Monday, June 30, 2008

Fab & Gunner in BUTU DAY

          GUNNER sits on a ratty couch drinking a Tab and scratching himself.  FAB runs in, startling GUNNER in the process.

FAB – Hot damn!  It’s Butu Day.  And bought fucking time, too!

GUNNER – It’s WHAT day?

FAB – Butu Day.  Hope you brought plenty of trail mix, my skillet.

GUNNER – Trail mix??  What are you talking about?

FAB – Butu Day!  That’s what I’m talking about!  It’s what everybody’s been talking about!  Look!  Out the window!  Everybody’s out, milling around, getting ready for the Butu celebration!

GUNNER – What the fuck?  You lost me.

FAB – Wait.

          FAB leans out the window and shouts.

FAB – Oh, boy!

BOY – Yes, sir?

FAB – What day is it?

BOY – Why, it’s Butu Day, sir!

          FAB takes money from his pocket.

FAB – (tossing money out the window) Here!  Take this crumpled-up Benjamin and buy me the finest, most expensive salmon pasta and the driest organic almonds the corner store has to offer.  As much as that Benjamin will get you.  And bring it back here for an extra special tip!

BOY – Yes, sir!

          The BOY runs off.

GUNNER – What the fuck are you throwing that kind of money at some random kid for?  You can’t afford that!  We got rent!

FAB – But it’s Butu Day!

GUNNER – And organic almonds and salmon salad?  I mean, what is this shit? 

FAB – (pinching GUNNER’s cheeks) Oh, looks like somebody’s going to get a visit from the vengeful Butu Fairy for being grumpy.

GUNNER – Stop pinching my cheeks and tell me what this Butu shit is about before I start kicking nuts.

FAB – Listen, I know you don’t really believe in organized religion . .

GUNNER – So far, I’ve seen nothing organized about Butu Day.  Trail mix and pasta?  Please.  Sounds like “A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.”  Only thing missing is a fucking ping-pong table.

FAB – Make fun of it all you want, but I’m trying to have a positive, meaningful Butu Day and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bad mouth my belief system.

GUNNER – Fuck it.  You know what?  I’m going to a dollar movie and let you keep this sick charade to yourself.

FAB – Fine!

          GUNNER starts to leave.

FAB – Wait!  Before you go . .

GUNNER – Yeah?

FAB – Can you stick this plunger up my ass?

GUNNER – What?  You mean, that’s part of Butu Day, too?

FAB – Ummm, yeah.

          A cry is hear from below.  It’s the BOY.

BOY – Sir?  Sir?

          FAB and GUNNER run to the window.

BOY – They were all out of salmon pasta salad, so I got you some potato salad instead.

FAB – (to GUNNER) Uh-oh. I forgot to put out the hobo blood!  Gunner, could you . . ?

GUNNER - Oh, why not?

          GUNNER walks over to the closet, picks up a bucket of hobo blood and dumps it out the window and onto the BOY.

GUNNER – Now, where’s the plunger?

          They both laugh for a long, long, long, long, long time as the BOY stands crying below. 
BOY - (crying up at the window) I thought you were going to give me a tip.

GUNNER - Blood is your tip.

FAB – Oh, Gunner.  Happy Butu Day!

          The crying and laughing lasts for an uncomfortably long time.





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