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♪ Something's always better than nothing ♪

♪ See your castles washing away ♪

♪ He can walk for miles without water ♪

♪ She can talk with nothing to say ♪

♪ Does it really make you happy ♪

♪ Does it really make you care

♪ If I had a pencil, I would draw a piece of paper ♪

♪ If I had a home, I would move ♪

♪ If I had the answer

♪ I would wonder what the hell I should do ♪

♪ But something's always better than nothing ♪

I was born Wirey Spokes Spindell,

to hippie parents in the winter of 1962

in New York hospital,

and I'm getting married in nine days.

As a result, I've been doing quite a lot of thinking,

which people tell me is normal.

I don't know,

just a lot of soul searching and introspection,

big life questions.

You think at any point after those people

were massacred a few years ago,

you guys ever thought of subtracting them

from the number of people served sign?

Like 99 billion minus 42 served?

♪ If I had a pencil, I would draw a piece of paper ♪

♪ If I had a home, I would move ♪

No?

♪ If I had the answer

♪ I would wonder what the hell I should do ♪

Hello!

Look at you!

You glowing bride, you!

Well, actually this is an additional glow.

This would be the,

I just got promoted to senior account manager glow!

Get the fuck outta here!

When did this happen?

About five minutes ago.

If the perfect life couldn't get any better.

Yeah, well come on, we're going to be very late.

Are you going to be able to fit into that?

Okay, you may have been Cosmo brainwashed

into succumbing to some fucked up

surreal barometer of what a woman's self esteem is,

but I have not, and more importantly,

of course, I'm going to fit into that wedding dress

because IV saline solution's the only thing

I've allowed my body for seven weeks.

I won't even let Wirey cum in me 'til after the wedding.

♪ If I had the answer

♪ I would wonder what

I really only have one main problem

and although it's been joked about

glibly and superficially throughout time,

diminishing and minimizing its very real

and significant effect on relationships

of all kinds throughout the universe,

it remains a problem I am committed

to solving and destroying,

because I refuse to let it fuck up my life anymore

and that problem is very simply that I'm a man.

I am stink-man!

As a man, I'm at constant war with myself.

One side says, look, you're 36 years old.

You've been around the block, experienced life.

How lucky are you that now,

at the perfect time to settle down,

God has graced you with the most beautiful,

funny, smart, warm, compassionate,

loving woman you could ever wish for?

Thank you, God.

Thank you, God.

Thank you.

Now the other side says,

you see that sexy redhead

at that table across the restaurant?

Why don't you get the waiter to slip her a note,

telling her to meet you in the bathroom in five minutes.

You get up, your heart racing.

You glance over to her.

She reads the note.

Will she tell the guy she's with

and he'll come over and beat the shit out of you?

Will she show up?

And what'll happen?

You go into the bathroom and shut the door,

but you don't lock it.

Anyone could come in.

Some fat, drunk businessman, a bus boy.

Then this might very possibly even be illegal.

The door knob turns.

It's her.

She slides in and you lock the door behind her.

You hoist her up on the sink.

She has one stiletto on the toilet basin

and the other one on your chest for leverage.

You slide her silk panties to the side

and fuck the shit out of her.

Now, granted,

maybe nothing even remotely like that has ever happened,

but you know what?

It might.

Okay.

It might.

Hi, honey.

How's it going?

Do you want some tea?

I'm in here now.

I realize that, sweetheart,

and I was wondering if while you were in here,

you might like a cup of tea.

I understand.

It's just that it's really hard

to have any alone, private time in here

when you keep coming in to where

I have my alone private time.

Look, it's no big deal.

I was just making myself some tea

and I thought maybe you'd like some.

I really appreciate how thoughtful you are

and how considerate you are,

and how you think of making me a cup of tea

when you're making a cup of tea.

It's super sweet, but I do have a beverage

and it's just,

it's really hard to have any kind of just,

alone, private time,

when you keep coming in here,

to where I,

where I have my alone, private time.

Can I ask you a question?

Prefer if you didn't.

Actually it's two questions.

Would it be okay if you asked me

neither of them right now?

First, and I'm just curious,

why do you have your alone private time in the bathroom,

and two, I want you to have it,

but could you maybe find a different place

than our only bathroom to have it in?

Do you need to go to the bathroom right now?

No?

Shower, bath?

Is there any reason you need to be in here now

because I'll go.

You have any thing here?

The sink, anything?

No.

So no reason why you need to be in here now?

Okay, then in that case, who cares if I'm in here?

Here's where I want to have my own alone, private time.

So maybe tomorrow it'll be over there

and then it'll be there and there and there

but for now I want to have it here.

Okay, so!

Maybe if we had a sign.

That's a good idea.

We'll put a sign on the door.

Alone time happening now.

Just nobody be here.

Oh, I have a better sign.

Tabitha!

No, no, no.

I'm feeling nervous about marrying my great girlfriend

and because of that I'm being kind of an asshole

when she's just being thoughtful.

Come on, I'm not joking.

Oh, neither am I.

Come on, it's a better sign!

We'll get new papers and markers and stuff,

and we'll put up some signs.

Okay.

Wirey!

Wirey!

Open the door, you asshole!

Open the fucking door!

Open this fucking door!

Wirey!

Wirey!

Open the door please.

1969.

The bathroom door sticks if you close it tight.

Maybe I'll never get out.

Who cares?

My mother will never get in.

Wirey!

Wirey!

Will you open the door please?

Wirey, will you open the door please, right now!

Wirey, open this god damn door right now!

I was always so lonely,

but when I was locked in the bathroom playing my guitar,

then I was safe.

I'd play Beatles songs, but my fingers were too small,

so I couldn't do it right.

I can't remember the next cord.

Idiot, G not D!

G!

Play a G!

Give me a G.

Play the G.

Yes.

Start at the beginning.

At least Time Square was mine.

It would always love me.

The noise and the scum.

The neon dancing girls would hold me.

They didn't think I was an idiot.

I would sit in the kitchen,

facing the Hudson River from the 13th floor,

my feet up on the window sill.

The river, the chilly autumn air, the cold red wine,

and Rubber Soul on the cheap mono turntable.

This was my Haven.

This was my mother.

It's my first memory.

I'm seven.

Actually, I guess my very first memory

was trying to practice cunnilingus

on the electric socket

and getting blown across the room when I was a baby,

but after that, it's the window sill,

the red wine and first grade.

I'm in love with three women primarily.

A Chinese girl named Annie.

My blonde haired teacher.

I forget her name, Miss, Caca-cowa-laska, something,

and Brooke Swarthen.

Hi Brooke, I brought you this.

Red Hots and Peanut Butter Cups.

I brought you these.

Oh Greg, Devil Dogs and Yodels.

My main present is 57 cents.

Oh, thank you, Wirey.

Where'd you get that?

Bus money, sucker!

Brooke was cagey.

She'd accept our presents, then reject us both.

She would tell the candy store guy

she'd bought too much candy

and sell the poor guy back his own candy

that we'd just stolen to give to her.

She was the only girl in first grade

who got to go to Bermuda for spring break.

