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- I'm sorry.

I guess I didn't see you.

My parents are paying almost
$20,000 for me to be here.

They think going here is a real big deal

and that I'll just blossom
and bloom and mature.

I wish, instead, they woulda just,

bought me some clothes and some records

and let me get my own
apartment and a waterbed.

Maybe a dog.

Everybody is a moron here.

It's required.

- Jesus, M.

I must have called your name
a hundred million, come here,

fucking times.

Are you fucking deaf or what?

Give me a cigarette.

- You were supposed to quit.

- I did, for a week.

Now gimme.

- All right.

Fuck.

- Hi, oh look, there's Gladys, hi!

- How was your drive here?

- Boring.

I ran over somebody's pet.

What does our room look like this year?

- Oh, it's beautiful.

- This place stinks.

- Fuck, it's like your ideas
of art are so backwards.

It's so capitalistic

to place so much emphasis
on the finished object.

- Like, it's the object
that's significant.

It's always the culminating point.

- That's fucked!

What about the process?

What about the aura surrounding the work?

- Aura, process?

I don't even understand
what we're talking about.

- It's like so fucked.

It's like, forget it.

I don't understand how someone

can be so ideologically ignorant.

- I don't mind the menthols.

It's a nice change,

especially in the morning
when you first get up.

- Yeah, but the aftertaste is awful.

It's like smoking a fucking breath mint.

- Menthol is better than unfiltered.

- You're kidding.

- No, filtered is awful.

No matter how hard you try,
you get tobacco in your mouth.

It's impossible to swallow.

It's like trying to swallow hair.

- Come on, unfiltered tastes
better, it's fuller and richer.

- Maybe, but it isn't as
bad as rolling your own.

The hassle just isn't worth the pleasure.

- It's simple to roll your own cigarette.

It takes like five seconds and
it's a hell of a lot cheaper

than buying a fucking carton.

- But I usually end up losing
either my paper or my tobacco

and I can't roll my cigarettes

and I end up throwing everything out

and wasting my money
and feeling like shit.

You ever think about lung cancer L?

- No.

- How many packs a day do you smoke?

- Two, two and a half.

- I'd worry if I was you.

- How much do you smoke?

Only one pack a day

and I don't even inhale all the way.

- Mick Mick Mick Mick Mick.

Mick Mick Mick Mick Mick Mick.

Mick.

So anyway, my father's
up to his old tricks.

When will he ever learn, right?

- Mick is sorta nice,

but I liked him better when
he was into being a skinhead.

- Make sure I die on that
flight so he can cash in.

I say to him, "Dad, I have to
get to school safe and sound.

"I have classes, you know?"

But it's like he wants the fine things.

You can't blame him for
his get-rich-quick schemes.

It's like, papa, I understand.

I know, I know you want
the Godiva chocolates,

I know you want the condos,

the ski chalet in

I know what it's like, I just,

I wish he could understand

that I'm not going to
bring that flight down,

I'm not gonna shoot anyone on that flight,

for it is not my nature.

And the kind of what,

important to die on the flight

to collect your flight insurance,
if you know what I mean.

But what can you do, right?

What can you do, right, Mick?

- We're just a bunch of spoiled teenagers

with nothing better to do than sit around

and talk meaningless shit.

- That's one way of looking at it.

- That is one way of looking at it.

No, that's
the only way of looking at it.

Let's face it, all we'll be
doing for the next 75 minutes

is smoking, drinking wine,

and complaining about not
having anything to do.

- It doesn't sound like
a half bad lifestyle.

- Lifestyle?

Lifestyles are for the middle class.

We must make it to ideology.

Sex, cigarettes, wine, and boredom.

- What about art?

- Fuck art, art is packed for the masses

and credibility for the cultural elite.

- Surreal situations

blown up to screen-size proportions.

If your idea of excitement

is watching a trio of art school brats

talking about existentialism,
then you're in luck, come in.

Put your feet up,

light up another cigarette
and take a deep drag

'cause it's gonna be a long and cold trip,

and after a while,

the tedium will set in
and you won't even care.

Do you think you'll ever get married?

- Hm, probably.

I think it would be sorta neat.

What about you?

- No, never.

I would sooner shoot myself.

- Why?

- It's fucked.

