.
ND: You also roll, bad egg.

Trisha’s house…

ND (narrating): If you be my dancing partner belong to your ,
Napoleon's explosive.
Trisha’s mom: You must attend the dancing party with that boy.

At chicken farm….

Farmer: I need to move 8000 hens into new cage son. Sometimes their
noncooperation if you the good advantage manages, can accomplish.
ND: Hen very contain practical ability?
Farmer: What?
ND: There is practical ability very much.
Farmer: I do not understand what you say. You waits me here at noon we
want to eat the lunch with you together.

Lyle: There I found out the some arrows.
Farmer: I can not find my check book. The hope you do noe mind I pay
you in small change.

ND: 6 dollar. Every hour is a dollar.

(phone rings)

ND: Hello?
Trisha: Hi, Napoleon at?
ND: Is.
Trisha: Can talk with him?
ND: Be he.
Trisha: Napoleon I is with I just tell you I can attend the dancing
party with you. Still thank you as the beautiful painting in what hang
in my room.
ND: True of? I use 3 hours to just complete the color of your. It is a
best diagram that I have ever drawn probably.
Trisha: To, really very good.
ND: I pick you up to go to the dancing party for.
Trisha: All right.
ND: Good, then see.
Trisha: See again.

Pedro: Is who?
ND: With the.
Pedro: Who is she?
ND: My dancing partner.
Pedro: Did you give her the portrait?
ND: I think and should have.
Pedro: You want to wear does what attend the dancing party?
ND: Lounge suit. You?
Pedro: Wear ratio contain clothes give me.

At the thrift store eyeing the suit…

ND: Virtuous, this feel how?
Pedro: Good-looking.
ND: Look really great. Very astonishing.

Back at home…

ND: I drive to send me after missing your 1 hour out once.
Rico: Go where.
ND: Attend the dancing party.
Rico: Do you want the customer to go to together.
ND: Also will connect yes she.
Rico: I go to the there after 5 minutes.
ND: You can send again after ending I go to.

Rico: I come back very quickly. I time in inside do not bother me.
ND: Hurry t returns at wait me.

Pedro’s cousins pick him up in the hoopty…

ND: You is to like that race car the game?
Cousin: We won.

ND: With west is at home.
Trisha’s dad: Who on my driveway.
ND: I am to take their car to of.

At the dance…

ND: Do you want to follow the shell gets dance.

Pedro: Napoleon you arrive when of
ND: Just several minutes. You sees with west
Deb: Have no.
ND: Perhaps she went to the bathroom. Does you play happy?
Deb: Yes.
Pedro: If you can not find with west You can follow to wear the to
jump together.

ND: I like your sleeves they are very big.
Deb: Thank my do-it-yourself of.
Pedro: You get with shell is now earnest.
Deb: Not. We are just the friend.
ND: Your cloth store management how.
Deb: Very good. My sometimes can sell goods one by one if you want to
come over and see.
ND: Good of.

Next day…

Pedro: You feel would someone choose me
ND: Yes I will choose you.
Pedro: What technical ability do I have?
ND: You have a very cool sport car. You are good at to g back and
forth with girl’s son. You are unique school bearded and male child.
Pedro: Right.
ND: If you need I do what for you. I am very glad to help.
Pedro: Thank. If I won You can my secretary what of.
ND: Liked too. I can also do your bodyguard or secret cutthroat.
Pedro: Good of.

At home with the “time machine”…

ND: Is that your?
Kip: Do not touch that is#what uncle’s thunder can.
ND: Use to fuck what?
Kip: That time a machine. We buy on the net. It is of great use you do
not understand of.
ND: Did you try?
Kip: Have no.

Kip: Do you get ready Etc.
ND: I forgot to put the crystal. Liked to open. Close!Is a garbage
don’t be useful.
Rico: I can tell him.

