All language subtitles for Bickford Shmecklers Cool Ideas

[rock music]

� �

(The Faint)
� I feel a warm resistance �

� beneath the outer layer. �

[muted music]

� �

That's too goddamn elegant
not to be true.

(The Faint)
� Not speaking, prince,
now, are you? �

� Not breathing
one more breath. �

� �

(man)
Oh, yeah, that's a full load.

That is a full load.

[coughing]

Wow.

Next!

No, no, no.
I can do one more.

Dude, can you, like,
OD on pot?

(man)
I guess we're about
to find out.

[muted music]

[man and woman
breathing heavily]

Oh, my God.

How can I even think?

[relaxed rock music]

� �

(Grateful Dead)
� As I was walking
round Grosvenor Square, �

� not a chill to the winter
but a nip to the air. �

Wanna dance?

Yes!

� From the other direction... �

With me?

Denied!

(Grateful Dead)
� It could be an illusion,
but I might as well try. �

� Might as well try. �

� �

[telephone rings]

beep!

(man)
Hello, Bickford.

It's Dad.

I'm still trying to reach you.

It's been a couple of weeks
already.

I hope no news is good news,
but call, okay?

I don't want to have
to send another search party.

beep!

� �

[laughs]

Busted robbing a fridge.

How embarrassing.

Attractive, uh...

toga.

Thank you.

It's very me.

So when they say "toga party,"

it means you have to actually
wear a toga to the party.

Duh!

What did you think it was?

I don't know,

a state of mind, like,
"Come prepared to toga."

To toga,
or not to toga.

Shakespeare, right?

That's a good imitation.

Shh.

I'm going to steal
this H2O.

So are you having fun
at the,

you know, party?

Oh, yeah, mad fun.
You?

Uh...
[laughs]

Not yet.

I've just been on my own
so far,

banging my head
against a brick wall

metaphorically.

So then your head must
metaphorically hurt.

Some days, yes.

But Zeus had a headache,
and out popped Athena, right?

Goddess of wisdom.

Oh, my God.

Space-out.

I used to know mythology.

I totally loved that class.

What--

oh, paranoia.

Paranoia.

Whoa.

All right.

Banzai.

(The Concretes)
� You can't hurry love. �

� �

� You can't hurry love. �

� �

� You can't hurry love. �

(male voice)
You shall not pass.

Yow!

You shall not pass.

You shall not pass.

Fucking righteous.

[upbeat rock music]

� �

(Fuzz Townshend)
� Have you got
a light for me? �

� If so, can you get me
out of this place? �

[acoustic guitar music]

(man)
� Elevation far below you. �

(man)
Hey, look at that guy!

(man)
Oh, come on.
Jump, dude!

(woman)
Yeah, go!

Isn't that the whack-job
that lives in the basement?

Jesus, yeah.

Hey, uh,

Bickford,
you want to hang

with us, man,
away from the ledge there?

(Bickford)
No can do, pal.

I'm not in conversational mode.

I thought I was,

but fuck it.

What's he saying?

Uh, what you
talking about, Bick?

The problem.

I thought I could forget
about it for a while

and mingle, toga, whatever,
but no.

No dice.

I'm lobe-locked.

Bro, what's up with
the term paper, all right?

You're making us all
look bad.

It's not for class.

The problem

is just a cool idea.

What is it?

What's your cool idea?

A unified theory of everything.

It's not a big deal.

[breathing heavily]

Holy God, wow.

Damn!

So we're living

in an unimaginably giant
black hole.

We're antimatter.

And antimatter
negates existence.

I'm definitely matter,
Einstein.

Check out the gut.

[laughter]

All right, proof two.

Subatomically, 99.99% of you
is empty space,

including your gut,

brains, everything.

So how you can assert
your existence

when basic physics prove
that you're overwhelmingly

composed of empty space?

But thinking.

How can you think
if you don't exist?

You know, I think.
Therefore, I am.

That works for me, man.

Even Descartes believed
that he was incorrect.

You know what changed his mind?

Did he hit the monster bong?

[laughter]

No, Descartes did not hit
the monster bong.

Better: the invention
of metaphysics blew his mind,

the idea that everyone

experiences life solely,
uniquely, impenetrably

from their own point of view.

No offense, bro,

but all these ideas
are just paradoxes.

I've had deeper thoughts
watching Oprah.

Not that I do.

(man)
Who is it?

It's me, Trent.

Jennifer?

It's Sara.

Hey.

Hi.

Hi.

Look what I liberated.

What is this?

Rocket fuel.

Rocket fuel?

[music playing in the distance]

� Going to the-- �

No.

No!

Is that Bick?

Which one of you callous,
spineless worms stole The Book?

Yo, Bick, what's wrong, man?

What's wrong is,

some cretin at this party
stole The Book.

What book?

Did someone steal
his Bible?

No, not some generic Bible,
you little toga hussy.

My book of cool ideas,
Ralph.

(man)
Hey, geek boy.

Go cry somewhere else,
will ya?

I'm no geek, you knave.

And I'm not shutting up
until I get The Book back.

Have it your way, buzz-kill.

(man)
Oh, check it out.
Fight, fight!

(Ralph)
Come on!

This is my house, man.

Ow!

Ya!

Fucking creep.

What?

[sighs]

Shit.

Help!

Police!

Officers, I've been raped.

(man)
You what?

I've been raped.

Geez.
Where'd it happen?

Oh, God.
Oh, God.

No, no, no, no, not raped
like sexually raped.

Raped like the Earth
has been raped.

My cool ideas,
they're in this book,

a notebook.

Kid, kid, kid--

I live in a basement.

So, what,
you were not raped?

(Ralph)
Hey, hey!

Sorry.
Yeah.

Hail, Caesar.

[laughs]

Toga party, officer.

No shit.

You been drinking tonight, son?

Absolutely not.
No, sir.

Smoke a little weed?

No.