Even though I knew Brooke's scam,

the thrill of the conquest kept me coming back for more.

Unlike Greg, however,

it did not render me stupid enough

to give her my Yodels.

First off came the beautiful tinfoil wrapping.

I would eat all the chocolate off

being careful not to bite into the next layer of cake.

This was crucial.

After the main log was bare,

I'd bite each end off and then unravel the thing,

eating the chocolatey cake layer as I went

until I got to the grand prize,

the dense chocolate cream cake inner thin log,

and then,

cold milk 'til the headache.

Perfection.

This was the orgasm.

I must say that to this day,

that sublime experience doesn't dare rival sex,

but who knew then?

I hadn't had sex yet.

The Yodels made me feel better and restored my confidence.

Hi.

Hi Wirey.

I was wondering, well.

What, Wirey?

I was wondering if you wanted to go to the auditorium?

Oh, you want to go to the auditorium!

I guess she never accepted second position behind Brooke.

She would twist my arm 'til I cry,

but eventually if I could stick it out,

she would grant me a make-out session in the auditorium.

My right arm, a little mangled,

making attempts at second base kind of rough.

I had a whole nother set of friends in my building.

If the girls at school wouldn't put out,

there was Slingon,

a French boy who didn't mind

if I pissed on him from time to time,

Dave who I once made put his mouth on it,

and Billy who would let me do pretty much everything else

Slingon and Dave wouldn't let me do.

What's going on under there, boys?

Nothing Mom, just playing a game.

Okay.

Between giving golden showers,

getting head and riding the purple pony,

I had more risque gay sex before I was seven

than a lot of gay men have in their entire lives.

So basically I'd completed my training,

and was ready for the real thing.

Full on sex with a girl.

I desperately wanted to fuck my stepmother,

but being 30 years older and married to my dad,

well, it just wasn't practical.

So I utilized the second best option,

Thanksgiving with my cousins.

I wasn't allowed to kiss or hug

Betsy hello or goodbye anymore,

and I think it was like no TV for a week.

I got off pretty cheap.

I don't know.

I just started not getting along

with authority figures anymore.

Maybe it's because I had finally achieved my manhood

and I needed my adult independence.

What are you doing?

Men drink beer and watching football on Sunday.

My acting out increased at home, and at school.

Thank you for coming, Mrs. Spindell.

We appreciate it.

I don't quite know how to put this,

but Wirey seemed to have missed the toilet

a little while ago.

We were concerned.

He missed the toilet.

Yes, Mrs. Spindell.

He peed on the floor?

I'm afraid he defecated on the floor.

Well, how far off was he?

Wirey, would you like to beat the bed with a tennis racket

to get out some of your anger,

instead of shitting on the floor at school?

I hate school!

I hate my mother!

I hate everything!

Why don't you try it, Wirey?

It works.

It's helpful.

Would you rather play tug of war with the towel?

Alright then.

No TV, no football for a week.

What are you doing, Wirey?

I told you not to leave this house!

Wirey, don't you leave this house!

But at least Raphael cares.

He's a strange mangy Puerto Rican doorman

who always looks like he's been in the mail room,

jerking off to kiddie porn, half drunk.

Wirey.

Wirey.

What's wrong, Wirey?

Nothing, Raphael.

Come over here, I want to show you something.

Not today, Raphael.

You're the best guy here, you know that?

I never seen nobody like you before.

You're the best guy here.

Where are you going?

I'm running away.

Okay.

Have fun.

I leave.

I have no place to go.

It's cold at night in New York.

Luckily my guardian angel appears

so I know I'll be all right.

She's this weird thin woman in a trenchcoat

who walks up and down Broadway

eating nuts out of a baggie.

I've seen her every day for 30 years.

Come out of school in seventh grade,

she's there.

I run in the park, she's there.

And then one day last week I was at

a fruit stand on Broadway

and suddenly I was face-to-face with her.

She just gave me this funny little smile

as if to say, I'm your angel.

I'm here.

You don't need to worry,

then she just turned and marched away again.

They say that God watches over kids and drunks.

Well, I was a drunk kid.

Luckily, I got a lot of watching.

I love being here when I'm not supposed to be.

This place does what I want it to

when I'm the only one who is here.

Brooke likes me.

The Chinese girl doesn't twist my arm.

My mother loves me.

I don't shit on the floor.

Back so soon.

What's the matter, running away was no fun?

You're a fucking asshole.

What did you say to me young man?

You're a fucking asshole.

I hate you!

I will not be talked to that way, Wirey!

Wirey, open this door!

I hate you.

You're a fucking asshole.

Open this door, Wirey Spindell!

Did you hear what I said?

I'm your mother and you do as I tell you.

Open this door right now!

Wirey!

I'm sorry.

Open the door and stop this, please.

Wirey.

Wirey!

Open this door!

I hate you.

You're a fucking asshole.

Fuck you!

Fuck you!

My mother had a rough childhood.

She got locked in closets and abandoned

on street corners by her father.

I once found her crying in her room.

I'd forgotten to get her a birthday present.

Her mother had sent her a roll of dimes.

It was the first present her mother

had sent her in 30 years.

How the hell was I supposed to know?

I was only eight.

All I knew was I wanted her to love me.

Good evening everyone.

This is Marv Albert speaking from Madison Square Gardens.

At least Marv was there and the Knick game.

He talked to me with more interest than my father did.

I love Marv Albert.

The New York Knicks and the Los Angeles Lakers.

Game number seven in the World Series of basketball.

Bill Bradley, Dave DeBuscher,

Walt Frazier, Willis Reed, Dick Barnett, Dave Stallworth.

These were my Knicks.

Everybody in the house looking for

Willis Reed, Willis is not taking part in the warm-up,

and Frankie Blouse, John, on the public address to the press

just made an announcement that I did not catch.

Let's see, it's being written out.

Reed will start.

He will start the ball game.

He just received another injection.

If all heads here at Madison Square Garden turn

toward the area in which the Knicks and Lakers

take the court

The Knicks are warming up without Willis Reed,

but Willis will play although

the crowd here at the Garden doesn't know it yet..

Coach told him he couldn't play,

but Willis was gonna play.

And you can throw out all previous performance.

Now the crowd rises!

Here comes Willis Reed.

Making his way from the area out on the court.

Willis is receiving a standing ovation.

Takes the ball and he jumps

and it hits the rim and it falls to the right.

Now Willis will take part in a pre-game warm-up.

Willis with a 26.8 average against the Lakers.

Willis is getting a tremendous standing ovation!

Waits before continuing with the introduction.

He jumps in against Chamberlain

and scores the first four points of the game.

New York is a storybook.

I live in fairy tale.

The Knicks are the champions in 1970.

Marv and I share this moment as the garden is chaos.

This is my father.

This is my dad.

Wirey?

Wirey?

Wirey?

Yeah, I know it's a alone, private,

I'm nervous, great girlfriend, marriage time,

but we're going to be late for our appointment, hun.

I do actually have one other

rather weighty problem besides being a man.

I can't seem to make love with women I love.

After the whole falling in love thing is over

and we really know each other

and the love is based on real things,

I just can't seem to do it.

