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Human relationships.

The root of the problem and the key to the tragedy.

Maybe we men aren't cut out for relationships

as much as we might need them, or think we do.

Not men with men, or women with women,

and certainly not men with women.

How many good men have ruined their lives

by chasing after the wrong women!

And vice-versa too, great women screwed over by assholes.

Even so, we don't learn, just we carry on.

We love hurting ourselves,

leaping into the abyss and getting covered in shit.

TOXIC LOVE

My name is Toni. You don't need to know much about me,

just that I'm 25 and I like women.

I'd like to think I'm a womanizer, but no,

I'm just a serial dater. Awful dates.

Attempted dates, failed attempts at intimacy.

Seldom anything more than that.

What do you think I should do? Stay at Aquapark,

cleaning slides, which is great fun,

or should I just, you know, pack my backpack

and hit the road?

It was really funny, because there I was, cutting away,

- and suddenly the guy wakes up... - And this is my date for today.

My latest failed shot at intimacy.

Just any old random date.

She's a nurse, she likes Shameless,

sudokus and films by Raúl Arévalo.

Could be worse, I know.

But it's not going well, we've just begun and it's not going well.

I'll give it five minutes. Ten at the most.

In the end it was okay.

- Yes. - It sounds like you both...

- messed up a bit, no? - It's just what happens.

- Yes, people don't know it but it does. - Normal.

- Don't tell anyone. - No.

- Look - Yes.

- My colleagues. - Your workmates.

Maybe they need you, but you're here...

I'm not on duty, I'm with you.

So...

Do you like bonsai?

Sure.

They're pretty, aren't they?

They're expensive, aren't they?

And...

- are you going to buy one? - Yes.

Right.

You okay?

Did I say something...?

No, it's not you. It's just...

I don't know what's wrong.

I suddenly just feel sad.

Oh, sorry.

I shouldn't have come, I'm sorry. I'm screwing it up.

Human relationships.

Some of us just aren't ready.

If we could only just see it and give up,

it would be so much easier.

We'd stay at home masturbating, watching TV, doing crosswords,

reading comic books... watching Jeopardy.

We wouldn't see each other, or get involved.

We'd send the odd e-mail, to make sure no-one's died.

The world would be a happier place.

And much more peaceful.

Dates don't always end badly.

They say hooking up is pretty easy at my age.

Not so much if you don't look cute,

or play an instrument and you suffer from impotence.

The Internet has made a lot of things easier,

but you have to put the time in.

Sometimes you're at a loose end and you have to kill time.

Going out with a girl doesn't really mean much:

only one in 20 dates ends with a fuck.

Only one in 20 of those fucks is satisfactory,

the rest end with an STD.

Nothing serious, but bothersome:

Urethritis, chlamydia, thrush, viruses, bacteria, inflammations, syphilis.

Else it's a pregnancy scare with all that that entails.

If not, it's brewer's droop, dissatisfaction or impotence,

misunderstandings, disappointments, disagreements, or, worst of all:

monotony, ennui, humdrum, boredom...

almost worse than advanced chlamydia.

If you think about it, despite the Internet,

there's very little chance that can make us happy

or find the right person.

We can't win. I've never won,

but I keep trying and thanks to that, I have a tale to tell you.

- Hey, sorry! - Don't worry about it.

I wasn't taking due care.

Toni?

Yes.

I'm Toni. Who are you?

- I'm Araceli. - Araceli?

- Yes. - Araceli?

I have a brain disease, I forget names...

Araceli... Araceli, right?

Yes. Araceli. That's it, Araceli.

I swear on my life I don't know who you are.

- What? - I don't know you.

I mean, it's nice, but I don't know you from Adam.

- What do you mean? - What are you doing?

I found you on Facebook.

What are you doing? Not here.

Shit, Toni, what are you doing?

Toni, what are you doing? Toni!

Toni, get me out, right now!

Toni?

Here I go again, having another shot.

I don't have high expectations,

a slight fever and a rash on my groin.

I wanted to be ten or 15 minutes late,

I've read some books on seduction techniques

and they say you should always be late.

Obviously, if you're on time, it reeks of desperation.

Trouble is I always end up on time, or even early.

One of the exciting moments when you meet a girl

is when she hasn't arrive yet and before your eyes you see

women of all ages and sizes.

Oddly, when she does arrive,

the girl you're meeting takes you by surprise in a way.

As if you weren't expecting her.

Toni, right?

Been waiting long?

She said she'd be wearing a wonky hat and there it is.

She's the wonky one, the girl under the hat. My date for the night.

You must be Irene?

- Nice to meet you. - I asked you a simple question.