So if I were
to pat you down,

I wouldn't find
any weed on you?

No, sir.

Not even, like,
a small bud?

Nope.

A little roach
or something?

No.

Shit.
Damn.

Hey, we found
your book, man.

Oh.
Yeah.

(Bickford)
Where? Who? How?

(Ralph)
Some dumb jerk brought it

and read it on the toilet;
I don't know.

Somebody found it there,
like, right after you left.

The toilet?
Yeah.

That ignorant scum.

(Ralph)
So thank you, officers.

Seriously, really.
Please, thank you.

But I think
we're okay now.

You're all right,
yeah?

Okay, get him home,
Brutus.

Freaking college kids
with their frickin' books.

It's Saturday night,
for Pete's sake.

[laughs]

Shit.

Ralph, the shattered cosmos
once again align.

You saved my life.

Thank you.

Yeah, Bick, I--

I lied, man.

I mean, I didn't find
your book.

I just--

What do you mean,
you lied?

You lied about the--
you lied lied?

Yeah, Bick, I mean--

You lied about
The Book, Ralph?

You lied about The Book.

I had to, Bick.

We can't have cops
around the house

with that rager.

Everyone's drinking,
drunk, and I mean,

God, even worse.

I mean, seriously,
we could get fined.

Oh.

Are you okay?

Oh, holy shit.

(Dad)
It's not the end
of the worlds, Bick.

Maybe it's a blessing
in disguise.

Maybe this will get you
to stop thinking so much

and get out there and do.

Out there? In there?

It's all the same,
and nobody gets it.

I mean, I talk, and I can
see it in their faces;

people think I'm a lunatic.

At least with The Book, I--

I've had enough
of the same conversation

over and over and over.

I think I just need
to come home.

I don't think I'm ready
for school.

We all agreed--
you, me, the doctor--

that school would be
the best next step.

I know, but that decision
was based on a set of facts

that have changed materially,
Dad, entirely.

I mean, I think I just need
to come home

until The Book is finished,

solve the thing,
start from scratch.

And I can't do that here,

wallowing in this cesspool
of soon-to-be-Deltas

of the brave new world.

Coming home
won't bring back Mom, Bickford.

beep!

"Every physical structure
in the universe,

"including ourselves,
is in a constant state of flux,

"minimally and maximally,
continuously, continuously.

"Yet our lives are lived

"in ever-flowing still frames
of reality,

"sanity being the delusion
of a comfortable continuity

within the vortex
of infinite chaos."

"Vortex
of infinite chaos"?

Come on, you've got to admit,
that rules.

I get it.

Well, okay.

Then he goes on to talk

about how we're all
subatomically in flux

and emotionally in flux

and consciously
and mentally in flux.

I mean, even our flux
is in flux.

So what?

It's just that when you put

all these ideas and theories
and facts together

and think about them all
at the same time,

interconnected,
your brain kind of orgasms.

You must be stoned
off your head.

No, I am telling you.

This book actually made me feel
these ideas--

I mean, like, tingly in my toes.

'Cause you were on a stoner
safari when you found it.

Like the time you watched

The Seventh Seal stoned

and we didn't do anything
for the next month

but stay in and watch
stupid Swedish movies.

Ingmar Bergman isn't stupid.

Ha!

I should just go
sleep with this guy.

"Copyright Bickford Shmeckler."

What kind
of sick, twistoid parents

would name their kid
Bickford Shmeckler?

I'll ask him.

Okay.

You win; I'll read it.

Shit, I got to get to practice.

9:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning?

That is so not rock and roll.

Yeah, well,
we are not rock and roll.

We're adult contemporary.

There's a difference.

So you really think
this book is that good

that you would actually bang
the guy who wrote it?

Yeah.

But I'm a nymphomaniac.

And a klepto.

Hey, quit knocking my hobbies.

You're their prime beneficiary.

[Bickford screaming]

Fucking Tarzan wanna-be
motherfucker.

I hope he's not down there
slitting his wrists

or hanging himself,
you know, OD'ing on pills,

something horrible
like that.

Dude, why are you so uptight
about Dickford?

He doesn't even like us.

Yeah, quit being
such a fag.

[laughs]

Pole smoker.

Butt pirate.

Fudge packer.

Ass bandit.

Ha ha.

Jiz guzzler.

Yuck.

Dude,
verbal violation.

Dude, that was all net.

All net, man.

(man)
No, you don't throw
"jiz" out like--

Gentlemen.

I found this
most telltale object

adjacent to the location

my Tootsie Pops
formerly occupied.

Huh?

There was
an exceeding bodacious blonde

at the party last night.

She had a wreath-type
flower thing in her hair.

We conversed in the kitchen.

I think she may be it,
the one, the culprit.

That was Sara Witt.

Sara Witt?

She is pretty.

Sara Witt
is a stone-cold fox, bro.

Amen.

And she's all
for free.

All for free?

Yeah, you know.

Alpha Zeta Gi?

It's a sorority.

Down on Washington Street?

Alpha Zeta G.

Washington Street.

(.38 Special)
� You see it all around you, �

� good loving gone bad. �

� And usually it's too late �

� when you realize
what you had. �

� So hold on loosely, �

� but don't let go. �

� If you cling too tightly, �

� you're gonna... �

I am ten times
more socially relevant

than this geek.

Sara Witt?

Yeah, all right.

I stopped by that sorority
house thing of yours,

and your friends,
"sisters," droogies,

whatever you call them,
told me I could find you here.

Look, I want my book back
now, all right?

You are the girl who stole
my book, are you not?

You're Bickford Shmeckler,

the man with
the metaphorical headache.

And thank you so much.

Oh!

For what? For what?
God.

Inspiration.

God, I read your words,

and look what exploded
out of me.

I think this is
my best work ever.

What's the black spot
in the middle mean?

That's my clitoris.

It's a motif.

I always put it somewhere
in each of my paintings.

Do you like it?

Your clitoris?

