Original subtitles

(eerie ambient music)

(thudding)

(breathing heavily)

(muffled chattering)

- [Nurse] So, on a scale of one to 10,

10 being the strongest, how are we doing on the nausea?

- I'd say about, about an 11.

- [Nurse] You have any ringing in your ears?

(high-pitched ringing)

- Hm?

- [Nurse] Any ringing or, or buzzing of the ears?

- You sound like you're underwater.

- [Nurse] And any tingling sensations

in your fingertips or toes?

(exhales)

- In my mouth.

- [Nurse] You have tingling in your mouth?

- In my mouth.

- [Nurse] Interesting.

You mind if I take a peek?

(light buzzes)

(cart clatters)

(exhales)

(tray clatters)

(heavy electronic music)

(breathes heavily)

- I bet you two wish you were in Group A, huh?

(vomits)

(spits)

(heavy electronic music)

- Sorry it didn't work out.

- You said $1750.

- It's $1750 if you do all eight days.

It's a new policy.

- New policy?

Since when?

I was countin' on that scratch, man.

- Sorry, kid.

They're shaking things up in Carpetland again.

The whole department's getting the squeeze.

It's not like the glory days at CLR.

- You know what?

Fuck Naltech!

Fuck this office!

Fuck you!

(door bursts open)

Fuck!

(heavy electronic music)

You got a smoke?

(distant sirens wail)

- Yeah, sure.

I guess we both got the boot, huh?

(lighter flicks)

(sighs)

I've been waiting 30 minutes for the 151.

Fuckin' blows.

- 151 doesn't run on Sundays.

- It's Sunday?

(heavy electronic music)

You wanna come home with me?

You know, Sunday dinner.

Mom always goes big.

I'll blow you too.

After dinner.

(heavy electronic music)

(gulping)

(exhales)

(belches)

(sighs)

- Please don't look at me.

- I'm not.

- [Bill] Oh, Jesus Christ.

This sucks.

- What's wrong with your hair?

- What do you mean?

- It's all shaved and stuff.

- Hm.

Don't worry about it.

- I like his hair.

What?

I do.

(silverware clinking)

- What's your name again?

- Bill.

- Do you hate me, Bill?

- Nope.

- Good.

- Oh, no.

Come on.

No, no, no, no!

Fuck! (hand pounds table)

- Hit him!

Hit him!

Stomp him!

Come on!

Oh, that's lousy!

- Every year, man.

I'm tellin' you-

- I'm gonna go downstairs and shower in a few minutes.

Why don't you come meet me?

- [Bobby] It's fuckin' impossible.

It's impossible.

- Do you like football?

(Bobby growls)

- [Bobby] They don't draft well.

- No.

- [Bobby] Can't play defense, they don't draft,

they don't scheme.

(heavy electronic music)

- Run!

Run, you nigger!

Run!

- Go, go, go! - Run, yeah!

(laughs)

- There it is!

- Woo!

(heavy electronic music)

- [Bobby] Ah!

That was awesome.

Did you see that shit?

That was awesome!

- So you really like my hair?

Or are you just making conversation?

- [Bill] Oh, yeah!

(light pop rock music)

- Come on.

Dance with me.

♪ Met you on a springtime day ♪

♪ You were mindin' your life ♪

- Yeah?

♪ And I was mindin' mine, too ♪

- Watch this.

♪ I had a strange sensation ♪

♪ And, darlin' that's when I knew ♪

♪ That it's sad to belong to someone else ♪

♪ When the right one comes along ♪

♪ Yes, it's sad ♪

- I'm really glad you came to dinner.

♪ When the right one comes along ♪

♪ Oh, I wake up in the night ♪

♪ And I reached beside me ♪

♪ Hopin' you will be there ♪

- Mom!

(gasps) (record scratches)

What the fuck are you doing?

Why?

God damn it!

I hate you!

- I hate you!

- What the fuck is goin' on?

(breathes heavily)

- He was taking advantage of me.

(exhales)

- She's tellin' stories, Bill.

That's the sauce talkin'.

- Get the fuck out of my house, pervert.

Get out!

(beer can clatters)

- Oh, I'll kill him, Daddy.

- Get him!

(heavy electronic music)

(screams)

(grunts)

- Where you gonna go, motherfucker?

You little pervert punk!

- Come at me, you fuckin' cocksucker!

(dishes clattering)

- [Bill] Oh, shit!

(gasps)

- My food!

(glass shatters)

- No!

My window!

You asshole!

You smashed my bay window!

He smashed our bay window!

- Let's get him.

- No, wait, wait, wait, wait.

Now watch the glass, Bobber.

(fire blazes) (gasping)

Call the cops!

Go on, call the cops!

(heavy electronic music)

(birds chirping)

- Oh, crud.

(boys laughing)

- Nice save, cum-catcher.

- Yeah, too bad Coach doesn't have a bukkake team,

retard, you could probably get a full-ride.

- Yeah, you could major in suckin' dick.

(boys laughing)

- No, leave it!

It's a good look for you.

- Yeah, it gets me hard.

All that goo everywhere.

(moans)

Are you gonna eat that?

'Cause my dick is starving.

He didn't get enough calories at breakfast this morning.

(boys laughs)

(dramatic music)

Ah, fuck!

(spits)

Where'd you get this dumb fuckin' sandwich, retard?

- You know it's a loser-ass sandwich, D.

There's just plain white paper on the motherfucker.

- Dude, tell me I didn't get some

of this shit on my tracksuit.

- Oh, Coach would kill you, Derrick.

(sighs)

- I swear to God, if any of this toxic waste

gets on my tracksuit,

I'm gonna track down the Mexican who made it

and fucking kill his family!

God, fuck!

Let's fucking go.

- God damn it!

One of these motherfuckers shit all over the bedding.

Now they're all covered.

Patty!

- Yes, Mister Hanley?

- Get a rag and some soapy water and clean this up.

These fuckers gotta be show quality if we're gonna move 'em

up to the front window.

- Like hand soap from the bathroom?

- No, get some fuckin' shampoo!

We need 'em to shine!

Come on, move your ass!

(distant sirens wails)

(breathes heavily)

(slurps)

(liquid splattering)

(heavy electronic music)

- I'm gonna fuck you so hard when we get back to Brando's.

(laughs)

- Hey, look!

I think retard's jealous!

(laughs)

- What are you looking at, you fucking dog?

(all barking)

(laughing)

(basketball bounces)

(insects buzz)

(coughing)

(grunts)

- Oh, boy.

That ground chuck has a real kick to it.

Did you do something different tonight?

- Take a sip of water, Norm.

- Oh.

Ahh.

That's a-spicy.

(hands thump)

- I don't know what you're talking about.

- You didn't spice it up a little bit?

- It's just a little cumin.

No more than the recipe calls for.

- Mom, what's cumin again?

- Honey, let's not do this tonight.

Just eat your salad, please.

Hey, um, shells are edible.

- Mm.

- Anybody tried their shell yet?

And why are you not eating?

Something happen at school?

- Mom, why are you doing this?

Why are you trying to pry, okay?

It's, like, pry, pry, pry with you.

- No one's prying, Kev.

Your mom just asked you a question.

- You need to take it down a notch.