Tabitha and I hadn't had sex in nine months

and the wedding was now three days away.

She said she appreciated

that I had been working on my problem

diligently for many years

and didn't want to add any unneeded pressure,

but that I had 72 hours to fix the thing

or the wedding wasn't going to happen.

I didn't want to go to her shrink

and she didn't want to go to my shrink.

So her shrink suggested a woman

who was supposed to be great.

Roxanne.

Oh my God.

Wirey.

Oh my God!

Honey, this is Roxanne.

This is my father's ex-wife,

my ex stepmother's, ex lover, Roxanne.

Roxanne, Tabitha.

It's a pleasure to meet you, Tabitha.

Hi.

So what's the problem?

It's so beautiful, isn't it honey?

It is, it is so beautiful.

What?

You want to fuck that girl?

Excuse me?

Oh, don't make this worse and insult me

by pretending that you weren't just mentally

having that girl suck your dick behind the bushes

while everyone else is harmlessly walking by.

Okay, let me get this right.

You're not now only accusing me

of wanting to fuck the other girls,

but you're actually inventing my fantasy

of the actual event as well?

Oh, do not confuse the issue, Wirey.

Admit it, you wanna fuck the girl!

No, I don't.

Did you see the girl?

Can you admit that?

What, that girl in the weird glasses

that just walked by?

Yeah.

So, you admit that you saw her?

You admit that you noticed her?

Yeah, sure I noticed her.

I notice a lot of things.

I noticed those kids over there playing.

I noticed people walking.

I noticed the trees.

I noticed the buildings.

Okay well, let's say that you were sitting here

with your friends and that girl walks by.

What would you say?

What?

Let's say that you were here with Spike and Robbie

and the girl walks by, what would you say?

I'm just sitting here with Spike and Robbie,

that girl walks by, what do I say?

Yes.

I dunno.

I'd probably say something like

God, I'd like to fuck that girl's tits.

It doesn't mean anything.

When a guy says that, it's just like a figure of speech.

It doesn't mean I want to actually go find that girl

and fuck her tits.

It just means that it's like I could be saying anything.

Hey guys, you want to go have some spaghetti

or fuck girls tits?

I mean, it just doesn't mean anything.

Oh, well call me crazy,

but when we're sitting here cuddling romantically

in the very spot that we were

going to be married in in four days,

and you're talking about fucking some girl's tits

well, then it means something!

Fine.

Okay, fine.

This is what happens when I try to be honest.

This is the kind of safe environment

that you create for us to communicate openly.

So you fantasize about fucking other women?

Do I have a point, Roxanne?

That when I try to be honest, I get in trouble

and when I try to nicely say

that I don't want to talk about something,

I get accused of withholding secrets

and not wanting to be close.

Tabitha, do you think you can listen

to Wirey's response to your questions

and not react with anger right away?

Just listen, hear him,

and maybe try to understand where he's coming from?

Yes, definitely.

What was the question again?

Do you fantasize about fucking other women?

Absolutely.

Fine.

No, no, sure.

Just walk away now.

Now you can just walk away, right?

Up there you want to talk.

Now you just run away.

Now you don't wanna talk.

How is this my fault?

Tell me, how is this my fault?

How does this whole thing become my fault?

You need to stop talking now.

Oh.

Oh, I need to stop talking now.

Then you wanted me to talk.

Now you don't want me to talk.

There, I can't talk.

Here.

Shut up!

Shut your face, okay!

I'm second guessing everything.

So, shut up!

Honey, come on.

Come on.

Fine, go, go, go right.

Honey.

Honey, what if we try living in the same house,

but in separate rooms for awhile?

Maybe something like that could help.

Honey?

Honey.

The next thing I knew, I turned 13.

My father bought me a sky blue Stratocaster

and God bought me Wendy and Stacy.

Two beautiful twin girls who moved in

on the sixth floor and replaced Slingon, Oren,

and Billy as my building playmates.

Heads, Wendy.

Tails, Stacy.

Every fifth flip was five minutes behind the bed.

It was 1975 and I was going to junior high school.

Everything was going to be different, baby.

Seventh grade, I had arrived.

I was hanging out with the coolest kid in school,

smoking pot and writing graffiti.

Devil One was my tag.

If you were the most seen on one particular train line,

like the One or the A, you were king on that line.

Like Taki 149 was King of the Ones.

Moses 147 was King of the A.

My friend Greg was King of the Twos.

I was king of the yellow school bus fans.

A tad less prestigious, but hey, it was something.

Things were finally looking up for me.

I was feeling great.

Amassing my fans.

Was about to fall in love with Rebecca Levine,

the prettiest, most popular girl in my class

and land a starting guard spot with the basketball team.

The gym glittered that day.

Now, wait a minute.

Gabe, what are you doing?

You're on the skins.

I'm not taking my shirt off.

Gabe, you're a skin.

You're on the skin team.

You understand?

I mean, how are your teammates going to know

you're on the team, if you don't have a shirt off?

I'm not taking my shirt off.

Wirey.

Gabe was odd.

He would never take his shirt off.

It was weird.

Everyone would laugh at him.

Maybe he just caught a chill easily or something.

Hell, I felt a bit of a draft that day myself.

Did Gabe know something the rest of us didn't?

I looked over at Rebecca.

She and her friends seemed to be laughing at Gabe again,

but harder and more sinister this time.

We stopped playing and it was like slow motion or something

and then I realized they weren't laughing at Gabe.

They were laughing at me and so were the rest of the guys.

Greg included.

Yeah, I'd be laughing too,

if I was being schooled,

like I'm schooling you fucking old women.

You're playing well, Wirey.

Go fix yourself?

What do you mean?

Fix yourself.

It seemed that somehow

unbeknownst to no one but myself,

one of my balls was hanging out of my pants.

Vince Lombardi could not have delivered

a motivational speech that could've gotten me

back into that school.

Let alone that gym.

I dropped out of seventh grade

and sought refuge back with my old friend, Robbie.

Thank God I was out of that elitist private school

and back in my stomping grounds, the subway.

With all the people smushing

and the warm smell of piss and expensive perfume wafting.

No one could really understand Robbie,

but I guess because we were friends for awhile, I could.

So man, you ever hear of Taki 149?

Of course, he's King of the Ones.

Of course, he's king of the Ones.

Yeah well, he's a crazy motherfucker.

He blew up a subway with two sticks of dynamite.

He keeps it in his house.

I saw it.

God.

God.

No way.

What?

But.

But, I don't even know him.

I've never even seen him or met him.

Why would he be mad at me?

Robbie's here.

You got the money?

Where's Taki?

He wants me to get it and give it to him.

What is this?

It's all I could get.

I don't get my allowance until Friday.

How much is your allowance?

Five bucks.

That's lucky.

Taki wants five bucks on Friday,

transistor radio and your baseball glove.

Not my baseball glove.

He said he would beat the shit out of you,

and make you eat dog shit,

and wash it down with water from the Hudson River.

Sorry, man.

I lived in total fear for my life.