No, the painting, silly.

It's, uh...

look, Sara, I want
my fucking book back,

all right?

I'm sorry.

I'm just a little
too distracted right now

to do superficial stuff
like look at art.

Mm, well, distraction
is a vibration

felt in the conscious mind,
sent by the subconscious,

begging it
to pay attention.

It is a whisper from
the mother of invention.

That's--

One of your cool ideas?

It's very bizarre
to hear you say that.

Trent.

Meet my new friend,
Bickford.

Craptastic.

(Sara)
How could you throw it away

after how much I told you
it meant to me?

I thought it sucked.

Oh, bullshit.

You're just jealous.

What did you expect
when you told me

you'd fuck the guy
who wrote it?

Fuck?
I didn't say it
like that.

(Trent)
Yeah, you did,
as a matter of fact.

"Ooh, ooh, his words
are so orgasmic.

My toes
are just tingling."

Excuse him;
he's an asshole.

Hey, asshole man!

It's not here.

You positive
this is the right can?

Yeah, that's it.

Then where's The Book?

Hey,
I already apologized,

like, a billion times.

What do you want?

Justice!
Come here.

Whoa, whoa, hey.

Just--wait.
Hold on, man.

Look, look, I got
200 bucks, okay?

Oh, Trent,
don't go there.

That's mine?

Take it.

Just, you know,
buy another notebook

or diary or whatever
and rewrite it.

Whoa, Bick.

Bick, hey, just--
wait.

Ooh!

This isn't about money,
you smug, pretentious lemming.

[grunting]

Come on, Bick.

I didn't know he was going
to throw it away.

It's not even really
my fault.

Let me make it up to you.

Make it up to me?
How?

You've destroyed my life.

You can't make it up to me.

The Book is gone.

It's gone!

Gone!

(Autamata)
� I'm going back
where I come from. �

� I'm going back
where I come from. �

� I'm going back
to Jive County. �

� I'm going back
to Jive County. �

[phone ringing]

Hello?

(Bickford)
Ralph?

Hey, Bick.

Where are you?
Out partying?

I'm in the basement.

That's 30 feet away.

Why--why are you calling me?

I just didn't feel
like the hike is all.

I just want to express
my gratitude, Ralph.

Hmm? For what?

I know you don't know me.

I've only been here
a couple weeks.

But I--I appreciate
the honest attempt you've made

to be kind to me.

But...

I'm going away...

for good.

What do you mean,
"for good," Bick?

I was almost finished,

just looking for a way
to tie it all together.

[sighs]

A summation,

a final chapter, an end.

But now I just--I feel

like I'm trapped
in a Moebius strip.

What's a Moebius strip, Bick?

An infinite looping
figure eight, Ralph.

Doomed to repeat
the same things

over and over throughout time
indefinitely.

It's cool, actually, if you--

never mind.

I'm going away, Ralph.

I'm gone.

So long, pal.

Bick, hey--
[dial tone]

Bick. Bick.

[doorbell rings]

[knocking]

One second!

Are you
Bickford Shmeckler?

I'd like to speak
to Sheldon Shmeckler, please.

(woman)
Who may I tell him
who's calling?

His son.

[knocking at door]

(Ralph)
Hey, Bick, someone's here
to see you.

He says he knows
about The Book.

(Dad)
Hello, Bickford.

Bickford?

Bickford, hello?

(Ralph)
Come on, Bick.

Uh...

(Ralph)
His name's Spaceman.

He's a homeless guy
who hangs out in the quad

and begs for quarters.

Everyone knows him.

He's a great Frisbee player.

Thank you.

We're Frisbee
communicators.

Right, and you have The Book?

Just--

What's this?

You ripped out
the first page?

Help us.

Help us,
Bickford Shmeckler.

Only you could understand

an extradimensional ship
crashed

into our temporal lobes,

co-opting our sight,

sound perception,

our motor skills,
our most basic fundaments.

They give us

horrible, horrible migraines.

He sounds a bit
like you.

He's a severely delusional
schizophrenic, Ralph.

He is?
How do you know that?

Listen,

Spaceman.

If you have my book,
I want it back.

After.

First.

Listen.

[radio static]

That's free digital

acoustic waves.

Is that some funky shit
or what?

I'm lost, man.

(Spaceman)
Bickford Shmeckler,

science and reason.

You understand.

To the stars
we'll go.

They'll go.

Home.

I believe this deranged person
wants me

to get aliens out
of his head.

That's it!

With your help,
I can expurgate

these extradimensionals.

Who?

The aliens in his head
are extradimensionals.

Oh, no, no, okay.

Spaceman, uh,

just give me The Book back.

Then I'll
help you.
No.

Fine, no help,

and you're going to give me
The Book back anyway.

Help us,
or we'll burn it.

You wouldn't dare.

Try us.

You wouldn't like us.

I'll call the police.

That won't save The Book.

God!

I'd say
it's schizo's ball game.

[faint rock music]

� �

Rob.
Wait, Rob.

Let's--let's--
let's talk.

Let's share some thoughts.

You mean, like, talk talk?

Yeah, yeah.

Blow my mind.

Okay, cool.

I can do that.

Sara, you're so sexy.

You're on.

You're fuckably
fuckalicious.

You got me hot as fuck.

You like talking dirty,
don't you?

Oh, sweet tits.

No, no, no,
Rob, no.

Talk, I mean,
like a conversation.

I'll still be sexy later;
I promise.

I thought you said
you and Trent broke up.

Yeah.

Yeah, I--

Rob, I--this doesn't
feel right anymore.

I can't do this.

Sara, you're the one
who wanted to make out

in the first place.

You seduced me.

Yeah.

Yeah, I guess I did.

I just--

I guess it's 'cause
you're kind of hunky,

and I thought
this would be fun, but--

But what?

You're not fun.

I'm not fun?

No, no,
not at all.

What do you mean?

Like, my technique?

Yeah, that,
and also you're just--

you make my skin crawl
just being you.