You're spazzing.

- Dad!

- Patty, cool it.

- So, how was school today?

- Oh, my God.

Is it always gonna be an inquisition?

What did you do today?

Hmm?

- You better tame that tone, mister.

- I'm done.

May I be excused, please?

- No, you may not.

You're gonna sit there with all of us,

eat your taco salad and have dessert.

I got a chocolate cake.

- Oh. (chuckles)

- Hey, Mom, can I go see a rock show with Sissy

and Karen on Friday?

- Sissy and Karen?

- Hm-hm.

- That's a blast from the past.

I haven't heard you talk about them since you dropped out

of junior college.

- What's the group?

- Oh, they're this really cool group from New York City.

They're, um, really smart and stuff.

The music is almost educational.

- What's the name of the group?

- The Alliance.

- Oh, I don't know.

That, that sounds pretty militant.

The Alliance?

- I don't like the sound of this New York militia music.

- Come on, I never get to do anything fun!

(fork clatters)

- Hey, you need to take it down a notch.

- Shut the hell up, Kev!

- Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Watch the language.

All right?

Now, rock concerts are bad news.

Plus, we don't want you around all those strobe lights.

- That's true.

- There's not gonna be any strobe lights.

- Hey, here's an idea.

Why don't you invite Sissy and Karen over Friday night and

have a slumber party like old times.

We can play Party Farm.

Dad can whip up some homemade ice cream.

- Hm-hm.

- No one wants to play that baby stuff anymore, Mom.

I'm 20 years old.

- Now who's spazzing?

- Kevin, shut the eff up!

- Okay, you really need to take it down a notch.

(high-pitched screaming)

(punk rock music)

♪ Try to see me as I age ♪

♪ Things up there with silent rage ♪

♪ Disgusted with this human race ♪

♪ Slightly narrowed in a daze ♪

♪ Cancer that controls your mind ♪

♪ The cancer that consumes mankind ♪

♪ In a world so full of hate ♪

♪ Still it's just to procreate ♪

♪ No one listens ♪

♪ No one will ♪

♪ And wastes, you aren't as civilized ♪

♪ No match ♪

♪ No conviction in their eyes ♪

♪ Fanatical religious right ♪

♪ Pray with you because you're white ♪

♪ Pro-white virgin, now or never ♪

♪ Hold your breath, hold your last breathe ♪

(breathes heavily)

♪ See behind, behind the crossing ♪

(breathing heavily)

♪ Get lost you hypocrite ♪

♪ We've had enough of your bullshit ♪

(breathing heavily)

(Polaroid whirs)

♪ No conviction in their eyes ♪

♪ No ♪

(breathing heavily)

- Jesus Christ, lady.

It's a check, not a $100 bill.

- May I see a second form of I.D.?

- No, fuck you.

Don't be a cunt.

- What did you just say?

- You heard me the first time.

You're just not used to anybody challenging

your fuckin' psychological warfare.

Now get my cash before I have you fired for discrimination.

(heavy electronic music)

(dogs barking)

- Are you trying to buy some drugs?

(bang on door)

- Damn, this white boy all business.

- Yo, get away from my fuckin' door.

Hey, keep these fuckin' kids away from my door!

(door closes)

(sighs)

So my man, what you need?

- Freestyle it.

(distant thudding)

- [Man] Don't do that shit!

(muffled yelling)

- Oh, check this shit out.

Some wigger kid offloaded all this shit on me

for a pound of schwag.

Any of these motherfuckers worth anything?

- Yeah, this Neumann here.

You hit the jackpot.

- Shit, man, make me an offer.

It's priced to scoot.

- Okay, cool.

Give me a week.

I gotta dump this shit.

- All right.

Well, shit, you wanna stick around?

Smoke a joint?

- I can't.

It fucks with my motivation.

(light electronic music)

Are you fucking kidding me?

(door chime rings)

- I think I'm in love.

Would you look at this clam?

(grunts)

Man, I'm glad that bush making a comeback.

Shit, it's about fuckin' time.

You might want to check out page 69.

- I think you'll be interested in page 13.

- My man.

You want a hot dog?

- No.

Let me get a, let me get two packs of Royals.

- Royals?

Don't sweat, man.

What the fuck I care?

(door chime rings)

Man, didn't I tell you not to fucking come in here again?

Huh?

Come on.

Motherfucker!

(door chime rings)

(heavy electronic music)

(distant car alarm wailing)

(toy gun firing)

(light electronic music)

(heavy electronic music)

(police radio chattering)

(lighter flicks)

(tires screeching)

(tires screeching)

(door chime rings)

(cleaning supplies clatter)

(heavy electronic music)

(door opening)

(tires screech)

- You seen anyone suspicious running around back here?

(police radio chattering)

You see this creep,

dial the number at the bottom of the flyer.

(police siren chirps)

- I knew I recognized you.

You were in my Music Appreciation course at the J.C.

before I quit.

- Yeah?

(lighter flicks)

- Professor Babcock threw a stapler at you.

- Okay, yeah.

- Your hair was longer then.

Like this.

But other than that, you look the same.

- You look the same too.

- Thanks.

- It's not really a compliment.

Where do you work, the ice cream shop?

(sighs)

- I wish.

The Pet Zone next door.

- So what are you doin' out here?

What, are you on break or somethin'?

- Mister Hanley just let me go.

- What, like you got fired?

- Well, Michigan's raising the minimum wage,

so he's gonna go back to cleaning the animal cages himself

until the economy gets back on its feet.

- Jesus Christ, that's what he fuckin' told you?

- Uh-huh.

- So, I'm guessing that's not chocolate chip on your smock.

(laughs)

- You're funny.

- Look, you got someplace around here we can go?

- Mm hm.

(door clicking)

(sighs)

(lighter flicks)

You can't smoke in here.

My dad's allergic.

(inhales)

- Fuck your dad.

Is that your mom?

- Yeah.

- Yeah.

What, is she a bull dyke?

- What do you mean?

- I mean, does she eat pussy?

You see, the haircut gives it away.

It makes her look like a real pro muff-diver.

(inhales)

Is that your brother?

- Yeah, that's Kevin.

- Oh.

He looks like a faggot.

- Well, he's not homosexual.

- Yeah, I'm sure he just looks queer.

You the oldest?

- Yeah.

Kevin's adopted.

- No shit?

Imagine that.

The old barren bull dyke adopting a little fag kid

just doing her part for society and shit.

- Come on.

(light electronic music)

You want something to drink?

- Sure, what do you got?

- Water, ice tea, cherry juice box-

- That's a pretty weak-ass selection.

How 'bout a couple of beers?

- Sorry, Dad's allergic.

- To cigarette smoke and alcohol?

- Yeah.

- Jesus fuckin' Christ.

How does he cope?

- What do you mean?

- I mean, how does he cope in this loser fuckin' family

without some kind of vice?

- What's a vice again?

- You know, I can't figure you out.

You got shit for brains and zero personality,

but you lose those glasses and that shit-peppered smock,

hell, I could probably get a hard.

You know I'm fuckin' with you, right?

(slurps)

Take off your glasses.

Let your hair down.

Shake it out.

Now take off that stupid fuckin' smock.

