|
(Scene begins with the SON practicing on his electric guitar using
maximum distortion at one crushing volume in his bedroom at his parent’s house.
Suddenly, the door flies open and the FATHER enters, wildly gesticulating and screaming at
the top of his lungs...)
FATHER: Tone The Box Down!! Could you please tone it down? I’m not going to ask you again. Tone The Box Down!!!
SON: I can barely hear it! Aww, man, I can’t believe it! Gaaa, can’t do nothin’ around here!!
FATHER: Dinner’s almost ready, anyhow. Your mother tells me you’re in a band.
SON: Yeah, we been practicing at the burnt down motel after school.
FATHER: I told you to stay away from there! They found a dead wino, all burned up in the swimming pool up there!
SON: But its the only place we can crank up without fallout from parents or cops.
FATHER: And what was that card I saw on the coffee table?
SON: That’s our business card.
FATHER: I’m talking about the one with FUCK YOU on it.
SON: That’s the name of our band, FUCK YOU.
FATHER: No son of mine is going to be in a band named, FUCK YOU.
SON: OK, then I’m not your son, besides, its none of your business, anyway!
FATHER: As long as you live in this house, and as long as I pay for the guitars and amps, it is definitely my business!
SON: Yeah? Well, our band has answer for anybody who doesn’t like us or our name......
FATHER: Oh, yeah? What’s that?
SON: (ever so quietly)...fuck you...
FATHER: Why you little...(slugs SON in the stomach)
(SON falls over backwards with guitar crashing down, gets up to fight back immediately)
FATHER: You Will Change The Name!
SON: (attacking) FUCK YOU!
(FATHER lands one on SON’s jaw) Ooooowww! (falls back down)
FATHER: You Will Change The Name! (SON gets up)
SON: FUCK YOU! (FATHER hits SON in the nose)
FATHER: You Will Change The Name!
SON: FUCK YOU! (FATHER hits SON in the balls)
(this cycle repeats itself, on and on, until fade)