My mother noticed something was wrong

and in one of her cooler moments,

she came up with the idea to summon

an old FBI friend of hers

to interrogate Robbie in the kitchen.

You ever been in prison son, huh?

Well, you better start watching

some of those old prison movies

so you can get used to it

because felony extortion is going to land you

in a slammer in a heartbeat!

Now, where is that Taki 149,

and where is Wirey's stuff

and you better start giving me some straight answers here

or you're going to be playing wet nurse maid

to about 100 rapist murderers.

We may even arrest and convict your mother

as an accomplice and throw her in the slammer

to keep your sorry ass company!

We found that although Taki 149 did exist,

Robbie didn't even know him,

and he certainly didn't know me,

let alone want to kill me if I didn't give him my things.

Robbie had been extorting me all on his own.

I was totally humiliated

and couldn't bear to be seen in my neighborhood.

So I decided to move to Vermont and live with my father.

It had to be better there.

All right, all right.

Settle down.

Class, settle down!

All right, listen up.

Class, we have a new student up from New York.

Flatlander dink!

His name is Weirdy Spindle.

Nice name, Weirdy.

That's Wirey Spindell.

Wait a minute.

Doesn't he remind you of that other flatlander kid

we had up here a few years ago, son?

What was his name?

You mean Al?

Oh yeah, Al.

Yeah, it does kind of look like Al.

He's got that flatlander chin and everything.

That's right, Al.

All right class, this is Al, the new flatlander.

Okay class, today we're going to be studying war.

All the wars of America.

That's a dink girl shirt.

My grandmother made me this shirt.

Well, it's a faggy girl shirt

that only dinks would wear.

If you insult my shirt, you're insulting my grandmother.

So what are you gonna do about it?

So I'm gonna have to beat your face in after school.

I had done well.

It was before lunch on my first day

in Southern Vermont High School,

and I had managed to acquire a new nickname, Al,

that apparently belonged to the previous

murder New York kid,

and I had a fight in the parking lot after school

with the son of the football team coach

who had five brothers who were all heads

of various evil sects in the school.

A couple blocked punches and a teacher breaking it up

was the extent of the fight.

Minor damage in and of itself,

but the long lasting impact

was to resonate through those corridors

for the entire next year.

I had arrived like Hiroshima.

I was on the map.

Every kid would drill me hard

and threatened to kill me in shop class

or at football practice or after school.

I found that if I cried, they wouldn't hit me as hard

or as many times.

If you hit him in the arm, he'll cry!

It became a joke,

but at least I was avoiding beatings.

Until one day a kid came out of the shadows

and punched me in the face.

Everybody, Al shit his pants!

Norser punched down the flatlander dink,

shit all in his pants!

If you hit him in the face,

he'll cry and shit his pants too!

Hit him!

But then, in an effort to regain

at least a ray of self-respect,

proving I was not phased by the most violent gang tackles

I flipped the football

accidentally hitting Mike Johnson,

undoubtedly the meanest kid in school, directly in the nuts.

I'm going to beat your face in so fucking hard

your whole family's gonna be crying and shitting

and puking and pissing and and whatever the hell else

your weird flatlander dinks do!

For some reason I picked this moment to stand tall.

Oh yeah!

That's what your mother said last night

after I fucked her in the ass!

Okay girls, hit the showers.

I didn't think it would be too wise to shower

with the rest of my teammates that evening.

Let's go Wirey, you're going to be late for school.

I'm not going to school, I'm sick.

You're fine.

Get dressed and come down to breakfast.

I'm not going to school!

You will not speak to me in that tone of voice.

This isn't your mother's house.

Here, you treat me with respect.

I'm your father and I tell you what to do.

Now get dressed and come down to breakfast

and eat with the family.

That's what families do.

There was still only one way

I was going to go to school that day.

Wirey, let's go.

It's getting late.

And that was to steal a hit of window pane

from my father's drug stash.

I knew he had it because I saw his friend

Bill Dwyer give it to him.

My father had met Bill when they were both

at Teacher's College.

I didn't really care for Bill.

Hey, hey.

Hi guys!

Wirey, so glad you could come tonight.

That's a nice shirt.

They were nudists.

It disgusted me.

Please don't touch me.

All I remember is old dicks and Birkenstocks.

My genius plan was to take an Exacto knife

and clip off a bit from each side

of the square window pane.

That way, if you added up all four sides,

I'd be taking half a hit,

but leaving it the same shape just smaller

so he wouldn't notice any gone.

The only problem was they were so hard

that when you cut them, they would fly off.

A fitting metaphor for how I felt most of my life,

like looking for a quarter hit of window pane

in a shag carpet, but then again, I always found it.

Window pane in my shredded wheat

on judgment day in eighth grade.

I had no idea how I would feel or what I'd feel,

but I had faith it would feel different

than the way I felt before.

I don't know if it was the acid starting to kick in

or just the overwhelming feeling

that I had truly found the answer to my problem,

whatever it was, Mike Johnson was a million miles away.

Until suddenly.

Ready to die, dick fuck?

Principal wants to see you both.

And then in one of the most unexpected moments of my life.

I just want people to like me.

I was in New York once.

It was okay.

Want some window pane?

Cool, thanks.

I had a friend and soon I had lots of friends.

The kids because of my desire to ingest

as many drugs as often as possible

and the townspeople because I could play basketball.

Well, it comes down to this Bob,

for the state championship.

The Hawks are down by one.

I believe there is 10 seconds left.

Okay guys, get the ball to Wirey.

Break the press.

Wirey, make something happen!

Let's go!

The coach liked me,

one, because I was the best player on the team,

and two, because I was fucking his daughter.

See, I'd started this rock band, Distorted Visions.

I didn't actually stay the drummer.

My own band ended up kicking me out of drummer

when they found a better guy and made me guitar player.

Then they kicked me out of guitar

when they found a better guitar player and made me singer

and it turned out to be my calling.

It was a plethora of rural America's pop anthems.

Taking Care of Business, Freebird, Stairway to Heaven,

and finally, the PS Stair Resistance.

There was a no sweeter moment in my life than the roar

after completing an inspired cover of Dream On.

My impeccable showmanship

making up admirably for my total inability

to come anywhere close to hitting the high notes.

And then just when it seemed euphoria

could burst no grander,

Stairway let me off on poor Betty.

She was 19, five feet tall with the largest breasts

I've to this day ever seen.

She had a VW bug with a bitching eight track

and she was fine.

She was the one who first properly took my virginity.

She took it properly that night

and took it frequently and properly for some time to come.

Betty had like an annex house

off of coach's regular house.

I would stay there often.

Hey coach.

Hey, don't get too shit-faced, Wirey.

We got state sectionals tomorrow.

No problem, coach.

What?

She's still your daughter, Jim.

Mabel, she's 19.

She's too old for me to fuck anymore.

I'm just joking.

It was like my second family.

It was a much better situation

than the evolved intellectual liberal life

that had blossomed at home.

Judy and I want you both to know how much we love you

and in order to remain together,

we're going to have to separate, Judy and I,

but stay living in the same house

and on alternating weekends,

we're going to have our respective friends

come stay here with us while the other goes away

to be with their friend.