(light electronic music)

Why did you bring me to your house?

- I don't know.

- Bullshit.

I think you know exactly why you brought me here.

You got a boyfriend?

- No.

- Girlfriend?

- No.

- I don't give a shit if you suck pussy like your mom.

I got a thing for dyke bitches.

- No, I'm not homosexual.

(chuckles)

- You know I'm still fuckin' with you, right?

(chuckles)

- You need to take it down a notch.

- What is that supposed to mean?

(chuckles)

Look, I owe you one.

You name it.

Deal?

Think about it.

(door opens)

- [Connie] Patty?

- That's my mom.

- I could use your help with the grocery bags, please.

Oh, my.

(coughing)

- Mm.

That is fuckin' delicious, Connie.

Thank you.

I was half starved.

- Dad, he just- you're gonna let him get away

with that F-bomb?

(sneezes)

- Quiet, Kev.

- Yeah.

Quiet, Kev.

- Shut up, retard.

- That's enough, Kevin.

- What do you call this again?

- Chicken cordon bleu.

- It's fantastic.

- Well, it was frozen.

It's not like she made it herself, so-

- Tame that tone, Kev.

You're on thin ice!

- Kevin, you're at an eight, and you need

to be at about a three.

I'm sorry.

He's usually not so aggressive.

- It's fine.

It's fine.

I'm just not used to cooking of this caliber.

You see, in Africa our rations are very meager.

- Africa?

- My parents are missionaries.

We've, uh, spent the last three years building churches

in Tanzania.

- Oh, my.

- If you survived on a diet of ugali and, uh, sweet potatoes

for three years, you'd understand

why I'm so ecstatic about your mom's cordon bleu.

- What's ugali?

- Don't worry about it.

(sneezes)

- So what's with the haircut?

- Stop prying.

- Stop frothing.

- Another word and you both can forget about dessert.

- You know, there's no dessert in Tanzania.

- You know, I've always dreamed of doing missionary work.

Uh, seeing the world or really making a difference.

- Well, you know, nothing's, uh, nothing's stopping you

from enlisting on Team Jesus, Norm.

In fact, I'm rounding up a fresh batch of apostles

as we speak.

- Oh, well, uh, uh, (chuckles)

I was thinking more down the line, you know, after I retire.

- It's good to have a purpose.

- But if there's any other way we can help-

- Actually, um, I'm in need of a host family for the week.

- I beg your pardon?

- He's looking for somewhere to stay, Norm.

- Oh!

- You see, when we moved to Tanzania, my parents,

they sold the house.

They donated the money to the church.

Our, uh, regular host family's out of town,

so I've been sleeping on the couch in the church

for the past two nights.

- He can stay in Kevin's room on the top bunk.

- No frickin' way!

- Take it down a notch, Kev.

What do you think?

(sneezes)

- Yeah, I have no problem with it.

I'm happy to help.

(sniffs)

(fork clatters)

- This blows!

Don't I get a say?

- What's with all the hostility, rager?

- I'm not "raging."

I just don't want to bunk

with some creep with a half-shaved head, okay?

- That's it.

You're grounded.

- Grounded? - Grounded with no pudding.

- Connie, it's fine, really.

I know what's wrong with Kev.

- You do?

- Sure.

It's obvious.

- Hey, new guy, do me a favor, don't call me Kev.

You've been here, like, five minutes.

- Zip it, mister, right now.

- Look, I don't mean to be forward, but, um,

I noticed that there wasn't any family prayer prior

to the meal.

Is that common?

- Well, yeah, I guess.

- Okay, well, would you mind if I, uh,

led us in a, a prayer just a, just a simple-

- Uh, of course not.

Thank you.

We'd be honored.

- Sure.

Great.

All right, everybody, grab hands.

Grab hands, okay?

- Kevin.

(sighs)

- Dear Lord, we thank you for this bountiful

and nourishing meal on the table before us.

May it strengthen and refresh our earth bodies

so that we may follow your example for yet another day.

Please bless Connie, who has prepared this feast

with loving hands, as well as her life partner,

Norman, who invites you into his heart and hopes

to one day be called to Tanzania

where he can make a difference.

And please bless Patty, whose kindness and hospitality

has allowed me into this home

where I can spread your wisdom amongst these souls.

And please, bless and watch over Kevin, who especially needs

your guidance during his rebellious years,

as he continues to lash out and alienate himself

from those around him.

Allow him to grow in grace and knowledge of you,

and guide him in his search for his birth parents,

who must one day hope to see his face,

just as he longs to see theirs.

- Wait, what?

- In Jesus' name, we pray.

- Mom?

- Uh-

- Amen.

(door opens)

(distant yelling)

- Sorry my room is a pig sty.

- Your family gives me a fuckin' migraine.

- I've never seen Kev break down like that.

I feel bad for him.

- Look, it's about time somebody got straight with him.

I mean, Jesus Christ.

When were they gonna fuckin' tell him, on their death beds?

(inhales)

(chuckles)

You want a zinger?

- No, thanks.

I've got my own.

- Oh yeah?

- Mm-hm.

I'm on five different medications.

- Jesus fucking Christ.

- You want to listen to some records?

- Knock yourself out.

- Thanks for including me in your prayer.

I thought that was sweet.

(lighter flicks)

- You actually bought that shit?

- Bought what?

(lighter clinks)

- That church bullshit?

- You mean you told a lie?

- Yeah.

- Why would you lie about Tanzania?

- Fuck Tanzania.

Look, I needed a place to hole up.

Your house is perfect.

- Why is it perfect?

(inhales)

- Because nobody'll look for me here.

- Like those policemen?

- Yeah.

- Well, why were they looking for you?

- Because I like to burn shit.

(lighter clinks)

- You wouldn't burn our house down, would you?

- No.

Fuck that.

Come on, I wouldn't pull any weak shit like that.

(exhales)

- Hey, remember when you said that you owed me one?

- Yeah, 'cause it was, like, an hour ago.

- Well, I know what I want.

- All right, hit me.

- I want you to take me to The Alliance concert

on Friday night.

- You would.

Bunch of fuckin' posers.

- Yeah, but PSYOPS is opening for them,

and they're my favorite band.

- There is no fucking way PSYOPS would play a show

with a band like The Alliance.

(chuckles)

- No, it's true!

Some kid was handing out flyers downtown a few days ago.

- What the fuck is this?

How the fuck do you know about PSYOPS?

- Well, my friends Sissy and Karen turned me onto them.

I've got all their seven inches, all their cassettes.

Every one.

- No, you don't.

- Look!

I even had to make a dub of "Dinner in America"

because my boombox chewed up the original.

♪ Mom and Dad ♪

♪ Conversations that make you sad ♪

♪ A lot of talking and endless dread ♪

♪ Just shove it in and off to bed ♪

- Oh, I love John Q.

He's my favorite of my favorites!

- Knock it off.

Knock it off.

You're getting yourself all worked up.

- You know, John Q wears a ski mask when they play.

- Yeah, everybody fuckin' knows that.

Will you knock it off?

Stop flailing around!

- I think it's so cool.

It's like it's top secret.

(breathes heavily)

You wanna know my secret?

- No.

- Oh, come on.

It's a good one.

- I don't give a shit.