Whether you've been waiting long.

A couple of minutes or so.

I was watching you from there.

You seemed kind of broody,

deep in thought.

Were you thinking about me?

Well...

I was wondering what outfit you'd pick for the occasion.

So, you were checking out my tits, right?

Then they say no, like we're Nazis or loons.

Do you like Nazi women, Toni?

Nazi women?

I thought you'd have more of a sense of humor, man!

Anyway...

Well...

How did your interview go?

I don't wish to talk about it now.

For the first 15 minutes, I ask the questions.

Okay?

- Sure, no problem. - Great.

Can I kiss you at least?

You want to kiss already?

Of course not, we'll kiss when I say.

Come on, I want a beer.

Come along!

Sorry if I seemed rude before.

It was to startle you,

to break you out of that staring thing.

I always do it.

The interview went well, I got the job.

I just don't want to talk about it.

Great. Fine.

Could we move the conversation along then?

- Has something upset you? - No.

You said you didn't want to talk about it and I understand.

Did I seem rude again?

No...

Well, maybe a little.

- Did I, or...? - I'm sorry.

I don't normally do this kind of thing.

What?

Meet up with random guys.

- Ah... - Yes.

- Am I a random guy? - I guess.

Well, congratulations,

- then? - What for?

- The interview. - Oh, yeah.

What would you like?

A juice. Pineapple, please.

Coffee with soya milk please.

And a carrot cake.

Perfect.

What?

Nothing, sorry.

Have a carrot cake, it's fine...

Sorry, I was going to make a joke.

I can be a jerk when I'm nervous, sorry.

Toni,

did you just fart?

Please say you did.

Yes.

Did you do it to cheer me up? Or to break the ice?

Look, I'll try not to do too many more.

Or none. I don't want to fart

but sometimes they come, I try to hold them in

and some days I just can't.

It's a hormone thing.

It always happens when I'm nervous

or very excited.

I have an irritable bowel, I go to the bathroom a lot.

Three times tonight so far...

- Am I boring you? - Not at all.

Certainly not.

The date, up until that fart was such a bore...

But now... you've aroused something in me.

Something good, or?

A mixture of pity,

affection and disgust.

It could be good, why not?

I could screw someone gentle and disgusting.

Sure, why not? We're on track.

You say it happens when you're very excited

- or very nervous. - Yes.

So which of the two is it?

A bit of both I suppose. I don't know.

It's always like this on dates, it's a weird mix of feelings.

Does it get you hard at the same time?

I didn't stop to check, now you mention it.

No.

No hard on. What a shame.

It'll be fine.

Yes.

I don't trust guys who get hard too quickly.

Even if it is hormonal. I don't like them.

I like to take things slowly.

And we have the whole night ahead of us, don't we?

I believe so.

Did you like me touching your schlong,

- or did I cross a line? - No, it's fine.

- Okay. - A good start.

I know right.

Do you care so much what I think to be asking all the time?

Does it bother you, me asking?

- No. - No?

It's not that. I just find it funny.

So,

I like to know how others respond to me.

It's not that I care.

I'm curious. That's all.

What's wrong now?

Nothing.

Well, it's a bit weird.

I thought you'd be a beer drinker.

not carrot cake and pineapple juice.

Well then, I'm not the kind of girl you think.

And I'm hungry.

And the cake here is unbelievably good.

So I don't think it's weird at all.

I think it's awesome.

Honestly, great.

We're off track Toni.

It was more fun talking about your poops.

Right now,

I'm not feeling disgust, or pity or anything,

just boredom, apathy, weariness.

- I could just get up and leave. - Nothing's stopping you...

Well, I am hungry.

And I want cake.

It's so ridiculously obvious.

What?

You want to get me on all-fours.

I want you to like me. Okay?

I want you to feel at ease...

To be happy and have red-haired children.

Do you want me to swallow all that crap, just to fuck me,

to ram it all the way in. You're not fooling anybody.

Possibly.

Not possibly. Definitely.

- Yes. - See?

It wasn't so hard to say it.

No it wasn't. It wasn't so hard.

I like upfront dates, with the cards on the table.

Listen...

- What? - Have you seen those two?

The couple there?

I think she has the same bowel problem as you.

She's pooping non-stop.

You can tell she's struggling to control that sphincter.

But she also has another problem.

It could be a fantasy fetish for some perverts.

Our friend over there has been blessed with two extra assholes.

One in each armpit.

That could come in handy at orgies,

being penetrated in four places at once.

Well, three in her case, since her ass is in quarantine.

What about him?

What do you think of him?

He looks a little gray.

You think?

No way.

