Sam Pink - The Self-Esteem Holocaust Comes Home

PET STORE GIRL: [touching her hair] I don’t think so.

OTHER PRIEST: [sitting inside open windowsill facing out the house, touching the paint with his fingers] Fucking told you man.

There is general yelling from all the people. A man wearing only a condom steps forward.

MAN WEARING CONDOM: Try taffy. Goldfish love taffy I think.

PET STORE GIRL: Yeah, maybe. Ok — bye.

She falls to the carpet, her head withering to nothing then reforming, and repeating. A group watches her head vanish and return. And the priests pray, kneeling over the degenerating head. The man wearing only a condom walks away from the larger group and goes to the bathroom. He takes off the condom and starts pissing in the toilet. In the bathtub there is a guy sleeping. The guy is naked, and covered in grass clippings and wet leaves. All stuck to him.

GUY IN BATHTUB: [mumbling, still asleep] Thanksgiving is for pussies [starts moaning] no way — no way. Stop. Uh, no way.

He wakes up and looks at the man pissing. And focuses slowly. Outside the bathroom people are yelling and laughing and some are not saying anything or making any sound.

MAN PISSING: Hey sleepy-head.

GUY IN BATHTUB: [breathily] Hey. How’re you today? [grassclippings and leaves fall off him]

MAN PISSING: [flushes, puts condom back on] Good [nodding] I’m doing good today.

GUY IN BATHTUB: Good [he turns over onto his other shoulder, toppling more grass and leaves] Oh, hey, there’s an antibacterial hand rinse by the sink — I think you should try it. Says it’ll kill 99.9 % of the germs on your hands [he yawns loudly, coughs] There are probably a lot of germs on your hands. The germs are everywhere. You should kill all of them. Make them pay.

MAN WEARING CONDOM: [making last adjustment to condom, then stretching his arms] Hell yeah — kill them all — those assholes.

GUY IN BATHUB: [quietly, his back turned] Yes, all of them. When all the germs are dead we can stop worrying. We can start making new germs.

MAN WEARING CONDOM: Thank you. Thank you for wanting that. Do you want me to kill the germs on you?

GUY IN BATHTUB: [returning to sleep] No thanks.

MAN WEARING CONDOM: Ok.

The man wearing a condom washes his hands and then walks out. There are more people in the kitchen and connected livingroom, and some are drawing on the walls with thin markers. He rejoins the larger group of people and grabs an open beer off the kitchen table. And the man wearing the condom looks inside his beer can with one eye closed. With a person dressed like Superman watching from behind.

SUPERMAN: [to man wearing condom] What are you doing?

MAN WEARING CONDOM: I’m making sure no spiders got inside. [opens closed eye and takes sip] I’m totally afraid of that. I don’t want a spider to bite my mouth and then die on my tongue. 1. Because it would probably hurt and 2. Because that would be a scary death for the spider. You know?

Before Superman answers, someone wearing a janitor one-piece walks into the kitchen. The janitor lowers the one-piece to his waist and grabs a big knife from the pumpkin on the counter. And grabs Superman.

THE JANITOR: Hey faggot. Hey, faggot [presses himself into the man dressed like Superman] Look at me. You faggot. Look [presses crotch onto superman’s leg] If I cut myself, will you fucking drink it faggot? Will you drink it off me faggot? Would you do that? You fucking faggot. Faggot motherfucker.

Superman covers his mouth with both hands. Shakes his head.

THE JANITOR: Don’t be worried about your mouth. Worry that I am too clean to drink.

Superman takes his hands off his mouth.

SUPERMAN: [toneless, unblinking] Do it then.

The janitor jabs at his own stomach area with the knife a few times. Nothing happens. Nothing happens and he tries harder and then there is a popping sound. Blood. A hole leaks blood down the janitor’s stomach.

THE JANITOR: Do you want to be saved faggot? By my blood? You faggot. Do you want to drink my blood you faggot and be saved from being a faggot?

People circle, say nothing. They watch. And Superman kneels. He puts his head under the janitor’s stomach, licking off some of the blood. When trying a big mouthful right from the hole though, he can’t swallow, very salty and thick. And he gags. The crowd claps.

PRIEST 1: How do you feel?

PRIEST 2: Yeah how does it feel faggot?

PRIEST 3: You’re saved now.

PRIEST 4: You faggot.

PRIEST 1: How do you feel?

SUPERMAN: [stain-faced, lying on floor, sickened in the janitor’s shadow] I feel like nothing is different.

The janitor leaves. Circle disperses. Someone dressed like Santa Claus approaches Superman.

SANTA CLAUS: [looking down] You know, you need to find a way to kill him. He is going to kill you man. You need to find a way to kill him first. I can’t help you, but I trust you to figure out how to kill him on your own. Do you understand me? Also, do you know who lives here? Because I kind of fucked up the toilet. Just so you know. There’s water all over the floor. [makes like he is going to say something else, then leaves]

Superman spits out some blood on the floor and looks at the kitchen ceiling. The walls and ceiling of the kitchen are covered in drawings done in marker. And they lead along the walls and ceiling into the livingroom. On the couch in the livingroom, three people sit watching a cooking show. One of the three is asleep, and one wears sunglasses with neon yellow arms and another man is not dressed like anything identifiable. The television is atop a partially smashed cardboard box.

MAN WITHOUT COSTUME: [to the man with neon glasses] What are you supposed to be?

EXTRA FROM SURFING MOVIE: [lifts neon sunglasses] I’m an extra from a surfing movie. What are you?

MAN WITHOUT COSTUME: I’m a bruise.

The extra from a surfing movie nods and looks around a little, quickly confused for some reason then composed.

EXTRA FROM SURFING MOVIE: Fair enough man. Fair enough. Aw, Goddamn it [gesturing to the tv] That’s way too much fucking cilantro man [kicks the sleeping guy] Right man? Right?

The sleeping guy turns a little and opens his eyes. His eyes part sore to the light.

SLEEPING MAN: What? [clears throat] Huh? Fuck you, Craig. [back to sleep, cradled by the couch arm]

EXTRA FROM SURFING MOVIE: [to man dressed as bruise] We always fight in public. It kills me [then points to tv] No don’t put the fucking lemon zest on yet. Fucking shit [stomping his feet in alteration] Bull. Ass. Shit.

THE BRUISE: [nodding to the sleeping man] What’s he supposed to be? Like, what’s he dressed as.

EXTRA FROM SURFING MOVIE: [still staring at the cooking show] He’s a Vampire — A Tit Vampire. But he’s gonna fucking starve if he sleeps through the night. [kicks tit vampire again]

TIT VAMPIRE: [lips pinched open by the couch’s arm] Fah koo. [puts his arms behind head]

The Tit Vampire wears a white t-shirt with the words “Tit Vampire” written in marker on the front. And there’s a single red line on either side of his mouth, drawn to look like blood.

EXTRA FROM SURFING MOVIE: [kicks the Tit Vampire] Hey, do the thing.

TIT VAMPIRE: Nah man. [breathes out heavily and tries not to smile] Nah man.

THE BRUISE: Do it.

The extra from surfing movie kicks the Tit Vampire again. The Tit Vampire coughs, opens his eyes.

TIT VAMPIRE: [in mumbling, quietly-laughing Transylvanian accent] I vant to sock your tit. Blah — I vant to sock your tit.

They all laugh.

TIT VAMPIRE: [positioning himself for sleep again] Fah koo man.

Two men walk past, through the livingroom. One of them is dressed like a ‘Rhino Stripper’ and the other dressed like Elvis. The Rhino Stripper stops, looks at the tv.

RHINO STRIPPER: That’s too much cilantro man.