- I write John Q love letters.

- What the fuck are you talking about?

- Well, they're more like poems.

Love poems.

♪ Dinnertime ♪

♪ Dinner in America ♪

I write him one every week.

Oh, my God.

I can't believe I just told you that.

Is that weird?

Do you think I'm weird?

(heavy rock music)

- Where's your fuckin' bathroom?

(breathes heavily)

(percussive music)

(knocking on door)

- [Patty] Simon?

Are you doing a number two?

Because, um, if you need some extra toilet tissues,

I can grab some for you from the closet in the hall.

(breathes heavily)

(police radio chattering)

- Which one of you cunts set this up?

- He did.

- Fuckin'-

- [Lou] Hey, hey, you pricks!

- Get the fuck off me, Simon!

- I'm about to call the cops.

- Shove it up your ass, Lou!

You're always about to call the fuckin' cops.

- I'm serious!

You order something or take a fuckin' hike!

- Then I demand a cup of coffee!

- Coffee?

Does this look like a men's shelter?

You order something off the dinner menu!

- Jesus fucking Christ, Lou!

Just get the coffee!

Lady, you mind your own fuckin' business,

and you and me, we're gonna get along fine.

The Alliance?

You assholes want to play eyeliner punk

for a bunch of 14-year-old girls?

- Fuck, man.

Someone's gotta call the shots when you're MIA.

- MIA?

How about gettin' scratch for our next record, Seth?

Feel free to chip in at any point.

- So you got the money?

- I don't wanna fuckin' talk about it.

- You junkie fuck!

You spent it all on dope, huh?

- You better reel him the fuck in.

- What a load of shit!

- What a load of shit?

You're a load of shit, Morgan!

In the last four months, you've kicked in, what, 50 bucks

and that piece of shit PA head?

- Fuck you!

That PA is 300 watts.

- Fuck you!

Fuck your 300 watts, okay?

Fuck all of you!

I'm the one floating this whole operation.

Do you know how much blood I need to give

to the fuckin' vampires at the lab just

to get our masters out of this hostage situation?

Everyone just calm the fuck down.

- No, why don't you calm the fuck down?

- Yeah?

- We still gotta do the jackets, press the fuckin' vinyl.

That's another three grand.

- Look, Eddie Sorvino called me last week, 'kay?

Monty played him the Majestic Twelve session,

and he fucking flipped.

- That's how this whole thing started.

- Shut the fuck up, Morgan!

- He wants us to play this gig with The Alliance, okay?

See if we're a good fit, feel us out.

If the band likes us, we're in for the last leg of the tour.

- "If the band likes us?"

- Plus he said he'd cover our dupes

and get us square with Monty.

- Sorvino knows we're good.

He thinks we can go places.

- Go places?

We're not fuckin' sailors.

We're a punk rock band.

- Hey, asshole!

This could be our big fucking break, okay?

- Our big break?

What the fuck are you talking about?

Look, you guys want to play puppet show

on Eddie Sorvino's little circus tour,

go right ahead, but leave me the fuck out of it.

- How about we vote on it?

- It's not a democracy.

- I vote we play the fucking show.

- Me too.

- What about you, Donovan?

- Yeah, Donnie.

What about you?

- Fucking Christ, I thought we went over this?

- What's with you?

- Quaaludes.

(laughs)

- That's a good boy.

You don't want to play to a sea of cellphones, do ya?

Bunch of pussies doing the stand and stare.

That's not what music is, is it?

No.

God damn it, lady!

Go back to your shrimp basket,

mind your own fuckin' business!

- That's it!

All you punks out!

Now!

Move!

Take the scarecrow with ya.

- So why the fuck did you guys cancel

the secret show on Friday?

- 'Cause we want to save your juice for The Alliance gig.

- Stop talking about it like it's fuckin' happenin'.

It's making me nauseous.

You assholes get the show back on or we're fuckin' done!

I'll call you Friday at noon.

- Yo, the heat came by the lockout again.

- They got a real hard-on for you, man.

- Yeah?

And what the fuck did you tell them, Morgan?

- Same old, same old, that we only know you as John Q.

- We said you quit, but I don't think they bought it.

- You're in some deep shit, Simon.

- Check this out.

They upped the reward.

(laughs)

- 5000 bucks?

Damn!

- They said you assaulted some lady.

Tried to burn her house down?

- That's fuckin' bullshit.

- They've been using this crummy sketch for two years.

At least they don't have your real name.

- Yeah, except now they're on to me.

- How do you know?

- Because there was an unmarked squad car outside

one of my crash pads, that's how I know,

which means somebody fucking narced.

- Don't look at me!

- I am lookin' at you.

- Hey, hey.

Cool it, man.

He didn't say shit!

- Man, how the fuck do you know?

I don't fuckin' trust anybody right now!

- Come on.

Don't be paranoid.

You need a new place to crash?

- Not with you assholes.

- You want the keys to the van then?

- No.

I'm set.

- You're sure?

- Man, you wouldn't believe me even if I told you.

(light electronic music)

(beer can opens)

(screaming)

(grunts)

Fucking cool it, rager!

Fuck!

- You ruined everything!

- That's it.

Calm down!

Calm down or I'm gonna fuckin' pop you!

- Get off me!

- You wasted my fucking tall boy.

- I hate you!

(grunts)

- You know, you've got it pretty fuckin' good here

for an adopted kid, so you better quit your bitchin'.

Look at that bunkbed.

It's fuckin' tits.

You got a keyboard.

And what the fuck are those?

Hmm?

Gerbils?

- Guinea pigs, asshole!

- Whatever.

You know, your fuckin' problem isn't

that you're adopted, it's that you're uptight.

I mean, fuck, kid, what, do you need some weed or somethin'?

(grunts)

- You mean marijuana?

(light electronic music)

(coughing)

- You all right?

(coughing)

(laughs)

- How am I supposed to know when that kicks in?

- Let me see those globes.

Oh, yeah.

You're fuckin' pie-eyed, buddy.

- Huh?

- You're baked.

- Right now?

- Yeah.

You know how I can tell?

- How?

- I'm not sensing any hostility comin' off a you.

- That's weird.

Right?

- M-hm.

Look, do you want a little advice?

- Sure.

- You should be smokin' a gram of that shit every day.

- Won't I get hooked?

- Hopefully.

(laughs)

- Look, I'mma set you up with a quarter,

and then I'm gonna teach ya how

to roll a nice, tight bomber.

- Thanks.

Hey, did you turn the crickets up?

(chuckles)

- Don't worry about the crickets.

- Yeah, you know, I think I'm stoned.

- Yeah, you're really fuckin' stoned.

That shit burned out a minute ago

and you're still taking hits off of it.

(footsteps thudding)

Hey.

- Hey.

- Where is everybody?

- Dad's at the office, Mom took Kevin to high school.

- Hm.

(inhales)

You got any coffee left?

- It's cold.

I'm not supposed to have anything turned on

when I'm alone at the house.

- What are you doin'?

- I am looking for my purpose.

- Your purpose?

- Mom says I need to find my purpose now that I lost my job

at The Pet Zone.

Look, she circled all the good ones.

- Let me see that.

Dishwasher?

That's a shit job.