At the Sale Mart…

Rico: It is 12 of that I say not is 24 of. You does not understand
everything. Put to return. You know that we can not afford to buy this
of. You think our money is a tree to ascend long of. Put to return.
Give you or your younger brother takes pack urine slice.

The National FFA Organizes….

ND: That thing is to bleaches the powder.
Judge: Right.
ND: This is a milk to added the onions.
Judge: Right.

Pedro: They are very good besides a part. That nipple That is the 5
nipple. That is it of life.
Judge: Very good.

Back at school:

Summer: Please choose the. Ladies please choose the.
Pedro: Your do not feel very hot.
ND: Not.
Pedro: I felt that they ar ike to open the warm air.
ND: I feel very good.
Pedro: You do not feel that Did your head want to burn.
ND: Have no.
Pedro: I want to go home the take a rest.
ND: See again.
Don: Please choose the.
ND: I can’t choose hers.
Don: That you choose who.
ND: I want to choose the shell gets the mulberry. You think. Soup. Can
give me a.

Back at Big J’s….

Kip: I can take to return to my money when.
Rico: I want to write them the mail the request funds. Doing not think
can return to the past. At last science technique had with us.
Kip: I know.
Rico: You should find a person throwin.
Kip: I thered has been.
Rico: Yes she call what to.
Kip: Road the square reaches (AKA LaFawnduh)
Rico: Road does the square reach? She fucks what.
Kip: I think that we should pend a holiday together. Take a trip what.
Rico: Work. Your new product howed is investigative#
Kip: yes.
Rico: You know that does the underneath should what.
Kip: Basic top is.
Rico: You do not sell to order a lot of time.
Kip: Because she what also does not need.

At Pedro’s house…

ND: I drew the single piece in publicity is for you.
Pedro: Thank.
ND: You how wear the hat.
Pedro: At the time that my head is very hot. I drank the some ice
water. But did not use hence I steeped a. Suddenly I be aware of is my
hair to. Hence I went to the kitchen to shave the hair. I do not want
to show other people.
ND: I know your meaning.

Surveying the wigs…

Deb: There is a lot of choices.
ND: That is quite good look like a basinet.
Deb: You say to that is quite good.
ND: Sorry.
Deb: I feel it that in keeping with your shell gets.
Pedro: Thank.

At school…

Pedro: Please choose the shell get (Vote for Pedro)
ND: Please choose the shell get.
Pedro: Please choose me.

Bully: Borrow my USDs 5.
Maroon kid: I have no.
Bully: I will return to yours.
MK: Stop…Give you.
ND: How is your neck.
MK: Very painful.
ND: Too what a mess. The shell gets will let you get the.

Bully: The bicycle of lending you uses me.
MK: Not line.
Bully: Hurry I give you the office.
MK: Not.

Rico canvasses the neighborhood…

Rico: You is with west.
Trisha: yes.
Rico: Remember me I your mother’s friend. I am Napoleon's uncle thunder gram.
Trisha: Yes.
Rico: Can you help me. Give your mother this. Say with her the free
oming out to sit.
Trisha: Good of.
Rico: If you want the demand call me. Wish you pleased!

Napoleon throws a grapefruit at Rico’s car…

Rico: What Napoleon do you want to fuck.
ND: Because you the person of#the school says that.
Rico: Clean my car right away.
ND: Release me.

The principal chews Pedro out over the pinata incident…

Principal: Hearing the shell gets I do not know what tradition you
Mexico is But we have here a thing be called the respect. Beat the
face symbolized a kind. This to you, to I with to whole school .

Deb: Did they cancel your ualifications#
Pedro: have no They just did not et me send the handbill.
Deb: Can you also attend the election.
Pedro: Yes. I am not understand. They say must not beat the doll. She
symbolizes the true person. But we have been such in Mexico.
Deb: Your hair is very beautiful today#
Pedro: thank
Deb: Like. Seeing you tomorrow the shell gets.