All for the good of our family.

For the good of the family

my father spent the next 20 weekends,

every other one in our house

fucking his 19 year old piano student.

Judy, meanwhile, for the good of the family,

had her alternate weekend live in friend,

a very mavericky person named Roxanne.

Needless to say, I rebelled.

The defining moment being my father

having come home from work

to find me having eaten every bit of his acid,

smoked every bit of his pot, coke, hash,

and some way ingested all the drugs

in his secret tea tin

and having the vacuum cleaner on my dick.

It's like I don't even fucking

know where we're at right now, you know?

He just walked in.

Okay, yeah.

The wedding was now three days away.

Therapy hadn't been extremely effective

and both of us were getting really tense.

I believe we loved each other more than ever,

but I just don't think we had any faith

that that would have anything to do with impacting

our ability to actually live together.

I had had this problem for 30 years.

No matter how much I fucking wanted it to go away,

it just wasn't gonna happen in the next three days

and I was getting exhausted by talking about it

and I just didn't think we need to see any shrink.

Tabitha and I always communicated very well.

I realized it was going to be an issue.

First, we're going to fly to London

and then I think that we're going to

rent a double decker bus,

and then maybe put cans on both the levels.

I know, I know, but I think it's kind of tacky, fun,

and tacky, cool.

Like nasty good.

Hold on a second.

Yeah, sweetie.

Did you for any reason spray baby oil

all over the bottom of our tub?

No, I don't spray it all over the tub.

I put a couple of drops in my bath.

Put a couple drops in your bath.

Yeah, you got a problem with that?

Got a problem with that?

Yeah.

No.

I don't have a problem.

I don't have a problem with anything you do ever

because I love you.

Okay, no, it's fine.

It's just Wirey.

I'll call you back.

Hi, honey.

Honey, do you think that we communicate well?

Extremely well.

She disagreed and as a last ditch effort,

we went back to the shrink again.

Although we were both big enough

to laugh about it a little bit, there really

just wasn't anything funny about it anymore.

Our marriage, our entire relationship

was in serious jeopardy.

I think we just really felt like

two very different people at that point.

You don't think about me when you jerk off.

Never once have I thought about you when I jerk off.

Never once have you thought about me when you jerk off.

Actually, actually, that's not true.

That's not true.

That's not entirely true.

If we're having sex together

and as part of our sex, I jerk off, and she's there,

then yes, I definitely think about her,

but if it's just purely private shower jerking off,

then never.

It's always about someone else.

Come on, honey.

I mean, we're both big.

I don't particularly love the idea,

but I accept that you don't think about me

when you jerk off.

Yes, I do.

I mean, not all the time.

Yeah, pretty much.

Honey.

See, you're my reality.

So I don't need you to be my fantasy

because I love that in real life,

I love that I actually have you.

So in my fantasy life,

I go and fuck the other women

because that way in real life,

I don't actually have to go fuck anyone else

and I get to keep this wonderful,

fabulous, monogamous relationship.

Does that make sense to anyone?

Honey?

Roxanne?

Hi honey, how's it going?

Want some tea?

Thanks, I'm fine, mom.

Oh, what did I want to ask you?

Oh, yeah.

Are you still getting married on Saturday?

I was hitting my stride back in

high school in New York.

It was the summer before my senior year

and I figured I'd check out the rainbow gathering.

Some weird hippie Fest that happened every year.

Lovely Swedish Helena from Brooklyn Heights

happened upon me instantly.

Welcome.

We got really stoned and fell in love that day.

As it turned out,

Helena needed to properly teach me

how to go down on a woman.

A skill historically, I was eager to perfect

due to the rather excitable nature

of my own ejaculation timetable.

If I could first satisfy my lover

then it didn't really matter

that on the second and third thrust at best,

sometimes even the mere feeling of insertion,

well once actually in Great Neck.

I don't think we should go any further.

Don't you like it?

No, no, no, it feels great.

I like you so much.

I don't want to go too fast and ruin it.

You're so sweet.

What was I going to say?

The anticipation of your gorgeous mouth on my dick

just made me cum in my pants.

I have to take the next train back to Manhattan immediately.

See you at the next Almond Brothers concert.

Anyway, Helena taught me properly.

Okay, look!

Wirey, your enthusiasm is great,

but you're all over the place.

Like a friendly puppy dog.

Okay, so do it like this.

No.

Under her tutilage, I became skilled

and then after a series of tough decisions.

You gonna come over, Wirey?

What are you guys doing?

We're going to go hang out at my house.

Can you hold that for a second?

Yeah.

Thanks.

Concert was really good, right?

I love Neil Young.

Thanks.

I'm gonna go with these guys.

I know it seems harsh,

but it always paid handsomely

with the twins on the sixth floor.

So do you guys want anything to drink?

Wirey?

Yeah.

What do you want?

Jack and Coke is fine.

So, you want a back rub?

Ah, the back rub.

Adolescent foreplay.

Beth's invitation for sex.

Come on, let's go to my parents' room.

Can you hold that?

Beth won the coin toss,

but Sarah vetoed the decision and enforced house rules.

She was not about to let her best friend fuck the new guy

in her house in the next room while she slept alone.

It's not like I was disappointed or anything.

I mean, Sarah was gorgeous

and I could not wait to try out my newly acquired

cunnilingual prowess on her 17 year old body.

I mean, I didn't think of it as a 17 year old body then.

She was just a cute girl.

Man, if God only allowed you to understand

that a 17 year old girl was a 17 year old girl

when you were 17, right?

I was resigned never to have another Great Neck experience.

So I figured I'd just quickly jerk off in the bathroom

to get that first excitement cum out of the way,

knowing that I had infinitely more staying power

in the second go round.

I mean, I would have a damn good chance

to make it to actual intercourse

and possibly even go a minute or so,

but unbelievably, I was having a hard time getting it up,

which believe me had never been a problem,

but there was just too much going on.

Was she ready out there just waiting,

wondering what I was doing?

Did she know what I was doing?

Could I get horny enough quick enough

after I came in the bathroom to not have it be weird to her?

Strange pressures I had never felt before.

I took the bit in my teeth,

so to speak and soldiered through it

and just when I was about to cum.

I'm going to go to bed

if you don't come out here pretty soon.

Oh my God.

My plan had backfired in the grossest of ways.

I was so close to cumming that I was afraid

the wind against my dick as I ran to her bed

would make me lose it,

but I had to risk it.

I was on her like white on fucking rice man.

I went straight for the money, not wanting to even risk

rubbing against her during a kiss.

The only problem was there was no position I could get in

while going down on her where my dick

wasn't rubbing on something.

Her leg, my own leg.

I had no choice,

but to just go for it as best and as fast as I could

and then magic.

My first simultaneous orgasm.

Her at the hands of my loving mouth

and me at the hands of her 300 count bedsheets

I rubbed against.

Everything was going great

until we went to Boston to see some band

her friend had told her had a cute bass player.

Boston, what a piece of shit town, huh?

Pseudo intellectual, Harvard going, racist loving,

Celtic cheering, blue blood impersonating

fucking white trash Capital of the world.