- Yeah, that's what I said, but then Dad said that maybe I

could work my way up to the prep table.

- Oh, my God.

That's so fuckin' bleak, it's makin' me lightheaded.

Table washer at the food court in the mall?

God, that coffee taste like shit.

(sighs)

- It's Sanka.

(mug shatters)

- You got any scratch?

- Huh?

(lighter flicks)

- Money?

(scoffs)

- Nope.

Mister Hanley still owes me for two weeks.

- That motherfucker never cut you a check

after he fired you?

- Mm-mm.

(lighter clinks)

- Well, we're gonna pay him a little visit today.

And then afterwards, I'm gonna let you buy me lunch.

- Hey, can we shoot hoops first?

(light electronic music)

(gasping)

Dang!

You're good at basketball!

What do you say we play H-O-R-S-E?

- What do you say we play F-U-C-K instead?

You ever played F-U-C-K before?

- Here's my spot, okay?

- How come you clam up whenever I talk about fuckin'?

You ever make it with a guy?

(basketball bounces)

- Woo!

Your turn.

- All right, how 'bout this?

If I make this shot, then you give me a kiss.

A tongue kiss.

- Okay.

- Yeah?

- Yeah.

(clicks tongue)

What the fuck?

Hey, you got a dead cat here.

- Yeah.

It's been there since Monday.

- So why the fuck don't you bury it or something?

- I don't know.

I've just been, like, watching it.

- Why?

- I don't know.

- That's some creepy shit.

- It is?

- Yeah.

That's like serial killer shit.

- It is?

- Yeah.

- Do you think I'm weird?

- Oh, yeah.

No, you're fuckin' weird.

- Well, is weird cool?

- In your case, no.

- Well, do you think I'm cool?

- I just said no.

- Huh?

- I'm fuckin' with you again.

Let's go!

(light electronic music)

So how much does this hand job owe you?

- Like, 400 bucks.

- What if I told you I could double that in a day?

- How?

- Magic.

- Like, real magic?

- Shit, it's the pigs.

- Well, here comes the 113. - Don't look.

(air brakes hiss)

Go.

Go, come on, come on.

Go!

It's one fuckin' step, come on!

Shit!

I'm gonna run.

- No.

They'll catch you.

Cops are fast.

They parked on the other side of the street.

- What are they doin'?

- Looks like they're eating burritos.

(bus door closes)

- Hey, fuckpie.

You here for the deuce?

- Oh, she's ready to fuck, D.

All hot and bothered.

Just check out her candy-apple cheeks.

(chomps teeth)

- What the fuck?

Hey, this seat-sniffer pervin' on you, retard?

- No, he's my boyfriend.

- That so?

- I'm not her boyfriend.

(laughs)

- Retard's got a boyfriend.

- Apparently, this faggot here.

- Shut the fuck up.

Don't call her a retard.

(laughs)

- Can you believe this faggot?

- Yeah, he's got a faggot mouth on him, too.

- That's an awful lot of faggot talk comin' from two guys

that look like they're made for a Russian circle jerk.

- Oh, you're dissing our tracksuits, faggot?

- Yeah.

I'm dissing your motherfuckin' tracksuits.

(bell rings)

- [Automated Voice] Stop requested.

(grunting)

- That's what I thought, bitch.

All you punk faggots got a lot of lip,

but you can't back it up.

- Hey, come on, D.

We're gonna be late for practice.

(hocking)

(spits)

- I hope he's got a decent cock, retard,

'cause he can't fight worth shit.

- We're still free after practice if you wanna fuck.

(bus door closes)

(heavy electronic music)

- Where are we going?

Slow down!

My legs aren't as long as yours.

(door chime rings)

- I'll give you everything in my pocket if you

let me borrow your truck for an hour.

- Far out, man.

(keys jangle)

Shit, keep her all weekend.

- Toss me that mini bat, too.

(engine revs)

(tires screeching)

- Buckle up!

I drive fuckin' nuts!

- It feels like we're on TV!

- This ain't fuckin' TV!

(tires screeching)

- Why are we at my house?

- Get your Polaroid, a trash bag and meet me out back.

(heavy electronic music)

(grunts)

(groaning)

Twist it up.

Let's go.

What are they doin'?

- Looks like they're warming up.

And stretching.

- Show 'em your tits.

- Huh?

- Lift up your shirt.

- No.

- Just do it.

(whooshing)

- Whoa!

Check it.

(chuckles)

- Dude!

- Oh, my God!

- Hey, hey!

Where the fuck are you douchebags goin'?

- Uh, we'll be right back, Coach.

We gotta take care of something.

- Yeah.

(Derrick laughs)

- They're coming!

- Good.

Lay down on those tackle dummies.

- Why?

- Trust me.

No, on your tummy.

Turn around.

Try to look provocative.

- [Patty] Huh?

(breathing heavily)

- Oh.

- Oh, yeah.

(gate rattles)

- Dude, I told you she was in heat.

- Go.

- Let's double stuff this tard.

- [Derrick] Ah, fuck yeah.

(grunting)

(heavy electronic music)

- Now what?

- Strip 'em.

(lighter flicks)

Dump it right in the middle of this shit fuckin' sandwich.

(gags)

(Polaroid whirs)

- Coach?

- Huh?

- I think the equipment shed's on fire.

- Holy shit.

(Polaroid whirs)

- Hold this.

Wake up, cat fuckers!

Come here.

It's a little memento.

You ever call her a retard again, and this picture's gonna

haunt you for the rest of your fuckin' life.

(breathes heavily)

(laughs)

Catfuckers!

Let's beat it.

(laughs)

Come on!

Let's go!

Woo!

Woo!

(laughs)

(gasping)

(screaming)

- Fucking' punk!

- What in the fuck is going on?

Jesus fuck!

Get up!

Get up!

(yelling)

(laughing)

- Fuck, yeah!

- Fuck those jock assholes!

Oh, my God!

That was just like TV!

- Man, fuck TV!

That was some raw ass shit!

- Simon?

- Yeah?

- Are we going to jail?

- Probably.

(door chimes)

- Welcome to Pet Zone.

How may I assist you today?

- What are you doing here?

- What do you mean?

- Why are you working here?

- Uh, I don't know what you mean.

- Where's your smock?

Why are you putting stickers on the cat food?

- Mister Hanley?

- [Mr. Hanley] Yes?

- Mister Hanley, what, what is she doing here?

You said that you were going back to cleaning out

the cages yourself because Michigan

was raising the minimum wage.

- Look, Patty, you're a nice enough kid and all,

but let's face it, you're a little slow.

- Too slow for what, this crummy ass pet store?

Where's her fuckin' check?

- Rebecca, why don't you, uh, head back

to the grooming station and take your break.

- Uh-uh.

Don't you listen to this geezer.

I want you to stay put.

- It's okay.

- Why do you keep fuckin' lookin' at her?

(sticker gun clicks)

- I am not slow, Mister Hanley, and I know where everything

in this store is better than you!

And especially her!

- Where's the God damn paycheck?

- I told Patty I'd put it in the mail

at the end of the week.

- It is the end of the week!

- I want my motherfucking check!

(both yelling)

(light Hawaiian music)

- You know what you want?

- I'll have the Hawaiian.