That's devastating.

Yeah.

Well, sorry.

(Bickford)
Spaceman, regardless

of how I help you interpret
this random collection

of scientific
gobbledygook--

Gobbledygook.

Yeah, regardless
of what we do--

build a rocket ship,
a time machine,

an atomic plasma-powered
slingshot--

Good. That's good,
atomic plasma--

that's excellent.

All right, whatever.

Those aliens are never going
to leave your head,

because you're sick
mentally.

All right?

You need medication.

Do you mean drugs?

Yes, powerful
psychiatric drugs.

Have you ever tried them?

Peridol, Zolam, lithium,

LSD, peyote.

Pretty girl.

Pretty girl in a doily
right behind you.

You.

Bick.

[clears throat]

Contrary to what you
obviously believe,

I am not void of emotions.

I've been feeling
like crap

for days.

And Ralph told me
about The Book and Spaceman

and this whole--

Expedition.

It's--this is
an expedition.

Right.

So I just want you to know
that I--

I can't express
how sorry I am,

not with words.

Draw us a diagram.

[sighs]

I'm involved
in a Herculean struggle

for sanity here, Sara.

I don't have time to deal
with your pithy...pith.

Quit punishing yourself
for being a virgin.

It's the human condition.

We were all born virgins,

and maybe you're just
a late bloomer.

I was too, you know.

So that's my problem now,
lack of sex?

That's it?
Great.

Great.

Thank you so much,
Dr. Klepto.

(Spaceman)
That's his problem,

definitely, sex.

Who asked you?

(man)
Bob, you dickfor.

It took me 20 minutes
to set that dungeon.

You guys are not going
to believe this.

You know Spaceman?

Yeah, that dude who hangs out
in the dyad?

Talks
to aliens.

Plays Frisbee.

Yes, him. Okay.

He comes by the shack sometimes
when I'm working, okay?

I give him, you know,
broken stuff

like keyboards,
remote controls.

Anyway, he knows me,

and he trusts me, right?

(Doug)
Bob, we're mid-battle

with a lich, two Medusa,

and 40 skeleton warriors.

31 skeletons.

My sorceress destroyed nine
with a fireball spell.

Listen to me.

Yesterday Spaceman comes
into the shack

with this book.

He says he wants me
to hold on to it

for safekeeping,
that people are after him.

You know, he'll come back
for it.

I ask him

if it's his diary.

He says, no, he found it
in a garbage can,

doesn't want to have it
on him

in case Interpol comes
and shakes him down, right?

I had to have a peek.

It's unbelievable.

It's brain-melting, poetic--

it is the Communist Manifesto
of cool ideas.

And, therefore, what?

I'm quitting the game.

(Doug)
Quitting?

Why?

For good?

For the foreseeable future.

You know,
after reading The Book,

Dungeons & Dragons
just seems

like a bunch of people,
you know,

taking on imaginary roles.

That's what it is.

(Bob)
Yeah.

But The Book,
it makes life seem

more interesting than D&D.

[people arguing]

You can't quit.

Without your elfin
rogue-illusionist,

we're never going to make it
to the next level.

You're--he's carrying the Wand
of the Crimson Magi.

If you're out,
I'm stealing that wand.

(woman)
You cannot grave rob.

Yes, he can.
He's chaotic neutral.

(Bob)
Read The Book, people.

If you don't agree that it is
a veritable classic that,

but for the grace of God,
whose existence

The Book debates
rather interestingly,

was saved from oblivion
by Spaceman picking garbage,

I will--I will...

I'll buy you, each one of you,
a ticket

for next week's
Buffy and Xena convention.

I'm reading
The Book.

Dibs on Buffy.

Xena.

I'll get both of them.

Let's do it.
You totally wish.

Just read The Book.

(Bickford)
The Moon is 238,857 miles
from Earth.

With the right lens,

it looks like you could
just reach out and touch it.

What I want you to do

is turn
that telescopic view

inside your mind.

I want you to get a good beat
on those aliens.

I want you to see them

and that extradimensional
spaceship of theirs.

I want--I want you
to reach in

and flick them.

You can't just flick
a spaceship.

It's too heavy.

And the trajection
wouldn't even be accurate.

The theory of metalunar
clairvoyant projection is bunk.

Spaceman, I have been
ueberpatient with you,

all right?

But I've had it.

I've had it!

Had it, had it, had it,
had it, all right?

And I've come to a decision
that as far as I can see

is the only cogent way out
of this predicament for me.

I want my book
returned now,

or I will kill you.

Do you understand that?

Even your strange brain
can surely access

the instinct
of self-preservation, man.

Use it.

If I give you your book back,
you'll abandon us,

like everyone else
has abandoned us.

Fine! Fine!

Fine, fine!

All right, that's fine.

That's okay.

That's that, then.

The next time you see me,

I'll be stabbing you to death,
all right?

All of you.

[over bullhorn]
Bickford Shmeckler,
we need your help.

You have to help us!

Please don't leave us, Bickford!

(Bob)
Tired of thinking

the same old shit?

Read The Book.

Are you looking
for a new adventure?

Read The Book.

Look your mind's eye
right in the face.

Get inspired.

It's free.

Tired of the same old shit?

Take a copy, comrade.

The revolution begins
in your imagination.

You don't say.

I do.

Get inspired.

Are you looking
for a new adventure?

Are you tired of thinking
the same old shit?

Oh, take a copy, brother.

Oh, you look a lost soul
who could use it.

I'm busy. Move.

Take a copy.
It's free.

It tickles
the frontal lobe.

Dude, dude.

Damn it.

Dude!

The world doesn't need

any more self-important
student poets.

Ha ha, that's fucking--
cock.

Ah, I don't know.

You were strong.

Yeah.

Good one.
Good one.

Watch this special move.

crash!

(Bickford)
What's that doing there, P.J.?

Jesus Christ,
clean your shit up.