Actually like the city itself,

if you could just kill all the Bostonian's,

import New Yorkers and make it another borough of Manhattan,

it could actually work.

Vermont was close to New York.

So I chose hitchhiking there

to stay with my father for the night,

over staying at the cute bass players couch,

listening to him fuck my girlfriend all night.

Anyway, Sarah, my first true love was gone

and soon after, so was probably my biggest love of life.

A love I worked for incessantly in spite of all my madness,

my basketball career.

At the biggest game of my life,

when my coach had called in

a couple of division one schools to look at me,

I was too fucked up to play.

Alcohol and drugs were beginning to bare their

teeth now and like a good alcoholic and drug addict

I ignored and denied.

Very quickly I forgot about my lifelong dream.

Went on a trip to visit colleges in the Northeast

and there it happened.

I was placed in the presence of an angel.

God had moved the universe in such a way

as to brush me and this heavenly creature

against one another in what would be an epic encounter.

Samantha Berlin, the love of my life.

♪ I don't wanna know you right now ♪

♪ Just like me

I bought a Cutlass for 500 bucks

and drove to Bard with a half gallon of gin

and half ounce of 83% pure jazz musician Coke.

Luckily they had this immediate admission plan thing

and I was told they didn't care that much about SATs,

which was a good thing

since I got to combined 440,

one of the 10 worst scores in New York state history.

So low it was studied.

College anyone?

We hear you got good Coke.

I'm Niles.

This is Jibs,

and Stephanie Rent-A-Fuck.

She's a witch with a fake breast over her heart

and she's my girlfriend.

Don't you fucking touch her!

What you got there?

Will you give us a break,

if we take 10 grams of that shit?

I give you a break.

My roommate bangs your girlfriend,

Stephanie Rent-A-Fuck in the ass,

on the floor right now while we watch.

Do you have a pillow for my knees?

Get the fuck up!

You're an asshole.

Meet us after the auditions at Proctor.

Bunch of fucking weirdos!

Wirey, Spindell.

I'm Dave.

First of all, I'd like to thank you all for coming.

Since my basketball career was over,

I became an acting and dance major.

That's what Samantha was

and I figured it was the best way to get close to her.

It was the hottest production of the semester

by the coolest director.

Coke and excitement course through my veins,

all the training, all the waiting,

all the boredom and all the bullshit

was all for this moment.

I was ready.

Why wouldn't she look at me?

I knew she saw me come in.

I knew she knew where I was sitting.

Please, she didn't know I fucking existed.

All I know is I need to get fucked

in the worst way tonight.

Right, nice.

I'm sorry.

I was really looking forward to doing it with you.

Who the fuck are you?

I'm the boy who's going to break your heart

into little pieces.

Go fuck yourself.

Hey, you guys wanna do some coke?

Sure.

She was thoroughly unimpressed.

She wasn't impressed that I had great coke.

She wasn't impressed that I turned her on.

So what , the process had begun?

I'd begun to infiltrate her.

She was coming around,

but she liked pretending like she wasn't.

I was supposed to come out of the well with the knife.

Take a quick look at Lear's wife and then kill Lear

but the Jack was rushing.

Coke was rushing and the crowd was rushing

and Samantha had really pissed me off.

She was going to notice me tonight.

Hey, Samantha.

You ever ever pull that shit again

and I swear I'll fucking kill you.

You noticed me, huh?

You fucking teasing bitch, you notice me now, huh?

Huh?

I don't know whether to cut your throat

or kiss you.

Either way, I think you'll notice me then.

You wanna kill me, Wirey?

Is that what you want?

Come on.

Kill me, baby.

Kill me.

Kill me, baby.

It was truly the most incredible moment of my life.

Seeing her standing in my doorway that night.

We made love in the hall, on the floor of that freshman dorm

till the sun came up and people started going to class.

They just stepped over us like we weren't there.

Like it was a dream.

Magic.

Like heaven.

This changes nothing.

You know that, right?

This meant nothing.

I didn't even cum.

It was a fuck, that's all.

You're the boy that's going to do what to my heart?

Fucking bitch!

Fuck her!

Fuck!

Fuckin!

You don't shoot, Wirey.

I do now.

She's turning blue, Wirey.

You're fucking a dead girl, you dick.

I can't believe he's fucking a dead girl.

I'm next.

I'm next.

I guess by my rubbing her left fake breast hard

breathing into her mouth while kissing her

and slamming her torso while I fucked her,

I succeeded in some sort of perverse CPR and revived her.

I guess it wasn't her time.

My time was not long though.

As you can imagine, my bottom was nearing.

Yes, my friends, amazingly enough,

it got even worse than dying from alcohol and heroin abuse

and fucking dead girls.

Samantha could be as cruel and heartless as she wanted,

but I had always been able to easily

see through her icy front

to the soft, quiet, soulful girl beneath.

She was just frightened to death like the rest of us.

Her dance pieces were the most

important thing in the world to her.

It was her senior dance project

and she had asked me to be in it.

8:45 ballet had actually paid off.

Samantha had let me in.

It was the only way she would let herself love me

and it was the only way she would let any of my love in.

Now in that biggest moment, when I could shine for her,

when I could hold her up to heaven for everyone to see,

I was too drunk to hold a simple Arabesque.

I got incompletes in every course

saying I had some personal problems

I needed to take care of.

I stayed in my house drinking Jack Daniels,

listening to Tom Waits with Cliff

and we tried to convince ourselves

we were ultra hip and adult

not to go home to our families for Thanksgiving

like all the other kids.

There was no sudden white light,

no angels taking my hand, no drama of any kind.

I just got up, got in my car and drove to rehab.

I knew this place that my stepmother had gone to

in New Hampshire just across the river from Brattleboro.

I finished my drink and walked into the place.

As long and as hard as I had drugged and drank,

the hours, the days, the years,

the vengeance with which I committed a slow,

disgusting, ungodly suicide, in a moment was all cleansed.

No white light, no angels, no drama.

Doesn't get any more dramatic than when heaven opens up

and a million angels deliver the whitest brightest light

anyone's ever heard of.

Eye contact from God baby, from across the universe.

I'm an alcoholic and a drug addict, Samantha.

That in no way condones or excuses me

for how I treated you.

All I can do is hope you'll believe me

when I tell you how unbelievably sorry I am

for having hurt you.

And fucked up your piece.

Everything.

I'm so sorry.

Can you stop drinking?

I haven't had a drink in 31 days.

Bard was empty, icy cold, and black.

The dance studio was warm and comforting.

I'd been there for an hour or so

working out this piece alone.

I believe Samantha wished she could be able to be with me,

but was still too scared and explosive.

I knew that apologies and promises alone

wouldn't bring her nearer to me,

but I knew if I made a piece for her she'd show

and in the vulnerability of enough moments together,

I knew she would be mine and I knew that she knew.

Hello, Wirey.

Where do we start?

Take my hand.

Show me.

I'm pleasantly surprised.

And then my worst nightmare,

the thing that had happened

to every girlfriend I'd ever had,

and I was sure would never happen with Samantha.