I mean, I'd get sick of any
guy, like after two weeks.

- But what if you really loved him?

- Love is dumb.

In junior high, like pimples.

- Come on.

My parents are married for
20 years and they seem happy.

- They're just comfortable.

- Well what's wrong with comfort?

- It's dull.

- I got myself a low paying and meaningless job.

I stand here and make sure
that the exposures are correct.

Most of the photos are
boring vacation pictures

from the shores and resorts,

but every now and then,
something juicy comes through.

There's something exciting
about all of this.

Real sex never really thrilled me,

but here, it's staged and phony.

It's the greatest performance art.

I'm more turned on by pictures of people

pretending to have sex than
I am by the real thing.

It's funny.

I think about sex constantly,
but I really don't desire it.

Do you jerk off a lot?

- Yeah, I used to do it like
two or three times a day.

But it isn't that exciting anymore.

Sometimes I think I
masturbated too much as a kid.

- When's the first time you ever did it?

- I can't remember what turned me on.

I was 11 with a hard on,

but I didn't know how to masturbate.

I had a sex manual, which I'd stolen.

I remember looking through it

and feeling really frustrated.

So I decided to take a shower.

I stood there, looked at
the soap suds in my hands.

My hands felt, I don't know, really soft.

I just started to stroke myself.

- What's the weirdest
place you ever did it?

- Fuck, I've done it on the expressway.

I once did it at the dinner
table, under my napkin.

My parents were too drunk to notice.

I heard girls like to sit
on running washing machines.

- No.

I've done that.

- Well what about horses?

- I've done it with fruits,
vegetables, beer bottles.

I remember in 8th
grade, sitting in class,

I suddenly realized I
wanted to masturbate.

It wasn't the sex.

I just knew that if I touched
myself, I would feel better.

So, I excused myself and did in a stall

in the girl's bathroom.

Another time I was in church.

It was at a funeral.

I had this sweater and
I put it over my lap...

- You're lying about church.

- How did you know?

It's funny how it all
seemed exciting back then.

- Yeah, I used to sit at
school at the end of the day,

waiting for that final bell to ring

so I could run home, lock my door

and jerk off into a sock or something.

- Yesterday I fucked a smelly dog.

- Yesterday I fucked a smelly dog, who?

- Yesterday, I fucked
a smelly dog who looked.

- Yesterday I fucked a
smelly dog who looked like.

- Yesterday I fucked a smelly dog

who looked like Mick.

That's real funny.

- Isn't that rich, looked like Mick.

- For him.

- That's mean.

- That is mean.

Yesterday I fucked a smelly
dog who looked like Mick...

Period.

Afterwards.

- Yesterday I fucked a smelly dog

who looked like Mick, period.

Afterwards, we.

- Yesterday I fucked a smelly
dog who looked like Mick.

Afterwards, we

cunt, that's the only
word I could think of.

- That doesn't make any sense.

- This isn't (mutters)

- I don't understand why that doesn't,

if it's what I thought
of, we can make it fit.

- Afterwards we, it's not a verb.

- We could totally make
it fit, if you guys...

- No, it doesn't work.
- Would stop being assholes.

- Would you define the verb, to cunt?

- It doesn't have to be a verb.

We cunt, as cunt can,
or something like that.

- Oh, so you wanna make this...

- Whatever, I totally forgot

that I'm playing with
retards who can't even think.

- Yesterday I fucked a smelly dog...

- Wait, are we going with this...

- Oh what the hell,
let him have his way.

- All right.

- He can be a baby if he wants.

Yesterday I fucked a smelly dog

who looked like Mick, period.

Afterwards, we cunt...

Probably.

- Okay.

Um, yesterday
I fucked a smelly dog

who looked like Mick, period.

Afterwards, we cunt probably wet.

- What's that mean?

- You are no one to talk.

- Drink, drink, I think
she should drink for that.

- Well cunt could
be short for couldn't.

- We couldn't probably wet?

- Yeah, our pants.

- Afterwards we...
- Oh.

I'm sorry.

Should I drink for that?
- Yeah.

- Probably wet.

Yeah, afterwards, I think
that implies a whole lot.

- Oh, fine wine, Mick, nice choice.

A fine brew.

From the Hoboken Winery.