[clattering]

Where are
the butcher knives?

I don't think
we have any.

[Bickford screams]

There's some steak knives
in the drawer.

Steak knives
are too small!

[triumphantly]
Ha!

This is perfect,
it's fearsome.

Wait, wait, wait.

Bick, you're not thinking of--

what are you thinking?

You wouldn't know it
to look at me, Ralph,

but I'm a murderer,
a cold-blooded axman.

Desperate times call
for desperate measures.

If Spaceman doesn't
give me The Book back,

I swear to God--

Okay, whoa, whoa, Bick!

Bick, whoa!

Slow, slow.

Do the math,
all right?

Now--

Ha!

You threaten Spaceman
with that turkey fork, right?

You ask him for The Book,
and he refuses.

And he will refuse,
because he's deranged.

What then?

Then he gets
a free tracheotomy.

And The Book?
What about The Book?

What about The Book?

He's the only person
who knows where it is.

You'll never find it again.

And you'll go to jail.

It's a credible threat,
Ralph.

Mutual assured
destruction.

If it helped to stop
a nuclear war

with the Soviet Union,

surely Spaceman's going
to understand that--

Spaceman isn't going
to understand shit.

No, he won't.

Goddamn tyranny of logic.

[doorbell rings]

Hello.
Hello.

Hi.

I'm Trent Masterton
to see Sara Witt.

Hmm.
You're Trent.

The poser boyfriend.

She called me a poser?

Among other things.

Also a four-letter word
for...

[together]
Penis.

Okay, all right.

Is Sara in or not?

[together]
Maybe.

Okay, well, could you at least
make sure she gets this?

Please?

What's in it?

None of your beeswax.

Is it expensive?

Looks good.
Let me see.

Hey, can you give the box
to Sara, please?

Sure.

We'll get it
to her.

Take care.
Bye-bye.

Hey!

She better get that gift!

Did you know that the Sun
is going to implode

and take out
the entire solar system

and all of humanity with it?

Ideas like that
make me feel sexy.

Then you gotta read this book.

[lively acoustic guitar music]

� �

[beeping]

� �

[clears throat]
Excuse me.

Does one use a withdrawal,

a deferment,
or an incomplete form

if one is flipping out

and one needs some time
to get one's head together

and one doesn't want
to stick his dad

with a useless tuition bill?

You mean you need
a medical leave?

Maybe.

� �

(Frank Black)
� Out on the Eisenhower,
where I lost my speed, �

� just a little bit south
of a town called Weed, �

� I heard a voice,
and I had to stop. �

� She called me
over that mountain top. �

� I was a poor soul lost
in the shady trees. �

� I was going to die.
I was going to freeze. �

� Then she touched me. �

� She was velvety. �

� �

� She's a cat of a creature. �

� She don't care. �

� She's velvety. �

� She made
the strangest sounds. �

[laughs]

(Bob)
Read The Book.

Take it.
Put it in your cranium.

Look your mind's eye
right in the face, huh?

What does it mean?
Read The Book.

Read The Book, buddy.
Read The Book.

Come on, people.
Read it.

Hey, read The Book!

The Book? No.

(man)
May I help you?

Popsicle?

Malt cup?

Frog on a stick.

Laced!

That asshole laced my stuff!

Help!

Hey, I need help.

I am...

hallucinating.

Call 911.

Our senses work in spectrums,
all right?

Take sight, for example.

Your eyes can only see energy
in the visible light spectrum.

Those colors you can see are
only an infinitesimal fraction

of the energy spectrums
that actually exist.

It's the same with sound, taste,
smell, touch, everything.

We exist in this narrow band
of perception.

All right?

It makes something as simple
as just thinking clearly,

frankly, impossible.

That's why you're withdrawing
from school,

because of this, what,
cosmic intruding stuff?

Well, I mean, there are
other mitigating factors,

but those are harder
to explain.

[sighs]

Okay.

Bickford.

I think I know
why you're upset,

and it's got nothing
to do with your book.

All right.

Enlighten me.

I mean,

I've had feelings
of loneliness too, you know,

and anxiety

or just hate.

Hate?

And I have to tell you.

I feel safe in telling you,
okay, that--

you look at yourself
in the mirror, okay?

Really look closely.

I bet--I bet
you see someone

who looks a lot,
emotionally,

like me.

Someone who's gay.

[sighs]

You're gay?

Oh, yeah.

Haven't you ever noticed

that some guys just

look really, really good?

You think that I'm...

like you?

Why not?

There's millions of us.

Come on.
No, there are millions.

We're not alone.

Ralph, uh...

[telephone ringing]

I wasn't born in the way
that I would have to be born

to do the things
that you're proposing.

beep!

(Sara)
Bick, it's Sara, the klepto.

I should--

You're not going
to believe this,

but I found your book.

Oh, I'm sorry, Ralph.
I've got to get that.

Sara? It's Bick.

Where are you?

Oh.

Uh, can we use your car

to go pick Sara up
from the hospital?

The hospital?

[acoustic guitar music]

� �

(Beck)
� Lazy flies
all hovering above. �

� The magistrate,
he puts on his gloves, �

� and he looks to the clouds, �

� all pink and disheveled. �

� There must be
some blueprints, �

� some creed of the devil
inscribed in our minds, �

� a hideous game. �

� Vanishes in thin air,
the vanity of slaves. �

� Who wants to be there
to sweep the debris, �

� to harness dead horses,
to ride in the sun? �

� A life of confessions
written in the dust. �

� �

� Out in the mangroves,
the mynah birds cry. �

� In the shadows of sulfur,
the trawlers drift by. �

� They're chewing dried meat
in a house of disrepute. �

� The dust of opiates
and syphilis patients �

� on brochure vacations. �

� Fear has a glare �

� that traps you
like searchlights. �

� The puritans stare. �

� Their souls are fluorescent. �

� The skin of a robot vibrates
with pleasure. �

� Matrons and gigolos carouse
in the parlor. �

� Their hand-grenade eyes... �

Look, if it's
any consolation,

I haven't stolen anything
in days.