I'd love to bend that girl over this bench

and fuck her brains out.

So?

So, Samantha's coming up tonight.

I was bored and repulsed by everything about her

and desperately wanted to fuck every other girl I saw.

A slow, steady undertow of my backward movement

made her ever more scared

and caused her to move closer to me,

which in turn made me run away all the more.

I wanted so badly to understand and to change,

but I just didn't have a clue how

and so like so many other

things I love dearly in my life, Samantha was gone.

I graduated and moved back to New York.

I couldn't deal with any starving actor bullshit

and Raphael the doorman died of AIDs

so I guess a sort of an homage,

I took his job, but my building had changed.

My neighborhood had changed.

Did I tell you my sister is dating an Italian.

She's apoplectic.

I mean, I've met this guy.

His hairline, just, it goes right down into his shirt.

Having to deal with all you dicks who condescend.

You fuckheads who are more interested in proving

protecting your inalienable rights

instead of serving the life that gave you those rights.

You reek of nothingness.

Park Avenue address laughs at the importance you give it.

The building has infinitely more humanity

than you do, and the pavement under the awning

more integrity.

Even with your abandoned poodles shit on it.

Don't you see that your lives are fascist

and destructive to the proper evolution of God's realm?

Your pointless opinions about the life you view

as momentary distress, self import,

and egomania that makes that cat piss cologne

you wear smell like roses

compared to the way I know you feel about life.

Think about your life for one minute, one minute,

and maybe you won't fuck your partner's girlfriend

and tell your wife you were playing squash.

You won't tip me 10 bucks at Christmas after getting

your bonus for three million

but basically it comes down to one thing,

if your doorman saw you getting the shit kicked out of you

in an alleyway by three punks, for whatever reason,

you were in his neighborhood, on his block,

in the Bronx and you were just getting

your face stomped in by people he knew,

would he stop it?

All he has to do is say, yo, cool out.

I know that guy.

He's all right.

Would he do it?

Or would he just pretend he didn't see

and continue on his way to buy

a lotto ticket at the corner store?

Excuse me, did you say something?

No sir, nothing.

Anyway.

I guess I was angry.

As a result, I spent large amounts of time alone.

Alone with large amounts of chocolate ice cream,

and a date?

I couldn't get close enough to even get rejected by a girl

till I was 25.

That's four years from Samantha.

I was walking down Madison Avenue one day,

I had a broken right arm.

I had broken it in Greece a month before.

A place that taught me that maybe I judged

my father's nudist friends, Bill and Mary a tad harshly

for the merits of this lifestyle,

did make themselves apparent on that trip.

It also served as a wonderful challenge

to my celibate, be alone, find yourself, thing.

I did draw the line at recreation though.

I just couldn't be flopping around all naked.

It was gross

and that tampon string thing had to go as well.

I mean, there has to be some place to tuck that thing.

Just somehow fucked up the whole aesthetics

of a beautiful young naked girl

to have some teabag rope hanging out all over.

I don't know, call me a repressed American.

Anyway, being randy as shit from the beach

and wanting to continue my inner search,

I journeyed to a mountain cliff to find my male roots.

Pun always intended.

As I stood there naked, overlooking the Aegean Sea,

I felt like man on earth.

How the first man who trod the planet must've felt.

I wondered how caveman must've jerked off.

I decided they probably just smashed

their dicks against jagged rocks.

I was having some of the best sex with myself

I'd ever have when unfortunately, I slipped.

I had never been with a model or a black woman before.

Apparently the five-year wait was worth it.

God was rewarding me handsomely.

She was sexy as shit.

Now for the average man having a cast on his right arm

might've proved a hindrance

in his suave attempts at second base

but thanks to my early training

with my first grade Chinese girlfriend

it proved not the least bit problematic.

She seemed to have a padded bra on though,

which although a little odd,

I figured it was due to her insecurity about her bust size

or just some fashion thing I knew nothing about,

but then all of a sudden,

and I don't quite know why

my mind froze with a peculiar idea.

Are you disappointed?

Well, why would I be disappointed?

Because I'm not what I appear to be.

Well, what are you?

Physically, I'm a gay man,

but I work as a female runway model.

Physically, you're a gay man,

but you work as a female runway model.

Yes.

Huh?

Well Danielle, Danny?

Yeah, Danny.

Well, Danny,

I feel it's only fair to tell you

that I'm not attracted physically to men.

I mean, granted,

I was just enjoying making out with you quite a bit,

but that's because I thought you were

the female runway model part of your thing.

Have you ever been with a man?

No,

and believe you me if it were going to happen

it would be right now with me fucking your brains out

in the back of this limo,

but Danny, it's not going to happen.

Really?

Really.

You sure?

I'm sure.

How about if I just gave you head?

Is that the only color lipstick you have?

No, I think I have some midnight fire.

No, Danny, I'm sorry.

No, no, I just, I can't do it.

I get off work.

It's three in the morning on a Tuesday night.

A tire spins on the cobblestones below.

The windows rattling softly

like a basketball in an empty gym.

20 below with windchill.

The streets are empty.

All the windows in my car are open.

Have the heat blasting and the torn leather jacket I love.

Just me with my tires slapping the cold dark road.

This is my giant hallway and these are my cons

racing down the silent marble.

Abandoned Christmas trees rip across Tribeca

like urban tumbleweeds.

The bad shocks ride me up and down like a soft cradle,

like being rocked to sleep by a giant.

I haven't had a drink of booze

or a shot of heroin in five years today.

This is my New Year's card.

Thank you God for my life again.

Samantha?

Hold on a second, okay.

Hello, Wirey.

So good to see you.

I've been thinking a lot about you lately.

I was going to find you.

I've prayed for you every day.

You know that.

Thanks.

Can you, do you want to get in?

It's it's nice to see you, Wirey,

but that doesn't mean I want you back in my life.

Take care of yourself.

You too.

Let's go.

Who's that?

Just someone I know.

I had never felt things when they actually happened.

I never mourned people when they hurt me.

I would just jump to something else to distract me.

I had never mourned Samantha.

It was a sweet pain.

A healing kind of pain

you know was going to clear the deck

so you can get a fresh start.

Are you free?

What do you mean?

Well, you're gypsy cab, aren't you?

Is my car that fucked up?

Sorry.

Hey, are you all right?

Where you going?

You didn't have a problem with it

when you thought I was a gypsy cab driver, right?

Where you heading?

I'm going uptown.

Uptown.

Where uptown?

56th and sixth.

Perfect.

Why don't you get in?

You going that way?

Yes, I'm going that way.

And that brings us to today.

What do you guys wanna do?

Get some coffee?

Yeah, sure.

Who gets decaf?

I do.

Regular for me, hon.

I was still living at my mother's house

having been banished there

after our last therapy session

and it was down to the 11th hour.

I needed to supply Tabitha with

an iron clad solution to my problem by midnight tonight

or the wedding was off.

I'm such a fucking idiot!

How did I fuck this up?

I'm so fucking pathetic.

I can fix this.

What are you talking about?

You need to fuck someone other than your future wife.

Amen!

What do you mean?