Next time you choose a wine.

- Okay.

- Is it my turn?

- Yeah.
- Yeah.

- Yesterday I fucked a smelly dog

who looked like Mick.

Afterwards, we cunt probably wet our.

- Yesterday I fucked a smelly dog

who looked like Mick, period.

Afterwards, we cunt wet our.

- Forgot the probably.
- Drink.

- Drink.

- That wasn't really a drink.

- Yes it was.

- Okay.

- Afterwards, we cunt probably our pants...

- No, drink.

- What?

- You forgot wet.

- Jesus Mick, you suck at this game.

- That's a really important word too.

- Afterwards, we cunt probably wet our pants.

Satisfied?
- Okay.

Yesterday I fucked a smelly
dog who looked like Mick.

Afterwards, we cunt probably
wet our pants, period.

I.

- Uh.
- That was a period?

- What?

Afterwards, we cunt
probably wet...

- Period, I?

- Period and then I.
- Okay.

- Mick, Mick, Mick, Mick, Mick.

Jesus.

All right, uh yesterday
I fucked a smelly dog

who looked like Mick.

Afterwards, we cunt
probably wet our pants.

- Of course the long
stretches of boredom

were punctuated by moments of fun,

like when me and Mick went rat hunting

down in the city sewers.

It was morning and it was
also our first date, of sorts.

I had never been in the sewers before.

It was a whole different world.

Up above us, the city
continued to live and breath

while underneath we
waited around in its shit.

- All right, this is a poem I wrote.

It's called

"Towards a Future of Mostly
Abuse Sod With Silence."

You gave me your guarantee,
you said you loved me.

You really adapted me.

I don't know when I started to,

but I started to crawl away from you.

In a way, it was speedy, but
as I was busy ditching you,

I didn't catch on to the fact

that you were there, beside of me.

You were embedded, I don't
know how, I don't know where.

Still I made an effort.

I guess a decision not to
deal with you on the outside,

so whether you're in my
brain, my heart, or my dick,

or some other less obvious place,

I got you somewhere inside of me.

I don't expect I'll ever rip it out.

You are like my secret coma.

- What did you do yesterday?

- Nothing.

I got 16 hours of sleep.

- That's something.

More wine?

- Sure.

All week, drink, sleep, TV.

I'm positively dull.

- Yeah, I guess my week hasn't,

been any better.

- I wish there was a way to
fast forward to the good parts.

- Ants prep for winter by invading college.

Seek moisture and candy bars.

Fremont, thirsty ants
are marching one by one

onto a lone community college.

For about three weeks now,

students and staff at the college

have been battling an invasion
of ants in search of water,

not knowledge,

that have infiltrated
the halls of the college.

Bill Effer, director of
buildings and grounds at Ohlone,

takes it all in stride.

"We have what we consider
normal fall weather," he said.

- Okay, the question is, who invented punk?

I suppose, when I answer Johnny
Rotten or Malcolm McLaren,

but they stole it from Richard Hell,

who stole it from Iggy Pop,

who stole it from Lou Reed,

who stole it from Marlon Brando,

who stole it from James Dean,

who stole it from Robert Mitchum,

who stole it from L Flynn.

Man, can you believe that?

I really like your hair.

- Yeah, thanks.

- No, really.

Didn't I ever tell you
before how much I like it?

- Come on, stop being boring.

- Sorry.

You wanna get something to eat?

- Yeah.

Mm, wait, do you like my shoes?

- They're okay.

- Wait.

Mick?

Do

you

want

to

do

it?

- Do what?

- You know, it.

- Yeah, I mean,

I didn't know you wanted to.

- I do.

- The first rock song I can remember?

The first rock song I remember is,

Jesus, "Surfing USA," by the Beach Boys.

I was pretty young and I was inside

when I should have been outside playing.

The music was coming from the
stereo in my parent's room.

The door was open, so
of course, I peeked in.

They were in bed fucking.

What an absurd song to fuck to.

I was kind of frightened,

but the music was such an
upbeat and happy backdrop.

It was in the middle of the afternoon,

in the brightest sunlight.

- I die, I do, I do, I do.

I die, I do, I ever over you,
I do, I do ever die over you.

I do, I die.

- What did you and Mick
end up doing last night?