- Hawaiian, huh?

- It has a pineapple ring and a slice of ham on top.

- What kind of sauce?

- Hm, I don't know.

- Hey, what kind of sauce comes on the Hawaiian?

- Like, a honey glaze.

- All right, two Hawaiian sandwiches.

- You want some of my Jimbo fries?

- Yeah, all right.

- So, is this, like, a date?

- Hmm?

- Are we on a date?

- No, this is a shitty lunch.

Besides, I thought you were in love with John Q.

- Yeah, but he's not real.

He's just my music boyfriend.

- Well, I'm gonna take you to see PSYOPS tomorrow night.

You're gonna see your music boyfriend.

- Well, is that a date?

- Yeah, that's a date.

- Simon?

You can kiss me now.

It's okay.

I want you to.

(heavy electronic music)

- You can fuck off now.

(Patty laughs)

You're a real good kisser.

(chuckles)

Seriously.

I would not have guessed that.

- Thanks.

(grunts)

I guess all my practice with Kevin really pays off.

- What?

- Well, he's not my real brother.

Duh.

He's adopted.

I'm just fucking with you.

(laughs)

- You need to take it down a notch.

(laughs)

You need to take it down a notch.

And you!

You need to take it down a notch, too.

(laughs)

- So much for job hunting, huh?

- Fuck job hunting.

(chuckles)

I'll drive you around tomorrow in the truck.

- Sweet.

- Hey, you wanna go fuck around?

- Yeah, sure.

- You like Whack-a-Mole?

(light rock music)

♪ Oh baby ♪

♪ Oh man ♪

♪ You're making my crazy, really driving me mad ♪

♪ That's all right with me, it's really no fuss ♪

♪ As long as you're next to me, just the two of us ♪

♪ You're my, my, my, my kind of woman ♪

♪ My, oh my, what a girl ♪

♪ You're my, my, my, my kind of woman ♪

♪ And I'm down on my hands and knees ♪

♪ Begging you please, baby, show me your world ♪

- Pick something out.

(Patty gasps)

- I want him.

- Wait in line.

- Where are you going?

(garage door opens)

I hope Mom's not miffed we missed dinner.

Thursday night's always a big hit.

- [Simon] What's Thursday?

- [Patty] New England clam chowder.

(laughs)

- [Simon] Fucking Christ.

- Hey, Simon?

- Yeah?

- Thanks for, like, the best day ever.

(light electronic music)

I decided on a name for him.

- What?

- Chomby.

(chuckles)

- Chomby.

(door clicking)

(laughs)

You back for seconds, Kev?

- Hm?

- That chowder must've been tits, huh?

- Yo, what happened to your eye?

- Don't worry about it.

- What are you doing?

Why aren't you wearing pants?

- Oh, we should talk.

Things have gotten a little crazy.

Look, everything was okay until Mom and Dad

ate some of Jill's brownies.

- Wait a minute.

Who's Jill?

- Hey!

- Jill.

(chuckles)

- What's she doing here?

- She's shy.

- I'm not wearing pants.

See ya later.

(laughs)

- Why is she not wearing pants?

- Or underwear.

Kev, you sinking the pink?

- Look, Simon, you were totally right, man.

Everything changed for me when I started smoking pot.

(laughs)

(snorts)

- What's the pink?

- Vagina.

- [Chef] So, what we're gonna do is just whisk

it all together, and you want to whisk it together

so that any of the, the cocoa powder

and the cornstarch all get mixed with the granulated-

- Hey, kids.

He's making toffee.

- Dad?

Are you okay?

- Oh, yeah.

- How did the job hunt go?

- Oh, I don't know.

I, I guess we'll see if anyone calls.

- Oh, don't they just hire you if they like you?

- Well, there were multiple candidates.

- Oh, hi, Simon.

What happened to your face?

- I fell down the escalator at the shopping mall.

- Mm.

You should go to the freezer, get the peas,

put them on that eye.

- Yeah, I can't.

Kev's guarding it like a hawk.

That's his turf now.

- Oh.

You know he has a girlfriend?

- Yeah, I do.

Jill.

She's a real peach.

- Look, Mom, Simon's gonna take me to a rock show

on Friday night.

- Oh, we talked about that.

We don't like rock concerts for her because

of the strobe lights.

- There's not gonna be any fuckin' strobe lights, Connie.

You're thinking of a rave.

- What's that?

- It's a bunch of drug addicts, glowsticks,

shit fuckin' music.

- Have you heard of the raves?

- Oh, yeah.

- Mom?

- What?

- Why are you and Dad not wearing any pants?

- I'm not sure.

(water runs)

(grunting)

(distant heavy rock music)

- What the fuck is going on in here?

- Is this provocative?

- I don't know what that is.

Kill that ghetto blaster, will ya?

(Simon sighs)

- Do you want to put your hands inside my sweatpants?

(chuckles)

- Look, how 'bout a raincheck, hm?

I don't even know if I can get a hard right now.

My face feels like fuckin' hamburger.

(sighs)

What do you got in that maraca?

- My EZ-Dose?

- Yeah.

- Just my medications.

- Well, hook me up with Sunday and Monday.

I'm fuckin' dyin' here.

(pills rattle)

(grunts)

(gulps)

Fuck.

(sighs)

- Hey, Simon?

- Mm-hm.

- What's a raincheck?

(birds chirping)

Simon?

(Simon exhales)

Simon?

Sim- (gasps)

(Simon groaning)

You've gotta wake up.

You've been asleep for eleven hours.

(groans)

- Fuck.

Those pills are lethal.

You blast those every day?

(groans)

- Can you drive me to China Hut?

I've got an interview in 30 minutes.

(grunts)

- All right.

(groans)

(heavy electronic music)

- Are we going in circles?

'Cause that's the third time I've seen those garden gnomes.

Why do you keep looking at that house?

We're still going job hunting, right?

- Man, fuck job hunting.

Fuck China Hut.

Fuck America.

I mean, are you really excited to clean dishes in the back

of some shithole buffet?

- Wait, what am I supposed to say

if someone answers the door?

- I don't know, just say you lost your dog.

Ask if they've seen it in the garden or some shit.

- Yeah, but I don't have a dog.

- Yeah, I know.

It's just pretend.

- Oh.

Okay.

Can the dog's name be Chomby?

- Yeah.

(doorbell rings)

(doorbell rings)

Nobody is in here.

(sighs)

(lighter flicks)

You're not gonna burn this house down, are you?

- What?

No.

I live here sometimes.

- Holy smokes, a real trap set.

Can I play it?

- Knock yourself out.

Yo.

Where? (drumsticks clicking)

Where and when's the show?

(percussive music)

All right, don't be late.

You suck at drums.

(laughs)

- Yeah, I'm more of a singer.

- You sing, huh?

Like what?

- Oh, like, just, like, little songs I hear in my head.

Hey, whose equipment is all this?

- It was mine.

- Really?

- [Simon] Mm-hm.

- You could play all these?

- Come here.

I want to tell you something.

Come here.

(drums clattering)

(Patty grunts)

Are you all right?

- Yeah, I just hit my elbow a little,

(lighter flicks)

and my ribs.

- All right, listen.