He's a mason,

an environmentalist, reads a lot of Paul Auster,

he's a pederast

obsessed with ramming from behind.

He loves anal sex and that's why he's with her.

That's why he's trying to sweet-walk her.

He suspects she has a supple asshole that he can slide into.

He's confused quantity with quality.

What a let down when he finds out about her sphincter spasms.

He can't easily take her up the butt

because the poor girl could just break like a Chinese vase.

Why would he want to take her in a place like that?

Why would anyone? It's a huge turnoff.

Poor thing.

He'll grind her to death.

She'll be spitting blood.

But later, when he's asleep,

she'll sew up his asshole with dental floss

and a red-hot needle, so he'll know how it feels...

See, it's a happy ending like a fairy story.

What about them? That couple.

They seem happy, don't they?

Well, Borges said:

"Happy are those that are loved, lovers and those that can do without love,

happy are the happy".

What does that mean, exactly?

Whatever you want it to mean.

For me it's very simple and complex at the same time.

Only simple people have the right to be happy

and at the same time, only the simple and the poor in spirit

have the right to be happy.

They don't seem either simple or happy to me.

A bit like you and me.

We aren't happy, or we couldn't be happy?

Look, have you noticed?

They're masters of bluff.

I mean, he buys his clothes at Springfield

and pretends they're from the expensive section at Macy's,

like as if he had style.

And she...

is the street market queen.

I mean, vintage clothes look fine in selfies

but they reek of panhandlers and minimum wage.

They don't have jobs.

They have no idea what love is.

They're not even young,

just two old people dressed up young.

Two geriatrics who met in a disgusting

rancid asylum in Torrelavega.

He has groin cancer.

She has emphysema. And bad breath, of course.

No, they cannot be happy.

Less chance than you and me.

I must admit, you're very on-the-ball.

Well, I am when I'm bored.

You don't deserve my pearls, but I'm giving them to you.

What was the thing about

- pearls before swine? - Would you like another fork?

- Do you want more forks, Irene? - What are you on about?

Can't you see you're interrupting a special moment?

For the cake, I mean.

Ah.

I don't want cake. I don't want this cake.

It tastes like Rihanna's period.

Get it out of my sight.

Well, I'll take it then.

Let's have mixed drinks.

A rum and coke for me and one for him too.

Okay, but I still have to charge you for the cake.

He's paying, the one trying to fuck me. I'll need to drink a lot to do it.

I don't mind who pays, as long as someone does. May I take it?

Now you're getting on my nerves.

Do what you want with your cake, okay?

Eat it, take it away or shove it up your ass, it's all soft.

You know what, my friend?

I think I actually do want cake.

I want both rum and cake.

I think they could go well together.

Could you go sort it out and just blame

this crazy spoilt brat's brain of mine please?

Please.

You're batshit crazy.

- What's wrong now? - Nothing.

Here's the cake, enjoy.

And the drinks?

They're just coming.

You may have forgotten but I don't work here.

What a drag.

I didn't think you'd hit the rum so soon...

Well...

Me neither, but...

I reckon with my new job I'm going to be loaded so...

shit.

I said I didn't want to talk about work.

Well, I'm going to be loaded, okay?

And I want to drink 10, 20, 30 or 40 rum and cokes and blow it all

so I'll have the stomach to fuck you later.

Okay, I get it.

I get it, great. I'm in. I also have the stomach and the endurance.

If you want us to drink

until we're incoherent,

rolling on the floor, hitting each other,

and then screw each other's brains out,

I'm down with that.

No, you didn't understand.

I don't want you to drink.

At some point tonight, I'm going to need a good stiff dick

on which to impale my sweet little body.

And not a gooey little worm soaked in anise.

Drunken nights are only fun when it's us girls that drink.

And I'm not one to fall asleep or throw up.

I'm up for anything and I give as good as I get.

You're kidding, right?

- Yes. - Me?

I'm being totally sincere with you, dumbo.

No.

I mean about fucking, you're kidding.

Aren't you?

You'll keep me here all night listening to your bullshit

and later you'll send me home with a stamp on my ass.

And the fucking, maybe not.

I'll be honest with you: you're a fun chick,

we can get drunk, have a good time, ha-ha,

but I'd be grateful if you're going to get up

and split, just tell me. Just to have an idea.

Why? Why would I have to decide now?

Because I don't want to waste time, to be totally frank.

Of course, the bus boy has loads of things to do,

the PlayStation's warmed up and ready at home, right?

- Okay, I'm off. - Wait, sit down.

I liked that, your demanding sincerity

and this is more than just a game to you. Honestly, I'm flattered.

