Wirey Spindell (1999) - full transcript

A whimsical look back at the life of a man who is nervous about his upcoming wedding.

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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 ♪


♪ If I had the answer

♪ I would wonder what
the hell I should do ♪


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,

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.


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?


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?


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.


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.




Open the door, you asshole!

Open the fucking door!

Open this fucking door!



Open the door please.


The bathroom door sticks
if you close it tight.

Maybe I'll never get out.

Who cares?

My mother will never get in.



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!


Play a G!

Give me a G.

Play the G.


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.


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 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.


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.



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.


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!


I'm sorry.

Open the door and
stop this, please.



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.

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.




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.


Oh my God.


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.


So what's the problem?

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

It is, it is so beautiful.


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?


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?


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?


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!


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?



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, 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.


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, what if we try
living in the same house,

but in separate
rooms for awhile?

Maybe something like
that could help.



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.


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.



No way.



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.

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.


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?



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.


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

Does that make sense to anyone?



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.


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.


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?



Concert was
really good, right?

I love Neil Young.


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?



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?


She was thoroughly

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?


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.


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!



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.


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, 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.


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.



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?


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.



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.


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.


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?


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.


Where uptown?

56th and sixth.


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.


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?


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?


Are you a policeman?


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?


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?


Lie down.

Take off.


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!


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.


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?



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!


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.


Well, Mrs. Wirey Spindell,

has kind of a fucked
up ring to it.


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