- We went back to his place and fucked.

- Hm.

Sex is okay, I guess.

But how can you stand everything

that has to go on before it happens?

- You mean foreplay?

- No, I mean, like
innuendos and mind games.

I mean, after you've fucked,
well that's even worse.

Like what did you say to him this morning?

- Nothing.

I left before he woke up.

- I felt like shit.

L suggested that we do
something fun to clear my head.

We ripped off three stores.

Most of what we stole was
junk, but that was the point.

There is a certain thrill
buying new clothing.

It's like the future unfolding before you

and presenting you with all
of its wondrous possibilities.

Slipping on a pair of shoes,

there is always that uplifting odor,

the smell of commerce, fashion, and youth,

all rolled into one.

It's like having sex for the first time,

exciting and empowering.

- Dear God, it is my second year of this university.

I am sic of this place.

Unfortunately, I will be back next year,

and the year after,

until I graduate.

All I really wanna do
is be in a rock band,

but here, all I do is write
papers about rock bands.

I need your help and your advice.

Please, I am ready to listen.

- Mick, what do you expect,
guidance, moral support?

Look into your soul, find
your desires and convictions

and be ready to bleed for them.

If you have no desires and convictions,

you're halfway to the morgue.

My major here is aesthetics of crime.

I chose this major because it
sounded really fashionable.

You know, guns,

terrorists,

bandits,

hand cuffs, all kinds of sexy stuff.

In my mind, I saw a fashion
show of the depraved.

But of course, my
expectations were never met.

All I do is read boring
books and write C+ papers.

- So, if we turn to the opening of

Blake's marriage of Heaven and Hell,

we find an interesting passage.

It reads, "The Ancient tradition

"that the world will be consumed in fire

"at the end of 6,000 years is true,

"as I have heard from Hell.

"For the cherub, with his flaming sword,

"is thereby commanded to leave
his God at the Tree of Life.

"When he does, the whole
creation will be consumed

"and appear infinite and holy,

"whereas it now appears
finite and corrupt.

"This will come to pass

"by improvement of sensual enjoyment."

- This is very important and it's here...

- He goes on, but first a notion

that man has a body distinct from his soul

as an extra part.

"This," Blake says, "I shall do

"by printing in the infernal method

"by corrosives which in Hell
are salutary and medicinal,

"melting apparent surfaces away

"and displaying the
infinite which was hid."

- I hate her.

She's a whore.

Her boyfriend is also a real fucker.

- Oh, they're not that bad.

- You see that guy with the boots?

He's a prick.

That whole table, they're all pathetic.

You should kill them.

- What's your point, M?

- Well somebody's gotta represent the hate generation.

- Oh ho ho ho ho.

So, do you hate yourself?

- What type of question is that?

Of course.

- That's interesting.

- I hate the way I sleep too much.

I hate myself for spending too much money.

I hate my hair.

- Come on, you have good hair.

- No, it's pathetic.

I should just kill myself.

But I'm also a coward.

That's another reason why I hate myself.

- But don't things make you happy,

you know, like shoes, cigarettes?

- Yeah, but those things are insignificant

on an ontological level.

- My job at the photo lab
is going okay, I guess.

Its sorta dull.

I'm studying photography here.

The other students tease me a lot

because I like to take
pictures of beautiful things.

Sunsets, birds, nature, stuff like that.

Someday I hope to be a photographer
for a postcard company.

I also like pornography.

Strange combination, huh?

When did I first fuck?

I fucked someone when I
was 14, in the bathroom.

My father caught us and punished me.

In those days, I fucked anything.

Anyone who fucked me, loved me, I thought.

Uh, I now know that isn't
true, so I don't fuck anymore.

I've always liked fires, uh,

when I was eight, I almost
burned my house down.

When I was 11, I learned
how to make bombs.

I use these to kill um,

toads, lizards, and small birds.

This sexually excited me,

which I guess is a pretty common thing.

Anyway, I ended up having
to build these graveyards

where I'd have to bury
all the things I killed.

I felt bad about these animals, um,

but the guilt was sorta neat.

- Did I do anything wrong?

If I did, you should tell me.

- No, it wasn't you.

You were fine.

It's just that this whole
thing is sort of stupid.

