EPISODE 1 – CHEW THE SCALES OFF WHAT PASSED US
Gil is tutoring a child.
Oops. (Flicking lighter) Outlasts anyone. Whatever scourged us best be universe-length and terribly following through on its lingerie. Little Aigner, why are we so far less than our groceries? (Claps him against the wall) The twentieth century quit our wallowing in because. See the batch that sagged its bowel? Everyone’s ten ton sacrifice contributed the bidet. Bang, I was thronging the squad, scooting falderal, finicky up my clay. Ready a mass shooter. Our vicar draped in news. Got your cum-caught hosanna for munitions. (Whaps forehead) This is America. We’re especially asleep through our corpse. I pick my wet dreams over anybody’s peace. The squabble whupped by carts. Who will count their flab to know? The shush and clop. How coochies rile. Rile, coochies. We do the bank’s nostalgia. Procreate them stamps, bitch. Proud about the bible. Open just the same. Terminal chamber pots for laundry. Or working class chroma. Loutish wiggard diner fiendings. No handouts for anyone this disguised. Impute left or right prepuce? Goons in the coma of our daughter. No, rather, college-drill the stroller about proletariat whatnot. Marx-fetish, crawling the umpteenth sphincter for lawyerly academic boiler plate argument intellectual hunky-dory snark professorships. Ah, spiffy. Ah, shone best for last. Yuppie entitlement. Marathon winners. Clout of Whole Foods enema gassing uppity. You survived a million proms. So crowded with baby wipe compassion the piety there could outlast any blue ribbon sadist. I hate you all and am no more than you. Except my hate scores bottommost. Disgorge all faculties, sexy. Analysis is the shutout scratch we poll like a Möbius strip. Let’s keep getting pregnant, kid. Beg your clot replenished from every status, every swole roid hydroplaning its apparel. No fucking success starts by breathing.
Edmund enters, oil-slicked, holding a dipstick for trucks. Pries Gil off.
Little Aigner cares little for your points about the stank outside. But looky hence. No nonsense separates oneself. True how breath stereotypes its user. Wrong from every angle: thus human, thus okay. Why not live as a cinder in it? From what height you’re not deeper in the assist: be evil, not deep. All actions reverb, petrified? Sure, look in my doomed pants without thinking. You lie down to protest planetary rotation. Most of what happens here gives motion a bad name? If people still prance, your hate’s paltry. Cheer up. I suggest pussy. So it can flee. Interpret for its needs, then flee. We’ll hump the best purpose without. I’ll help you sad the right way.
Love the girl who leaves till you’re tinier than she, the scissors turning in her voice, depressed a lot. Mauled yourself a god for petty others’ petty takings. You can’t even spit because this girl.
(Sweating) Edmund, check his fucking oil, please.
EXT. FIELD – NIGHT
(Wiping blood off dipstick) The future might have less plaque on it. Pinkie swear.