Well, only one thing,
but that was for art.

And I'm giving up pot too...

for a while,

at least until the end
of the semester.

And then maybe
I'll try it again.

Well,

I'm glad my misery has had

such a positive effect
on your life.

You're my hero.

It seems all here.

You like her, don't you?

Sara?

I mean, she's--
she's a knockout.

You should go for it.

I mean, that.
You should--

She totally
violated me, Ralph.

I mean,
she utterly destroyed

any confidence
I could ever have in her,

although she does keep
kissing me,

which is, frankly,
pretty cool.

"Keeps"?
What do you mean, "keeps"?

Like, she kissed you like that,
like what I just saw, before?

Yes, once.

Only this time,
it was more lingering,

and she threw in
some tongue.

Pleasant surprise.

Her body is astounding.

Her mind is, like,
perky, you know?

Listen, Ralph, I'm sorry
I'm not, like you said,

one of the millions.

Don't--stop--please--I--

[laughs]

I would have just broken
your heart anyway, Bickford.

(Bob Dylan)
� Well, I'm walkin'
down the line. �

� Yeah, I'm walkin'
down the line. �

� Well, I'm walkin'
down the line. �

� My feet'll be a-flyin' �

� to tell you
'bout my troubled mind. �

� On the corner was a man. �

� On the corner
was a man. �

� On the corner was a man,
a shotgun in his hand, �

� and I really didn't
understand. �

� That's why
I'm walkin' down the line. �

� Well, I'm walkin'
down the line. �

� Well, I'm walkin'
down the line. �

� My feet'll be a-flyin'... �

[scoffs]

Hello?

Excuse me.

May I have your attention,
please?

Uh, you got it.

Look, I'm Bickford Shmeckler.

I'm "Anonymous."

I know this guy.
I know this guy.

You're the--
you're the poet-hater guy

who hangs out in the quad
with Spaceman, right?

Poet-hater, no.
I'm a poet fan, believe you me.

And I'm the author of this book
you scofflaws

have been distributing.

You wrote
The Book?

He wishes.

Yes, I wrote The Book.

I can prove it.

I believe the book
in your possession

is missing its first page.

Let me see that.

It's the same handwriting.

Whoa.

Bickford Shmeckler?

You're him?

You're the guy.
You're the guy.

I thought
you'd be more...

Abbie Hoffman.

Yeah.

Want to hear
some of our cool ideas?

We got about nine pag--
No? Okay.

They're not, you know,
as cool as yours, but--

They're still fairly intensely
thought-provoking

and mildly pleasurable.

(Bob)
We're more...

sociopolitical,
I guess.

But, you know, in the tradition
of the great book.

If I could just

lay this on you,
if I may.

"Governments derive their power
from the masses,

"but when disenfranchised voters
turn against the institutions,

which vest power
in authority"--

Listen,
numbskull.

That sort of
"we, the people" rap

went out
with Ben Franklin.

I'm the one
with the cool ideas here,

and you people are infringing
on my copyrights.

I want my book back now.

Plus, I insist

you dimwits cease and desist

distributing my book
immediately.

Anything less, and I'll return
to your little shop here

with a gas can
and a box of matches.

Listen,
you don't understand.

We're your biggest fans.

Yeah.
(man)
Yeah.

This shop is ground zero
for the reality revolution.

Reality r--

(Bickford)
All right, all right.
That's it.

I'm taking all this stuff--

hats and T-shirts.

What the hell are those?

"Reality isn't" shot glasses.

Shot glasses?

You people are hopeless.

(Bob)
You know what?

Here.

You're not even cool.

Yeah, you're just some
arrogant loser

who doesn't even
comprehend merchandising.

Get this guy a box.

Take all this crap
out of here.

I can't believe I quit D&D
for you, man.

D&D?

I had the Wand
of the Crimson Magi,

but it doesn't matter.

Hey, Slim,
hand me those mugs.

Gave it up for you,
but whatever.

Why don't you get out?

Take it.
Take it and get out.

Why don't you leave the store?
How about that?

Whoa.

Dork.

(Violent Femmes)
� I-M-N-O-T-H-I-N. �

� I-M-N-O-T-H-I-N. �

� I'm nothing.
I'm nothing. �

� Are you a Republican
or a Democrat, �

� a liberal fascist
full of crap? �

� I'm nothing.
I'm nothing. �

� Somebody somewhere
might be something, �

� but everybody everywhere knows
that I'm nothing. �

� �

� Politics and dirty tricks. �

� I got no time
for stones and sticks. �

� Politics and dirty tricks. �

� I got no time.
I'm chasing chicks. �

� I'm nothing.
I'm nothing. �

� Somebody somewhere
might be something, �

� but everybody everywhere knows
that I'm nothing. �

� �

� I'm nothing.
I'm like a cloud. �

� I'm free to be alone
in a crowd. �

� What's your reality? �

� It's not real to me. �

� What's your anomaly? �

� It is my destiny. �

� �

� I-M-N-O-T-H-I-N. �

� I'm nothing. �

� Nothing. �

� Nothin'. �

Wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong!

Wrong.

(Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings)
� Let 'em talk. �

� I don't care if it's right. �

� You see,
the hour's getting late. �

� �

� If those two lips
are gonna resist me, �

� you better come on, boy,
come on over here �

� and kiss me, yeah. �

[woman clears throat]

Before we get started,

is Bickford Shmeckler
in class today?

Bickford Shmeckler,
are you here?

[man laughs]
Bickford Shmeckler.

Present.

Will you please come see me
after the lecture?

[students giggling]

Okay.

Great.

(man)
Where are you off to now?

All right,
I'll see you over there.

Professor Adams.

Bickford Shmeckler.

I did some research
and discovered

the anonymous young man
who wrote this remarkable book

was none other than one
of my very own students.