(exhales)

I'm John Q.

- What?

- I'm John Q from PSYOPS.

- You're not John Q.

Nobody knows who John Q is.

- Don't you think that maybe John Q knows who John Q is?

(laughs)

- What?

(laughs)

- Close your eyes.

(zipper unzips)

Close 'em.

(laughs)

Open 'em.

(chuckles)

- Big deal.

Looks just like the one I had for Toboggan Club.

- Smell it.

(sniffs)

- Ugh.

It smells like the headphones on the hearing van.

- That's the sweat of every show we've ever played trapped

in this fucker.

That's the smell of rock and roll.

(chuckles)

- What?

- You're still not convinced?

- Oh, my God.

You are John Q.

- That's fuckin' awkward, huh?

I mean, not as awkward as beating off to a torso

on a cartoon bedspread for two years, I guess.

You have any idea how worked up those Polaroids got me?

Did you write all those?

Fuckin' A.

How?

I mean, you call them love poems, but they're really these,

these brilliant power pop songs.

I mean, they're fuckin' genius.

Do you have any idea what you're doing?

Will you say something to me?

Are you all right?

(heavy electronic music)

- No, leave it.

Violate me.

- Fuck me.

(breathing heavily)

(headboard thumps)

(giggles)

- I think I want more violation.

(chuckles)

- I gotta save my juice.

Let's rock out.

Okay, hit it.

- It's rolling.

(upbeat rock music)

I can't believe all that only took, like, 20 minutes.

- This one right here, August 13th.

That was my favorite.

(muffled rock music)

- You really want me to do this?

- Yeah.

Let's see what you got.

- Okay, can I have a kiss?

(cassette tape rewinds)

(drumsticks clicking)

(upbeat rock music)

♪ I'm a watermelon slammed into your driveway ♪

♪ Crack me open so I feel the air inside me ♪

♪ Like a tongue tongue ♪

♪ In my eardrum, dumb-dumb ♪

♪ Music boyfriend, I'm your yum yum ♪

♪ Call me and I'll come ♪

♪ Fuck the rest of them ♪

♪ Fuck 'em all ♪

♪ Fuck 'em all but us ♪

♪ Am I dreaming or did you just kiss me ♪

♪ You don't know it but you already miss me ♪

♪ Like a tongue tongue ♪

♪ In my eardrum, dumb-dumb ♪

♪ Music boyfriend, I'm your yum yum ♪

♪ Call me and I'll come ♪

♪ Fuck the rest of them ♪

♪ Fuck 'em all ♪

♪ Fuck 'em all, but us ♪

♪ Fuck the rest of them ♪

♪ Fuck 'em all ♪

♪ Fuck 'em all, but us ♪

♪ But us ♪

♪ But us ♪

♪ Fuck 'em all, but us ♪

- Fuck.

(breathes shakily)

That was tits.

- Is tits good?

- Yeah.

Yeah.

Tits is good.

(chuckles)

Let's mix it.

(cassette tape rewinds)

- [Nancy] Simon?

(footsteps approaching)

- Yeah, Mom?

- What's going on down here?

How did you get in?

- With my key.

- You're not supposed to have a key.

Who's this?

- This, um, is Patty.

We're recording a song.

- How was Tanzania?

- Tanzania?

Are you both on dope?

- He's definitely on dope.

- All right, back off, Renae.

I'm not on dope.

- He totally is, Mom.

I can tell.

He won't look at me.

He looks past me, but not into my eyes

'cause he doesn't want me to see his eyes.

- Jesus fucking Christ!

Can we just eat the fucking meal?

- Don't talk like that in front of my kids.

- We learned about dope in D.A.R.E.

- Dopers share needles and get AIDS.

- Why are you here?

(sighs)

- Oh, it's nice to see you too, Dad.

- Answer your father.

- If it's about money, no way.

- Well, don't worry about it.

I'm not after your God damn money.

- There's an agenda, Mom.

There's always an agenda.

If I were you, I'd check my jewelry box before he bails.

- Shut the fuck up, Renae!

- Strike two.

(crying)

- What is this?

What are you doin'?

What is this?

- He's high, Mom.

Don't pay attention to him.

It's what he wants.

He feeds off it.

- Uncle Simon has dirty fingernails like the dopers

in my D.A.R.E. book.

(door closes)

- Hello?

Hey, sorry I'm late.

Why is the front door locked?

Whoa.

What are you doin' here?

(fork clatters)

Hi.

I'm Danny.

- Hi.

- Did you give him your key?

- Yeah.

So?

- Why'd you do that?

You know he's not supposed to be in here, right?

- Relax, Renae.

- I need to relax, Danny?

Poor Mom had to come home

and find these two in the basement shooting up.

- Oh, my God.

(crying)

(sighs)

- What's going on here?

- Nothing.

Nobody's shooting dope, all right?

We were writing a song in the basement.

- I can't do this anymore!

- Great, now Dad's upset.

- Stop picking on Simon!

- Excuse me?

- You heard me.

You're all being mean!

He doesn't do dope.

He just ate Sunday and Monday from my EZ-Dose because

he got beat up.

(chuckles)

- Mommy, what is she talking about?

- I have no idea.

I think she's just as strung out as he is.

- Okay, you know what?

Leave her out of this.

- Look, you seem like a nice enough girl, but I'm sure he's

got you brainwashed or he's manipulating you

with drugs somehow.

Simon is a pathological liar.

He's a thief and a total pyro.

- Hey, you know the cops have been sniffing around for you?

- Yeah.

- They came by the office and grilled me for a half hour.

- Oh, God.

Oh, no.

- It's okay, Mom.

He'll be gone soon.

- What's a pyro again?

- A pyro's- - Oh.

(chuckles)

Are you serious?

- Okay, you know what?

Knock it off!

(laughs) Knock it off!

- Not the sharpest stick, is she?

- Don't talk about her like that!

- Like what?

- Like she's subhuman,

and with that condescending fucking tone!

- All right!

That's three!

- Yeah?

What the fuck are you gonna do about it, Allen?

- Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,

hey, hey, hey, stop!

- Come on, motherfucker!

Here you go, come on.

Let's go, big shot!

(glass shatters) (Nancy screams)

- Get out!

- You ruin everything!

Just get out of here!

- Come on.

(truck engine hums)

So, what'd you think of my family?

- I like your brother, Danny.

- Yeah, he's solid.

- Simon?

- Yeah?

- Do you think I'm a retard?

(tires screeching)

- Don't you ever talk like that.

Ever.

You are not a retard.

You are a total punk rocker.

- I am?

- Yes.

You are punk as fuck.

- Can we listen to our song in here?

- Fuck, yeah.

Pop that shit in the tape deck.

(upbeat rock music)

- Are we going on our date now?

- Yeah, we're going on our date now.

♪ I'm a watermelon slammed into your driveway ♪

- Simon?

- Hmm?

- Remember when I told you that yesterday

was the best day ever?

♪ Like a tongue tongue ♪

- Yeah.

- Today is even better.

♪ Fuck the rest of them ♪

♪ Fuck 'em all ♪

♪ Fuck 'em all, but us- ♪

(all chattering)

(guitar music)

- What a fuckin' dump.

I mean that's, what, 40 people?