I mean, I'm not a prude,
but fucking is sort of dumb.

I mean, I can take it or leave it.

- Really?

- I mean, I like being here with you,

talking, stuff like that,

but, sex, it's like,

taking a shower, if I
didn't have to do it,

life would be a little more pleasant.

- So, fucking is just
something you've gotta do?

It's like, taking a shit?

- No, taking a shit is far more enjoyable.

It's more,

Marxist.

Sex is like,

waiting for a birthday,
you just wait and wait,

and it passes by too
quickly,

and you're really,

fucking is definitely overrated,

and shitting underrated.

I've gotta get dressed.

The days move like molasses.

Come on, honey.

- Good evening, how are y'all doin' out there?

- M, you're on my cord.

How y'all doin'?

Welcome to Cafe Kamu Review.

Let's go meet some of the VIPs, M,

that make up our lovely audience.

VIP, that stands for...

- Vaginally in tuned persons.

- That's right.

The theme of tonight's show
is, does art imitate life?

Does life fuck art?

Does art suck shit?

Do shit get stuck in my asshole

and give me bad pains?

Is shittin' better than fuckin'?

- Oh, I fucked him.

- Hello my dear, and what
name were you blessed with?

- Jenny.

- Oh, they underestimated you, my dear,

you look more like a Venus de Milo.

Doesn't she, M, doesn't she
look like a Venus to you?

- Can I tell you the only
question running through my head

at this moment is what color
is this woman's pubic hair?

- The only way we'll
figure that out, girl,

is by picking it out of your
teeth.

- Bye y'all.

- See ya real soon.

- So anyway,

I've come up with a title
for my sophomore thesis.

I think it's pretty great.

I sing the body divided, colon,

dismemberment as universal
signifier in rock music.

Here's the thesis, that rock music thrives

on the dismemberment of the human body.

Whenever you hear a song with
rock and roll at its base,

you are witnessing an act
of ritual dismemberment

that predates and
presupposes Greek tragedy.

Rooted in the dismemberment
of the god Dionysus,

I set forth by Nietzsche
in the birth of tragedy.

Because dismemberment is
a universal signifier...

Is it surprising that exactly 90 years

after Nietzsche wrote "The Anti-Christ,"

in which the figure of Christ
is pitted against Dionysus,

Johnny Rotten should announce,
"I am the anti-Christ,"

in the song that is the
very model of a dithyramb.

Here, I'll show ya.

- They found another corpse
in the sewer this morning.

I read it in the papers.

This one was so far gone

that they couldn't tell if
it had been a man or a woman.

They found it when Mick and
I caught all those rats.

- Wanna see some pictures
I stole from work yesterday?

- Sure.

These are filthy.

- You're damn right.

That's the best batch yet.

I bet I could sell 'em to a fuck magazine

and make some fucking money.

- Do you wanna see them?

- No.

I'm late for class.

I like fucking Mick.

I'll never admit it to him.

That would be almost as
bad as saying I loved him

or something.

I tell Mick that sex is boring,

but it actually is pretty good.

It's best when I'm on top of him,

my legs straddling him,

so I'm rising up and down on his cock.

I come in this position.

Sometimes we lay together,
motionless for minutes,

his cock in my cunt, me on top of him,

and then I'll lean over and
put my tongue on his nipple.

It excites me as much as it excites him.

It's like paradise.

- The bourgeoisie shall die.

We are about youth changing vitality.

Down with the stagnant middle class values

that have been fucked down
our throats since time zero.

We are choking,

on the rotting values of
our parent's generation.

We must purge ourselves of this swill.

We must vomit

to free ourselves of the
shackles of mediocrity.

- Right on, man, right on.

- Yeah.

- Why?

- I was drunk.

- You're so fucking stupid.

- Those whining brats deserved it.

- You don't even have a
good reason for doing it.

- Come on, did you see any of that shit?

It was ugly, I was doing them a favor.

Sort of like shooting a sick dog.

- Why'd you have to sign your name?

- Ha, so I come off
like the big cynic, huh?

I hate everybody and everything.

Seriously,

like half of this film has been shot

and I guess I have no
real complaints except

the director is real cheap.

I'm not getting paid for shit
and the coffee's always cold.

But I guess I don't care.