Bickford.

I had no idea anyone
was paying attention--

not in an undergraduate
class, anyway,

not at a level
so penetrating,

profound,
dare I say passionate?

Uh, Professor Adams.

Your class has nothing to do
with why I wrote The Book.

I know all this
fundamental stuff already.

I need the credits
to graduate.

I know.

I'm pulling your leg.

I enjoyed your work
so much,

I took the liberty
of passing it on

to a publisher friend
of mine in New York.

What?
No, you didn't.

Yes, I did.
No.

Yeah, he loves it,

and he wants to fly out here
to meet you.

I think he wants
to publish you.

And what exactly
does that mean?

Well, it means
that you owe me

a very, very big favor.

You fascinate me.

[tropical music]

� �

All right, there it is.
There it is.

Yup, there it is.

Oh, yeah.
Get a good one.

Tip it.
Did you get it?

Ooh, yeah.
Yeah?

Yeah?
Taste the juice?

Pineapple.
Citrusy.

That's it.

Hey, Bick,
want to join the party?

Eh.

"Eh."

The genie's out
of the bottle.

The Book's out there,
way out there.

Everything is becoming
extremely tight,

closing in.

You know Professor Adams?

You're not going
to believe--

Bick.

I'm all tapped out
of compassion.

You got
your book back, man.

Your nightmare,
it's over.

Move on, please.

But you, I thought,
were my friend.

Yeah, yeah,
and as your friend,

I'm telling you,
just be happy.

But happiness isn't just
a switch in your head

that you can flip on
at will.

Yes, it is.

Happiness is a switch?

That's so...

masturbatory.

Well, isn't masturbation

one of the greatest inventions
of all time?

Ralph, come on.

I'm in crisis mode here.

All right.

What's masturbatory

is thinking all those
heavy thoughts all day long.

There is no need to be
so intense

about everything, Bick.

You're living your book
too much.

No, you just got
to flip that switch

and take some time
and just--just chill.

[sighs]

Believe me;
you need it, pal.

I'll catch you later.

[rapping]

You disappeared on us.

Yeah.

Yeah, I constantly
disappear and reappear.

It's a thing I do
subatomically.

Yeah.

It's happened several times
in this conversation already,

but it happened so fast,
you couldn't perceive it.

How are
the extradimensionals?

The extradimensionals
need you back.

They want us to rescue them
from the misery.

You can save us.

We need you
to solve the problem.

You never call.
You never write.

And then you just show up
out of the blue.

You really are cultivating

that whole mysterious guy
thing, aren't you?

I--I just need
to talk to someone.

[women giggling]

Okay, secret agent man.

What's the rumpus?

I, uh...

I think a publishing company
in New York

wants to buy The Book as-is.

Wait, wait, wait,
rewind.

Buy it?
You mean publish The Book?

Yeah, I don't know--

I don't know
all the details.

Some guy wants
to meet me.

He's flying out
from New York.

Bick, that is so cool!

Yeah.

That is cool,
isn't it?

I'm sorry.

I need to go.

Bick, what is wrong?

Why did you even come here
in the first place?

I, uh...

Whatever it is,

it can't be that bad,
can it?

I killed my mom, Sara.

What, honey?

I can't sell The Book.

I only started it
because of my mom.

You killed her?

No. How?

With a butcher's knife?

A butcher's knife?

Ralph told me
about your episode

with the turkey fork,
and--

I killed my mom
with a car, Sara.

The car flipped
four times.

My mom died the next day
at the hospital,

the other driver instantly.

And...

I didn't suffer a scratch.

It sounds like that accident

wasn't even close
to being your fault.

That's what I told myself.

I was stoic to the bone.

After a while,
I guess you could say

I got deluded.

I thought that people thought
I was speaking gibberish,

and when I heard them speak,

they just sounded
like shallow, petty idiots.

Well, that wasn't
your imagination, Bick.

People can be
shallow, petty idiots.

It got so bad,
I couldn't leave my apartment.

My textbooks would talk
and sing to me.

And food
in the refrigerator

would become these,
like, wild cartoons.

Trip out.

And there was a knock
at the door.

It was my dad

and some doctor guy
from a mental institution

and a cop trained
in the handling

of psychotic individuals.

They forced you...

To a looney bin.

Yeah.

And that, Sara,

I have never told anyone.

And they gave me
a notebook,

so I wrote.

And the more I wrote,

the more refined
my thoughts became.

[sighs]

Six weeks later,
they let me out.

And a month after that,
I showed up to school

relaxed, rested,
and ready for action.

And then you stole my book.

I'm so sorry.

I just--I loved it.

And I'm so glad
you got it back.

I'm going to end up
like Spaceman.

[laughs]

No, I am.

Like Spaceman, homeless
on some college campus,

collecting recyclables,
begging for quarters,

and trying to expurgate
extradimensionals

from my head.

No, you're not
mentally ill, Bick.

Not like that,
not even close.

You're just...

an anxious, self-absorbed
perfectionist,

all good qualities
under different circumstances.

You know what you need?

An end to The Book?

No.

A new beginning.

(man)
Da-da-da-dum.

This contract contains

the terms
we're willing to offer,

including a $20,000 advance
against royalties,

a 10,000-copy
first printing,

and a guarantee to market
the book accordingly.

There's an awful lot
of fine print.

[laughs]

Well, that's because

we mean business.

Sir, the only reason
that I'm here is because--

well, there's this girl

who thought I would be a fool
not to meet you.

He has a girlfriend.

Yeah, he's informed me.

Well, I just want to say,
from the start,

The Book isn't finished.

Oh, of course.

No, it could use some editing.

But, Bickford,
I want you to understand

I don't expect you
to sign anything here and now.

Take the contract home.

Show it to your mom and dad,
a lawyer.

You could even have
a law student friend

review it pro bono.

[laughter]

Ah, I find
this collegiate atmosphere

very invigorating.

