“This was your idea,” Davey reminds him.
“I was just going to get a wig, Davey, not ‘the most realistic chest hair money can buy,'” says Bongo. “It’s not even for my chest, it’s for an afro! Hey, that is spirit gum you’re putting on my head, right?”
“Yes,” says Davey, tossing aside the superglue. “Now try not to breathe while I shake the hairbag.”
He’s still shaking, two minutes later, when Bongo finally inhales. “ACK PTHAH MY MOUTH,” he says.
“Save the method acting for the audience,” says Davey. “This is going to be the greatest performance of your life.”
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
“Go over them again, Davey,” says Bongo McTweedlepants warningly.
Profoctor Davey sighs. “Fine. No cussing, although I never cuss and if I did they’d bleep it.”
“Keep going!”
Davey pulls the list from his wallet. “No reading from my dissertation on eugenics. No putting the kids’ names in limericks. No giggling when I quote Balzac. No discussing forced sterilization for Kentuckians. Okay? I promise!”
“Okay,” says Bongo, still edgy. “Terry, are we almost live? Okay, cue music.”
Theme soooong!
“But I can talk about euthanasia for the colorblind, right?” says Davey, as soon as it fades.
“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST,” says Bongo.