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Lilwound
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Ruraltown, USA.
    A faded dodge truck pulls up outside a small shack of a building.  Above the rundown shanty is a sign that reads “Live Nude: Tonight only The county famous: Bodonka Donk!”.  It appears the sign has been up for years.
    The truck door opens with a whine and beer cans spill from the passenger side, as Edgar crumbles out of the truck and smacks into the dirt parking lot.
    The other door creeks open and BS steps out, sober as a drunk lamb--- wait, what?--- sober as a WWII epic.  He carefully observes his surroundings, and checks his phone.

BS: Where the hell are we?
Edgar: I’s Jimmy Macks House of Racks.  I’s GrrrrrrrrrrEAT!
BS: I barely have a signal out here.
Edgar: You don’t need a signal.  We’re here to forget signals!  It’s time to make happy!! WOO!! HAPPY!!!
BS: Look, Edgar, I really appreciate what you’re trying to do, cheer me up and all, but, this really isn’t what I want to be doing---
Edgar: Nah, nah, i’s fun.  You’re having fun.  LOTS OF FUN!! FUN! WOOO!!!
BS: Jeez, how much beer did you have on the way out?
Edgar: Somewhere betweeeeeen you and me.
BS: Wow.
Edgar: But no, but no.  You jus’ hav’ to come inside.  I got a surprise for yoooouuuu....
BS: From the looks of this place, I’m very scared as to what that might entail.


    Edgar stumbles forward to the main entrance of the sort-of-building.  He swings the door open and stumbles in.  BS follows close behind.
    The club is closer to a barnhouse with a foot high riser made out of plywood and scraps.  In the center is a rusty pole that is just stuck into a drilled out hole in the riser.  Spinning around the pole, is a 51 year old, brunette 5’ 187 LB ball of naked.
    The club is empty save one table, with a group of men staring in disgusted awe at the scene on stage.
    As BS approaches he recognizes the group.  They stand to greet him as he arrives at the table.  There’s Stowe, a short hairy fellow, sipping mead and smoking a pipe.

Stowe: Happy to have you home.  I just ordered second supper, you’re welcome to join in.
BS: No I’m fine.
Edgar: I’m little hungry.
Stowe: Aw, it’s too bad I didn’t offer you any.  You can always gnaw on your arm.
Edgar: I’ll give you something to ga-naw on... wait---no, i didn’t want to say that.
   

    Next to Stowe, is Curly, a rounder younger more astute version of John Lithgow, we’re talking like Harry and The Hendersons era Lithgow.

 
Curly: Welcome home, wish it were better circumstances, but then where would the fun of life be?  
BS: Could be worse, right?
Curly: Sure, you could be Edgar.
Edgar: ssseeee?  Don’t you feel better?
BS: Not really, I still have to work with you.
    Next to Curly is Hova, who seems to be the only one truly enjoying the show, so much so that he barely turns his eyes away enough as he offers a hearty handshake to BS.
Hova: Welcome home, man.
BS: How’s the show?
Hova: Exactly how I like it, short and jubblie!

 
    He takes a sip of his beer and slams it down, just as a tall slender scruffy looking man comes carrying a tray full of beers in half cleaned glasses.


BS: HARRY!!!
Harry: Hey BS, welcome home.  Have a beer.
BS: I’ve been waiting to here those words out of your mouth for months.
Edgar: That sounded kinda gayo.


    Harry passes beers around the table.  An average height, average build, slightly balding Josh grabs the only Guiness off the tray.


Josh: Hey BS, glad you made it back safe.
BS: Thanks, I’m glad to be back.
Josh: The debate studio is almost fully repaired, can’t wait to hear what you guys can toss together for this weeks show.
Edgar: Yeah, umm... about that... I kind of used all this weeks budget on tonight’s shindig.
Josh: Oh.  Well, just throw some crap up at the last second.  That’s what me and Dan did all the time, sometimes it was our funniest stuff.
Edgar: I got it taken care of.
BS: Hey speaking of Dan, where’s he at?
Josh: I dunno, he was here a second ago... he must have... I don’t know where he went.
    BS looks down at the table and sees a duck and the Hemogoblin lying face down on the table.
BS: Holy cow, what happened to them.
Josh: Oh, Hemo challenged Duck to a drink off.
BS: Hemo matched IAM?
Josh: RIIIIIIIGHT! Hemo was out after his fourth beer, we tried to get IAM to stop but he went through a half keg before he went down.
IAM: (not lifting his head) BS is home.  woo..................hoo--
    i B4 e stands over Hemo, writing words on his forehead with a magic marker.
iB4e: Hey BS, you have anything special to say to Hemo?
BS: How about, “if you can read this...”  ummm... no, can’t really think of anything.
Edgar: YOU SHOULD TOTALLY WRITE POOPY ON HIS HEAD!!!
iB4e: Hmmmm... I was thinking of drawing a P-trap, but yeah, I suppose poopy could be squeezed on there as well.
    

    BS checks his phone again and fires off a quick text message.


Edgar: Who’s that?
BS: It’s not important.


    They sit down at the table and try briefly to look at the stage.