At home…

ND: You is who
Lafawnduh: I am a road the square reaches.
ND: You fuck what here.
Lafawnduh: I am waiting the (two Chinese characters) You are how so many sweat.
ND: I just now at practice.
Lafawnduh: Practice what.
ND: Dance step.
Lafawnduh: So you like the dancing.
Kip: Liked abou the square reaches.
Lafawnduh: Certainly.
Kip: We occupy to want to be out. Tell the thunder gram need not wait me.
Lafawnduh: Giving you you may like. My cousin does of. I go to the
outside waits for you dear. See again Napoleon.
Kip: Road it is biggest life that square reach. She is I hearts like
one colleague. I believe you to find out your lover soon. See again.
ND: See again.

At glamour shots…

Deb: This is all right.
Rico: I want to be softer with 1:00 of.
Deb: The slip of the like this very soft pink. You can use its anything.
Rico: Can.
Deb: Let me onlying think.
Rico: Know wear the You have the magic power very much Like this very
soft face Should have the very soft body to the.
Deb: Thunder can Sir.
Rico: My friend calls with the#customer my thunder.
Deb: You is fucking what.
Rico: Do not talk. Napoleon says that will be interest perhaps.
Deb: Napoleon.
Rico: Do not ask You after readying to call me.

Deb calls….

ND: Feed.
Deb: Napoleon.
ND: Yes you is who.
Deb: I am to wear the. I want to tell you I feel you are.
ND: You is saying what.
Deb: Do not tell a lie. Thunder can what how you see me. I am always
is to the oneself. If you really think so you how not eat by.

ND: The grandmother let you going home hurriedly.
Rico: She how did not tell me.
ND: She does not want to let you knowing Because you mess up everybody’s life.
Rico: I where also do not go to.
ND: Leave my house.
Rico: This is a free nation. I would like to how how.
ND: You do not walk gain I call police.
Rico: Call.
ND: The day of my meeting.

So he calls Pedro….

ND: The shell gets. How are you.
Pedro: quite good.
ND: Wear just now the make phone call to me She now is affirmative to
hate me very. My uncle is an idiot.
Pedro: Do you want to send what to her.
ND: Do not know#only that she likes. Will you still lectur continously tomorrow.
Pedro: Yes.
ND: You know that do you want me to say what.
Pedro: Your opinion.
ND: Say that their dream will become the actuality. They will choose
yours. Seeing you tomorrow the shell gets.

Rico: You think you at fuck what. (after hitting the video camera with
a football)

At Rex’s house wit Starla…

Rico: You say of to Here we have John the thunder with card many. Do
you want to read your testimony.
Starla: After using up your product My breast become very big. Read
this let me feeling very unwell.
Rico: This is unimportant. Do I make you feeling comfortable. You will
become like this.

Enter Rex….

Rex: Come over the bad egg!

The election speeches….

Summer: I did not think and would stand here. I think that successful
chairman Because I will two set cola machine I will repair room at the
same time. Aught I miss my meeting the chairman of the Follow I
together. You will always feel the concern of the. Choose the.

Principal: Let as now we dedicate her specialty drama.

Lady-in-the wings: If your lecture is not so good. But you can be then
still for performing time.
Pedro: Save phrased.
LITW: Perform. After lecturing want performing shell get.
ND: What performs. How no one tells us.

Pedro: Anyway I also do not want to make the.
ND: The shell gets to come after felling walk. Elephant I am similar.
Pedro: I have no what can say of.

Pedro: You are good. I have no a lot of wordses to say But I thinks
that the mulberry that you hope Come to hall that guard our school
Bring the good luck for us. We made a lot of plans. The absolute being
will bless us. If you choose me The dream that yo is all wills comes
true. Thank.

Principal: Hope below you like.

Pedro’s cake inscription: The congratulation win an election the.

ND: I bought you a very tasty perch. Want to follow me to play together.


(Unfortunately there are no subtitles for the post-credit wedding scene.)

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