Who am I really?

Now I can't say, that would
destroy the illusion, you know.

But one thing I can tell
you about the real me,

I hate smoking.

I have to pretend to
like it when I play M.

Now that's real acting.

- Do you like cheese?

I love it.

Have you ever really
thought about your actions

and how they affect other people?

That's interesting.

You remind me of someone I
know, someone I'm very close to.

You remind me of my son.

He's 19 now, but I remember
this incident very clearly.

He was 14, a real delinquent,
having trouble in school,

hanging around with the wrong crowd.

I came home from work one day

and caught him with a boy in the bathroom.

My little prince with some
teen hoodlum, in my bathroom.

Do you know what I had to do to him, M?

Can you imagine the horror of coming home

and finding your own child in the john,

having sex with some stranger?

They say that puberty is
the time in a child's life

of fucking.

Fucking around and fucking up.

There are those of us

that can make a 15 year
ordeal out of puberty.

Fortunately, I acted wisely.

I disciplined my son after
the bathroom incident.

You understand what I'm trying to say.

My son's getting married next week.

You probably know how
happy I am about this.

- They expelled me,

but I didn't expect any leniency.

You may choose from three
basic positions to douche.

Most women prefer to douche
while sitting on the toilet.

Whichever way you choose,

remember that douching is
easier when you're relaxed.

Insert the nozzle into your
vagina about three inches.

Avoid closing the lips of the vagina

and squeeze bottle gently,

letting the solution irrigate
and cleanse the vagina.

Solution will flow back
out as you use the douche.

Douches come in three lovely fragrances

to leave you feeling
cleaner and more confident.

Everything I touch turns to shit.

- Don't be so hard on yourself.

- I even lost my new shoes.

They just disappeared.

- You can always buy another pair.

- Yeah.

Consume or be consumed.

- What are you gonna do?

- I don't know.

I was thinking of going to the coast.

- The coast is boring.

- Yeah, but I don't care.

You got any cigarettes?

- So, when are you leaving?

- Tomorrow.

Someone destroyed my car.

I have to take the train.

- Do your parents know you've been kicked out?

- Well no, but...

- What a drag.

- Mick was determined

to make my last night here a fun one.

At that moment, I could
feel the Earth rotting.

I could feel myself rotting.

But I didn't care.

- You're M, aren't you?

- Yeah.

- I heard about what you did.

That's really wild.

- Yeah, I guess.

- Everybody's talkin' about it.

So they kicked you out, right?

- Yeah.

- Coo oo oo oo ooooooooooool.

- Godard, Truffaut, Renee,

they are just a bunch of old boring farts.

We would be better off if
their films were burned

and the ashes flushed into the sewer.

The French new wave was
little more than a joke,

a joke with no punchline,

delivered by an idiot,

worthless complainers and whiners.

Their films were complete bores,

inane characters hitting
midlife crisis at the age of 17.

Godard, master of the
two hour long mistake.

Truffaut, what a stinker.

As interesting as watching a roof leak.

And Louie Malle, he should
have given up film making

and gone into real estate.

Perfect films to watch

while serving a 20 year jail sentence.

- So, this is the last night you're gonna be with Mick?

- Mmhmm.

- Are you gonna fuck him?

- Probably.

- That's good.

I mean,

can I watch?

- What?

- Can I watch you and Mick do it?

- L.

- Please, he'll never know.

- No.

- I'll be in the closet,
I'll be really quiet.

- No.

- Come on, I promise,
I won't tell a soul.

- No.

- Hello mom?

Yeah it's me.

Oh, everything is fine.

No no, I was just calling
to see how you and dad are.

Also, I was wondering if you
could send me some more money.

No, nothing's wrong.

You know, for school
supplies and stuff like that?

Great.

Thanks mom.

No, I love you.

- Morning in the same old streets.

Nothing has changed.

I said goodbye to Mick
and L at the station.

It wasn't very sad.

Two days after I left the
university, Mick killed himself.

He used a gun,

a razor,

pills.

L joked that Mick did it as
a gesture of his love for me.

Mick was too smart for
that Romeo Juliet stuff.

I think he killed
himself to get attention.

And in a way, he did.

I never really did figure out why he...

- Wait, stop.

- Three four!