I also think,

if you'll forgive me
for being so forward--

but, hey, that's why I'm paid
the big bucks--

you may want
to give some thought

to finding a title
other than The Book

for the book.

Yeah.

It's--well,
it's a tad pretentious.

And I fear
people may mistake it

for some kind
of religious text.

How about Bickford Shmeckler's
Cool Ideas?

'Cause you're Bickford,

and it's your cool ideas.

Bickford Shmeckler's
Cool Ideas.

I like it.

[dog barks]

(Sara)
You know, Bick,

if I'm reading this
correctly,

when the book goes
into second printing,

if it does, you could
make out like a bandit.

[groans]

I just can't stop thinking
this is a bad idea.

[sighs]

It'd be dedicated
to your mother.

Yeah, and she's really,
what, going to enjoy

spending
the royalty checks?

[sighs]

You know, Bick,

you should put
a warning label on your book.

"Author full of a shit

and doesn't understand
one word of what he wrote."

Where are you going?

Oh, does it matter?

I'm not even
in this dimension, right?

Are you breaking up with me?

[laughs]

After six days, it's not called
"breaking up," Bick.

It's called using your head
and steering clear.

You're dumping me
because I won't sell out

to the lemmings.

How could you,
of all people,

be that materialistic?

I couldn't care less
about the money, Bick.

You've written The Book.

It's finished.

It has been
since I met you.

So deal with it.

Misery may love company,
but I don't.

I like fun.

"Author full of shit."

"Author
full of shit."

"Warning.

Warning:
Author full of shit."

Huh?

Tell me, stranger,
do you doubt that you exist

standing there,
listening to my voice?

Uh, no?

Of course not.

Because, ultimately,

that horny little artist girl
is right.

I've been thinking
my brain fried

for two years,
and now where am I?

Nowhere.

You hear that, God?

I've seen through
your secret plan.

No matter how smart,

how clever
we all think we are,

ultimately, we all know,
I know nothing.

Shit.

There is no theory
of everything.

We know nothing.

And anyone who thinks
they need to know

every single goddamn thing
is a...

dipshit.

If I let that girl
walk out of my life--

You're the dipshit?

[laughter]

I'm the dipshit.

[cheers and applause]

(Bob)
"Warning: Read at your own risk.

"The following ideas
are dangerous and addictive.

"Repeated use can induce
insomnia, delusional fantasy,

"fits of libidinous
frustration,

and other psychiatric
conditions."

Yeesh.

"When reading, place feet
firm to the ground,

"tongue firm to cheek,

"and fasten your mental
safety belt tightly.

"Above all, remember
that as the fabric of reality

"begins to rip around you

"and uneasy feelings overtake
your sense of self,

breathe deep and have fun."

Having fun--

pure, unadulterated,
high-octane physical sensation.

It's, like,
the most important thing,

and I forgot that.

So you're just giving us
The Book?

On one condition:

that you keep
giving it away for free.

I don't want anybody
to profit off of it.

That's not The Book.

Which means,
no merchandising.

Sorry, Bob.

Well, I don't know--

Douche bag.

You see,
he's got a contract.

The guy's blowing
20 grand on us.

[whispers]
So zip it.

I don't get it.

Why would you give us
The Book

when it is obviously
your life's work?

Yeah.

All I can say is,
in the last couple weeks,

I had a life-changing,
quasipsychedelic epiphany.

And I got my fun back.

I had one of those, uh--

I had one of those epiphanies
reading The Book.

But if you had one
of those epiphanies

and you wrote the book--

Oh, oh,
that's a good one.

Oh, yeah.

[breathes heavily]

What's wrong
with them?

Brain-gasm.

(Doug)
That's the main reason
right there

that The Reality Isn't Club

was ten times more popular

than Advanced Dungeons
& Dragons ever was.

This response
actually happens

when people read
The Book?

Ga!

Ha!

Sometimes.

How utterly curious.

Just stop talking
one moment, please.

(woman)
You didn't know

that happened?

(Bickford)
I had no idea.

I didn't intend for people
to ever read The Book.

But it escaped.

It had a will of its own,
I guess.

[people gasping]

Whoa.

So do we have a deal
or what?

You betcha.

[lively rock music]

� �

(Dressy Bessy)
� My dear,
I've painted a picture. �

� I've painted a picture
for the questioned wall. �

� I'll hang it up
with the rest soon, �

� right up with the next few
that come along. �

� One more. �

� There's room for just more. �

� Once more, make room
for just one more. �

Dad, it's Bick.

I had sex.

(Dad)
You had sex.

Yeah, a bunch of times.

I never knew
what I was missing.

Hmm.

The human body
is the most marvelous thing.

Well, that's good news,
I guess.

And you're being--
what's the expression--safe?

Uh, yeah.

And everything else is okay.

Everything's awesome.
Fundamentally.

That's awesome
that it's awesome.

I gotta go.

Okay. Bye, Bick.

(Sara)
What are you writing?

An epic poem.

An epic sex poem.

About you.

It's kind of a sequel

to The Book.

Is it a porno?

[laughs]

Yes.

[laughs]

But it's going to be smart
and crazy subversive.

Ooh, I like
crazy subversive.

(Simon & Garfunkel)
� Slow down.
You move too fast. �

� You got to make
the moment last. �

� Just kicking down
the cobblestones, �

� looking for fun
and feeling groovy. �

� Ba da-da da da da da,
feeling groovy. �

� �

� Hello, lamppost. �

� Whatcha knowing? �

� I've come to watch
your flowers growin'. �

� Ain't ya got
no rhymes for me? �

[electricity crackling]

� Ba da-da da da da da,
feeling groovy. �

Ah hoo!

� I got no deeds to do,
no promises to keep. �

� I'm dappled and drowsy
and ready to sleep. �

Bye!

� Let the morningtime drop
all its petals on me. �

� Life, I love you. �

� All is groovy. �

� Ba da da da da da da da.... �