Look, I can't deny...

I've considered the possibility of sleeping with you.

I've also considered the opposite.

Right now I'm weighing up both options simultaneously.

Right.

I get it.

I like sex.

Sex has saved me many times in life.

Saved me from awful things.

Saved me from going mad, from slashing my wrists.

I'm not kidding, many times in my life.

I've even screwed people just to get away,

to escape from my life, stages in my life, from myself.

It really helped.

I don't have prejudices since I know that sex, like junk food,

or movies, or literature, can fuck up your brain,

but they can also save you.

It depends how you use it, how smart you are.

You aroused my curiosity.

Keep it up.

Like I hope you'll keep up your erection under those

sad, creased, jerk-off student pants.

I feel like sex tonight,

that's official.

I suppose I can put up with that.

But I'm not giving you any more.

You have enough, more than enough.

Hey...

why did you call me "batshit crazy" before?

Me?

No, not you, Kieran Culkin.

Do you really think I'm crazy?

No.

- Or yes, dunno. - Now you're not sure.

Look, you don't know who you're messing with.

You scare me, you disturb me, Irene.

Right.

And I turn you on.

That too.

Toni, calm down.

Chill...

Tell me about yourself.

What's up?

Am I freaking you out?

Am I playing too hard?

It's not that.

So? Toni, I'm not crazy, okay?

I've had tons of tests and nothing came up.

Well, mild OCD,

but not much else. C'mon, chill.

Tell me things.

Well, I don't know.

Maybe I think too much, I have an over-active brain.

Along with cooking, it's one of my great traumas.

I'd like to be able to be somewhere and look at things

without analyzing everything in my head all the time.

You see, for a while

I've been wondering in how many of my encounters with women

have I been able to really talk.

To have a face-to-face conversation,

equal to equal.

Interesting.

So you like deep conversations?

Don't make fun of me.

You look like you've fallen off a roof.

There are rites, codes, trials you have to pass.

Girls like rituals.

I know you men are all "wham bam, thank you, ma'am."

I liked what you said before about your interview.

About not wanting to talk about it.

Often you sit down with someone and you ask them what they do,

where they live, what they do in their free time...

you talk about a film, tell a couple of jokes

and wow, that's it. That's what you call a ritual?

- A code. - Yes.

You hear the other person out, you kind of agree,

they do the same, you get up

and say you'll call each other.

- It's not always like that. - No, it's not always like that.

There are exceptions. Rare exceptions! They're like hen's teeth.

I'd like to think it's not always like that...

am I boring you, do I talk too much?

Not at all, I'm interested.

Not so much in what you're saying,

but how you're trying to express it.

Look, Toni, if it's any consolation:

I've also been through rituals.

I've yawned my way through all that

and ended up sleeping with the person.

I kind of liked it,

and most times, I didn't see the guy again,

or if I did see him, it was to repeat

what was a meaningless copulation.

Or to repeat a whole series of meaningless copulations.

I found them essential at the time.

I suppose that's a consolation.

Next time I have one of those dates where nothing happens,

when we get up to leave I'll just ask if she wants to fuck.

Of course. Try.

I love to be caught off guard.

But look,

it's one thing to have balls, another to screw up the ritual.

Is the ritual really that important?

Yes, for us it is.

It's an important part of the game.

I'd never sleep with a guy

who loses his head or who gives up.

My hunting instinct

make me want to win.

But before the sex, sorry,

I want to be conquered, you have to crush me.

So, how's this match going?

So far it's a drubbing,

against you.

Although, I must say,

the fart thing was good.

It was a goal against the 20 I've scored against you.

Well...

I don't know.

There's tons about this on the Internet.

I think we have many theories

as if it were a big practical guide to how to be dignified,

how to be honest, how to be a great person.

How to care about things, how to care about others,

how to do things well.

But actually it's a lie. It's all false, a big front.

As if it were a credential

to show people: "Look, I'm a good guy."

But once we've crossed that threshold, nothing matters.

It doesn't matter.

You can keep having shitty relationships with people,

keep being selfish.

You've hit like on the latest trending article.

Nothing matters.

I mean...

that's why fakers bore me. I see through them straight away.

You men all fake the same way.

Sure,

women all fake in different ways, right?

Well, yes.

It's what they say about happy families and unhappy ones.

We all have our weapons.

But you just can't admit that things have changed.

You think?

I think you're the ones who keep choosing

and it doesn't bother me.

It bothers me a little when you say how poorly you choose,

sure.

As if the confidant could do something.

That is so '90s,

but now we choose for real.

Realize things have changed,

now there's no work and the work there is is trash.