You call this a show?

- It's punk rock, you dumb fuck.

(laughs)

- Hey, you watch your fuckin' mouth.

You have any idea how many bands would kill to play a show

with The Alliance?

I'm throwing you a fuckin' bone, kid.

- Yeah?

Well, why don't you take that bone and shove it up

your fat fuckin' ass?

(laughs)

- What's with your boy?

How come I gotta fuckin' twist his arm to play

with the hottest band out of New York?

(laughs)

- Fuckin' hottest pile of shit out of New York.

- Oh, okay.

So, so you're gonna tell me what's hot?

Kid, I'm standing in the fuckin' filthiest green room

I've ever seen in my life,

and you're about to play next to a fuckin' Chevy Impala.

- Yeah, well, nobody asked you to fucking come.

- Actually, I did.

- You would.

- Let's do this.

Troy says we gotta be out by 10.

- You're makin' a huge fuckin' mistake.

These cocksuckers said you're playing,

and I'm holding you to it.

I sunk my own money in this promotion.

- Yeah?

That's not my fuckin' problem.

- I booked it two weeks ago.

I'm makin' it your fuckin' problem.

- How about this?

Fuck you!

Fuck your problems!

I'd rather fuck my own mom than play with The Alliance.

Let's go.

- Simon!

- You cunts just made my shit list.

This little fuck-up's gonna cost me a lot of money.

What the fuck is this shit?

(laughs)

(crowd cheering)

- Let's go!

♪ You make the rules, we break the rules ♪

♪ We do it our way ♪

♪ Rejects of society and we are here to stay ♪

♪ Won't take your shit no fucking more ♪

♪ Today is the day ♪

♪ Time has come to give you some ♪

♪ Get out of my face ♪

♪ Shit that's flying out of your mouth ♪

♪ I'm going insane ♪

♪ One more fucking word from you ♪

♪ I'll kick you in the face ♪

♪ Have no respect for your kind ♪

♪ You're cancer in my brain ♪

♪ We're paranoid, it's justified ♪

♪ This is what we say ♪

♪ We won't obey ♪

♪ We won't, we won't obey ♪

♪ We won't, we won't obey ♪

♪ We won't, we won't obey ♪

♪ We won't obey ♪

♪ We won't obey ♪

♪ We won't obey ♪

♪ No ♪

(crowd cheering)

This next one is dedicated to my music girlfriend.

(crowd cheering)

(heavy rock music)

♪ Microwave it, shove it down ♪

♪ Too bad your food is turning brown ♪

♪ Poison veggies and plastic meat ♪

♪ Nothing real for us to eat ♪

♪ Around the table, Mom and Dad ♪

♪ Conversations that make you sad ♪

♪ A lot of talking, endless dread ♪

♪ Just shove it in and off to bed ♪

♪ Dinnertime ♪

♪ Dinner in America ♪

♪ Dinnertime ♪

♪ Dinner in America ♪

♪ Dinnertime ♪

♪ Dinner in America ♪

(drums pounding)

(sirens chirping)

- Run!

(percussive music)

- Fuck you!

Fuck you!

How fucking unpunk is it, turn me in

on some Crime Stoppers hotline?

Fucking bullshit!

Motherfucker!

- Shut the fuck up!

Get in the car!

- Wait, wait!

Wait!

You can't take him!

He didn't do anything!

- Hey, have fun in the nasty.

They're gonna crack your pelvis like a softshell crab.

- [Man] Fascists.

- Hey.

I got your cigarettes.

- Aw, that's fuckin' tits.

(lighter flicks)

(light electronic music)

(sighing)

Sorry about this shitty fucking date.

(chuckles)

It doesn't get much worse than this.

- It's okay.

I'm just happy I got to see you play.

I'm not gonna see you for a while, huh?

Hey, Simon?

- Yeah?

- Remember when you dedicated the song

to your music girlfriend?

- Mm-hm.

- You were looking at me, right?

- Yeah, I was lookin' at you.

- I thought so.

Simon?

- Yeah?

- You're my real boyfriend now, right?

- Yeah, I'm your real boyfriend.

(police radio chattering)

(car door opens)

- [Officer] No contact.

Keep that cigarette out of the prisoner's mouth.

(car door closes)

- Stay punk.

- [Sissy] Patty?

- I told you it was her.

- Hey, Sissy.

Hi, Karen.

- Were you just totally tongue-fucking John Q

in the back of that cruiser?

- Uh-huh.

He's my real boyfriend.

- We're starting a riot girl band.

You wanna be in it?

- Uh-huh.

(coughing)

(grunts)

(light electronic music)

- [Simon Voiceover] Patty, thanks for the care package.

I almost cried when I saw the earplugs.

If Lloyd is at an eight before, now he's at a two.

(grunting)

Every now and then, he hits a four.

Gets himself whipped up into a frenzy over Michelle McBride

on the Action Five News.

(gasping)

(grunting)

There isn't shit to do here but pump iron, write,

and steer clear of the shower sharks.

Thanks for the notebook.

I was down to my last one, so the timing was tits.

All insanity aside, I probably generated enough material

for 10 albums in this shithole.

I hope Danny can drive you up again for the holiday weekend.

It's the only thing I have to look forward to, even if we

only get half an hour.

Trust me, I'm countin' the fuckin' minutes.

Your music boyfriend, Simon.

P.S., thanks for taking care of shit with Albert for me.

Tell him Reggie's peach cobbler is dynamite.

For real, I think it saved my life.

And you should see me.

I probably put on 15 pounds.

(Polaroid whirs)

(knocking on door)

(cell door closes)

I'm feeling so much stronger since I stopped

eating the shit they feed the animals.

It's just too bad you have to go to prison

to get a decent dinner in America.

(laughs)

- What's so funny, retard?

- Hey, horse face, we're fucking talking to you.

- Is she fucking ignoring us?

- Are you ignoring us, retard?

- [Gina] Maybe she's one of those deaf mute retards.

- Hey, are you one of those deaf, mute retards?

(laughs)

(bus bell rings)

- [Automated Voice] Stop requested.

(gasps)

(laughs)

(gasping)

- You need to take it down a notch, motherfucker!

(heavy electronic music)

(upbeat rock music)

♪ I'm a watermelon slammed into your driveway ♪

♪ Crack me open so I feel the air inside me ♪

♪ Like a tongue tongue ♪

♪ In my eardrum, dumb-dumb ♪

♪ Music boyfriend I'm your yum yum ♪

♪ Call me and I'll come ♪

♪ Fuck the rest of them ♪

♪ Fuck 'em all ♪

♪ Fuck 'em all, but us ♪

♪ Am I dreaming or did you just kiss me ♪

♪ You don't know it but you already miss me ♪

♪ Like a tongue tongue In my eardrum, dumb-dumb ♪

♪ Music boyfriend, I'm your yum yum ♪

♪ Call me and I'll come ♪

♪ Fuck the rest of them ♪

♪ Fuck 'em all ♪

♪ Fuck 'em all, but us ♪

♪ Fuck the rest of them ♪

♪ Fuck 'em all ♪

♪ Fuck 'em all, but us ♪

♪ But us ♪

♪ But us ♪

♪ Fuck 'em all, but us ♪