BS: This is the great place you wanted to take me to?
Edgar: I was thinking here or Tropicana Field.  That’s what fit the budget.
BS: Well, I guess this is the choice for venue, but at least we could have watched some baseball.
Edgar: But you can’t get this at a baseball game... (yelling at the stage) HEY! My friend here just got back from the Middle East!  How about a special little dancey dance?!
BS: DEAR GOD NO!  (to the dancer who has now stopped dancing)  I mean, that’s just his joke.  I was never in the Middle East, I’m a... a.... an insurance sales...guy.
Hova: You can shake your money maker over here, if you want to!
    

    The dance nimbly lumbers off the stage and goes over to Hova.


BS: Well, it’s not quite a Vegas Champagne room, but I guess with good friends, we can make it rain anywhere.
Edgar: Yeah, and more were supposed to show up, just couldn’t make it.  Packbrew got a last second e-vite to the Brett Favre Madden cover celebration--
BS: What’s the deal with that?  The guy retires and he still gets to be on the cover?
Edgar: Packbrew isn’t on the cover, Favre is.
BS: No, I know but--- Nevermind.
Edgar: Ok, well, Bud was supposed to show but well... I don’t exactly know what happened to him.  Mac and BigBen REALLY wanted to come, but Josh has that restraining order on them now, so they can’t be in the same place at the same time anymore.


    BS again looks at his phone and fires off another text.


Edgar:  Dude, who are you talking to?
BS: Dude, don’t worry about it.
Edgar: But if it’s umm... well we’re here to have a good time and forget about all that, remember?
BS: Don’t worry about it.
Edgar: Look you have to think of it like Barry Zito.  He’s a great pitcher, whose just hit a rough patch.  You’re in the bullpen right now, but you’ll get another crack at the starting rotation.
BS: That’s an awful analogy.  Zito is a waste of money.  The guy hasn’t been the least productive since he left the AL.  He’s an overrated piece of garbage.
Stowe: No, a better analogy, would be Joba Chamberlain.  The guy is a stud.  He’s already proven that he can be good, now he’s just waiting for the right chance to come along to insert himself as the next great starter.
Hova: But then he’d be a Yanker.
BS: Yeah, I just can’t morally go along with you on that one, Stowe.
iB4e: Maybe baseball in general is not the best pick for an analogy.  You know what it’s like, it’s like this whole Pac-Man Jones thing.  He fell on hard times and the Cowboys saw the potential he possessed and are giving him a second chance.
Harry: Well, that one doesn’t work;  Pac-Man dug his own grave and rained on it.  Sure he’s got talent but, he screwed his own pooch.... no offense, i.
Curly: You know what I think it is, I think you’re just like Chief Brody from Jaws.  You’re a soldier protecting our country, like he was a cop protecting Amity.  But then this shark comes and starts eating people, and then Quint comes with his boat and makes this great speech about the USS Indianapolis.  And then Hooper and Quint start singing and showing off their scars and then, the shark comes and they’re all like “oh, no a shark--”
Edgar: That made less sense than half the things I say.
Josh: That’s a stretch.
Edgar: Some of the things I say?
Josh: I’ll settle at a couple.
Edgar: DEAL!  I’ll pay you tomorrow.


    BS again checks his phone and fires off another quick text message, and looks to the door.


BS: Look, you guys don’t mind if I cut out a bit early do you?
Edgar:  What?  We just got here.
BS: I know but---
Harry: Yeah, we’re here to cheer you up.
BS: But look---
Josh: But, nothing.  What could possibly be more important tonight, than hanging out with your pals?


    Just then, the door swings open and this girl walks in:
Emmanuelle Chriqui

iB4e: Holy Spacoli....
Edgar: Is that Emmanuelle Shakira?
BS: Emmanualle  Chriqui.  Yes.
Curly: Is she here for you?
BS: MmmHmm.
Hova: (completley diverting his attention from Badonka Donk) You’re gonna get some of that?
BS: It pays to be a hero.
Harry: What are you doing here?  Get going!
Curly: Yeah, yeah, welcome home and all that, but she’ll welcome you better.
IAM: (from the table) welcome home... FOUR!! woo.....
BS: Edgar, I gotta go.
Edgar: If it were it were me and Rachel McAdams, I’d already be gone.  GO GET UM SAILOR!
BS: Airman.
Edgar: There’s a difference?
BS: You guys do me a favor, I have to do a show with him next week, make sure he gets home safe.
Edgar: Your face will get a safe in it’s home-- (Edgar passes out on the table).
iB4e: (taking out his marker) Consider it done.
Josh: The studio will be all ready for you guys by next week, don’t worry.  But, um... could you have her call you Josh, just once.
BS: No.
Josh: Yeah, no, I understand.  It’d be weird.  Don’t even worry about it.  Hey, you guys have a good time.
    

    BS and Emmanuelle leave.


Curly: So what now?
Stowe: We could put these three in suggestive positions and take incriminating photos!
Hova: I’m pretty sure plenty of those kind of photos already exist on Edgar.
Josh: Yep.
iB4e: We could get some office chairs, put them in them and race them!
Harry: I’ll find some office chairs!
Curly: I’ll find a broom to set down as the finish line!

 

The End.

(Insert canned applause here.) 

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