A prostitute, a call girl.

Those aren't call girls.

You can't just advertise in the newspaper.

What do you think full body on body massage means

you fucking retard?

Here's a good one.

Ex playmate, 36,24,34.

What's her number?

5-5-5-2-8-2-3.

Give me the phone, give me the phone.

You're fucking the ex playmate!

It's for your own good!

Maybe I can get some like emergency couples counseling.

- Fuck that. - Doesn't work!

This is good old fashioned therapy.

Consider it your bachelor party.

Guys, how the fuck is that going to help anything?

Trust us, it'll cure you.

Get it all out of your system at once

and then get married on Saturday.

I just don't think I should be

fucking any prostitutes before I'm getting married, okay.

I just don't see how that's gonna help me.

Through the door.

Down the stairs.

Hello, come in.

Are we alone in here?

I mean, there's nobody else that's in here, right?

What?

Are you a policeman?

What?

If you're a policeman

and I ask you if you're a policeman,

and you say no and you are, that's entrapment.

Wait, speak more slowly.

Are you a policeman?

Wait.

I'm Russian.

I no speak English good.

You spell?

It's fine.

It's fine.

Nevermind, nevermind.

It's fine, it's fine.

You pay now?

Although I was satisfied she actually wasn't a cop,

I still was fairly sure some detective team

had the place bugged and was watching

from an adjacent room and would bust me at some point.

I just couldn't remember when it was actually illegal.

Was it after you gave them money

or did you actually have to start having sex?

I just didn't know enough.

What's wrong with you?

Relax.

Lie down.

Take off.

What?

Take off.

Take off what?

Your clothes.

No, no, no, I'm leaving my clothes on.

You leave them on?

I'm leaving them on.

I just, I wanna leave them on.

I don't have to take any clothes off.

I had given the money, wasn't arrested yet,

was about to have the Russian cop

suck my hermetically sealed penis,

when the strangest thought flew into my head.

All I could think about was Tabitha.

When I was now in the position,

I thought I must always have the right

or at least the possibility to always maintain

all I wanted to do was make love

with the woman I loved.

All I wanted was Tabitha

and then the epiphany continued with a bizarre twist.

I remembered how distraught I had been earlier that month

with a sudden deterioration of my motor skills.

Something I thought happened in your seventies,

but actually happens in your thirties.

Nobody tells you that.

Yo cabbie!

Fucker!

Things I used to be able to walk by without thinking about,

now, I smashed into.

Simple bodily functions such as drinking beverages,

things I once enjoyed with impunity

now required a new and arduous concentration

in order to perform correctly.

Fucker!

I realized that I was afraid of getting older.

I realized that I was afraid of dying

and the very thing I had always wanted

to make a lifelong commitment

to a woman I loved who loved me,

who I could be closer to than anyone in the world,

in my scared and insecure mind

was like the last cigarette before the execution.

I mean, until death do you part.

I had apparently always seen that kind of closeness

that kind of love, that kind of marriage with Tabitha

as equaling death,

but suddenly now, when I looked into the eyes

of a life with her, I saw light.

I saw hope.

I saw friendship.

I saw the smiles of our unborn sons and daughters.

I saw possibilities of having a life

beyond my wildest dreams and understanding,

but I saw the hope of one day knowing them

and when I looked into the eyes

of that eternal sexy redhead

at that table across the restaurant,

all I saw was my fear.

I do still see an occasionally ridiculously

hot sexual tryst in the bathroom,

but mainly what I saw was my fear.

I certainly didn't see anything new

and I certainly didn't see anything nearly as magnificent

as the chance of having the kind of unknown possibilities

I saw in a life with Tabitha.

I took the leap.

Oh baby.

I let it go.

Oh God, I missed you.

And I was truly free.

Oh God, I missed you.

Well, that's the easy part.

No, you don't understand.

It's crystal clear.

I solved everything.

What about the problem?

What problem?

You know what problem!

The problem that you've had

that's destroyed every relationship you've ever had

and caused us to separate.

I mean, the fact that you were so freaked out

to make love with someone that you love,

that we can never have sex again.

I know, honey.

That's what I'm trying to tell you.

That's all cured now.

I've cured that.

That will so fucking never happen again.

It's not even funny.

I was just about to get my cock sucked

by a 14 year old Russian whore

and all I could think about was you.

I would say that that's better than thinking about you

when I'm jerking off.

I mean, that's like actually about to have sex

with a whole 'nother woman

and all I'm doing is fantasizing about you.

You know what I'm saying?

Fantasizing about you doing that stuff to me,

You fucking, all that, you!

You want me to say something like that?

Is that the truth?

Honestly?

Yeah.

Absolutely not.

That is a fucked up example

to try to get it into your head

that this is fixed now!

It's fixed now!

Honey, honey, you just have to trust me.

I love you.

I just want to, fargan you!

Sweetie, I love you so much.

This was it.

It's done!

Smashed through!

Dianetics!

I'm fixed.

Oh sweetheart, you have to marry me on Saturday.

You'll break my heart.

I want you to be my wife, please.

Say yes and we'll fargan right now.

Huh.

Well, Mrs. Wirey Spindell,

has kind of a fucked up ring to it.

Honey!

Yes, I will marry you, Wirey.

As my family and friends

assemble around us at the wedding,

I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense

of love and gratitude for everything

that had happened in my life,

because it had brought me to this moment in this time

with these people in this perfect God's universe.

As crazy as my childhood had been,

I was able to revel in the joyful memories

that have been there too.

My parents, being ill-equipped to have a child,

being what amounted to as kids themselves

had raised me with as much love and support

as they had to give.

I knew right from wrong.

I could tie my shoes.

I could look a person in the eye.

They had helped turn me into the kind of man

who could attract the most wonderful woman in the world

into his life,

and more importantly, learn how to keep her.

With this ring, I thee wed.

With this ring, I thee wed.

By the power invested in me by the state of New York,

I now pronounce you man and wife.

You may kiss the bride.

I was on the subway last week

and I sat next to this really

sweet old black couple from Iowa.

Guy said that they were in New York

celebrating their 75th wedding anniversary.

I said, how'd you know she was the one?

He smiled and said, that's easy.

When the worst thing that you could imagine

happening in the world

is that something bad would happen to her.

I started smiling and he said, what, you think you got her?

I said, yeah, I got her.

I definitely got her.

♪ Love me like you know me

♪ Kiss me like you can

♪ Touch me like you own me

♪ Look me in the eye

♪ Tell me who I am

♪ Take drastic measure

♪ And I'm willing to be wrong

♪ Even when I'm grounded

♪ And I stood there all along

♪ I know him as I'm slipping through his hands ♪

♪ Love me like you know me

♪ Kiss me like you can

♪ Touch me like you want me

♪ Look me in the eye

♪ My hands clenched like stones ♪

♪ The higher we climb up

♪ The further we roll

♪ Love me like you know me

♪ Kiss me like you can

♪ Touch me like you want me

♪ Love me like you know me

♪ Kiss me like you can

♪ Touch me like you want me

♪ Look me in the eye

♪ Tell me who I am