^ Your suggestions are appreciated and have been considered. Stay tuned!
***
Caputh wrote:
Jejune? My Arse!
*
Trump, FZ, Pedro, Mij, Disco Boy, Spacebrother, Mr Nice, Eddie and Caputh Search For An Auto Mechanic[setting: Evening. Side of the road, Laurel Canyon Boulevard, California, USA]Trump: We should have had the pizza delivered.
Pedro: You didn't want to tip.
Trump: Shut up.
Eddie: Fuckin' hard line broke. All that weight in the car....
Mij: Huh?
Eddie: No brakes!
Caputh: We should call Joe's Garage.
Pedro: On the California coast?
Caputh: Yes.
Pedro: They're a bunch of flakes.
FZ: California's got the most of them.
Eddie: Bob Dylan uses the same mechanic as I do.
Spacebrother: I think you mean Adrian Belew
Eddie: Right.
Mr Nice: My first car was a Studebaker.
Trump: That figures.
Mij (earbuds in, ipod cranked): Their Satanic Majesties Request is the best Rolling Stones album!
Pedro (rolls his eyes): That's ludicrous. (lights a Cohiba Black Churchill Cigar using a 100 dollar bill he has just set ablaze. Takes a puff. Tosses the still burning $100.00 at the homeless man who is sitting near the Chandler Boulevard intersection)
Homeless Man (looking around): Holy shit. I smell burning Connecticut Broadleaf maduro wrapper.
Spacebrother: The Stones are too white.
Eddie: So are you.
SB: Yeah, but I don't want to be.
Mij (croaking):
why don't we sing this song all together!
Trump: Fucking degenerate. (grabs earbuds off of Mij's head) Perhaps you could make an effort to be more useful and call Joe's on that damn thing.
Mij (rolls his eyes. pulls his phone out of his pocket): Siri, I need a hose job.
Trump: Gimmie that! (yanks phone from Mij) Siri, Joe's Garage. And hurry it up.
DiscoBoy: I get tired of recycling used motor oil. I just pour it down the drain.
Spacebrother: You should drink it.
FZ: I know someday I will never go out on the road again. (FZ shatters like a mirror into a million invisible pieces which turn into sound waves)
Caputh: Did you hear that?
Trump: No.
Eddie: Far out.
(Siri responds)
Trump: Alright, I got the number to Joe's. Who's gonna call?
Pedro: They can't fix your brakes.
Trump: Why?
Pedro: Because they're flakes.
Trump: Just call 'em before I turn you into flakes!
[Everyone laughs]
LIGHTS DIM