No-one supports anyone

and women are no longer forced

to snag a guy to survive.

That's not how the rom-coms show it.

Of course, the products of the system are wrapped up like that,

it suits their purposes.

It suited the system before but it's not what happens here, now,

- in the bars. - You're telling me you're a feminist,

right? - No.

Not a feminist,

a realist.

Women choose because you have nothing to offer:

work, stability or strength.

It's all turned upside down.

There are girls with boyfriends at home

and five lovers on the streets because they need movement.

Yes, the lovers get used and pushed around

and the boyfriend is grateful that the lady

comes home at night to sleep beside him

and he can parade her as his girlfriend at family functions.

That would be precisely

due to something that most women dare not acknowledge.

You like sex more than we do.

Right.

It's hard to find a guy that acknowledges that.

Before sex was like a consolation for us,

and then it became another hobby.

One of our favorites, of course.

And a kind of power.

Yes, a kind of power too.

You could turn out to be interesting after all.

Couldn't you?

I was thinking maybe we could...

go out.

You sound like a 13-year-old,

or a virgin civil servant.

I mean, I find it very charming.

You see me now, dickwad?

What's wrong, shithead? What's wrong?

Please, no stop!

Stop, please.

Shit.

You know what I feel like now?

A smoke.

Some mary-jane. Do you have any?

You remember when you could smoke in bars?

It seems so long ago, right?

Well, you were saying.

Before you were interrupted.

- Sorry. - What?

That doesn't happen every day, I can explain.

Kleenex.

You don't have to explain anything. That shit happens to me every day.

Totally normal to you, isn't it?

Someone coming up, butting in and beating you up.

You find it normal.

- Okay. - Look...

you should go to the bathroom.

and check yourself in the mirror.

I could take you to a doctor.

I'm also worried about your bowel. I don't want you shitting

and covering the place... in crap.

Go on.

Go now.

I want you to know if I go it's because I want to,

not because you told me to.

- Alright. - Fine.

- Fine. - Fine.

- Yes. - Yes.

- Right. - Right.

- Hey, Toni... - What?

Hurry up or I'll fall asleep.

Right.

Everything alright, pal? Need any help?

All good. Hand-drier doesn't work.

We don't have a hand-drier.

Seeing as we're here,

tell me, have you fucked her? Have you fucked that loon?

- What you going on about pal? - Don't you see?

By the time I go home, go to bed and fall asleep,

fuck you, because you will have fucked here and not me.

What hole did you crawl out from, shithead?

- Which fucking TV show? - Get to work, there are people waiting.

What was that? What's that about?

So you don't get down or give up.

You're not doing too badly.

I'm actually having a fairly okay time.

I have to take a little dump.

Let me go, damn it.

Did you miss me?

I didn't have time.

Ingrate.

Did you take a dump

or wash your hands and snort a line of coke?

Actually I had to go laugh it up.

What a coincidence, me too.

I was doing the same thing.

Didn't you want to go for a smoke?

I said I wanted to, but it was a possibility.

- Sure. - Anyway...

I have nothing on me.

If you had nothing on you, you'd be naked

and I guess that would be pretty good.

I suppose I would end up with

you drooling over my cheeks.

And your weight.

And your penis.

- Just on your cheeks? - Sure.

I know you're the kind of guy who only kisses upstairs.

Well, nipples at the most.

Who forgets there's more things in heaven and earth.

Shakespeare.

- Uhum. - Very good.

I'm glad you read more than Grey's Anatomy DVD covers.

- I like that. - Thank you.

I find you very interesting.

Don't be a suck up. You're still 20-1 down, my friend.

You're so predictable.

If I told you that all the time we'd get nowhere.

Instead of going where?

Towards that meaningless sex that terrifies you and you spurn,

although you yearn for and idolize it because you haven't tried it.

You think it's the solution to all your problems.

And does that make me a low life?

More than the people in there spinning that wheel.

Where does that expression come from, Toni,

being "in there spinning the wheel"?

There was a section

in a political campaign about this.

When things got interesting they withdrew it.

- Really? - Yes.

Sex is never meaningless, Toni.

I don't expect you to get that now, but you will.

Come off it. You're saying sex can never be meaningless,

or humiliating or boring? Shall I tell you my stories?

What's wrong with you?

I was going to bridge the gap between us, take your hand.

You're saying there are no crappy hookups?

Where you don't give a shit about people or the world. Doesn't happen.

Are you speaking for yourself? Is it first-hand experience?

No, I mean in general.

Also for myself.

I like to think everyone's been through it at least once.

Someone shat on me once.

I kind of liked it.

I suppose you could call that a lousy hookup.

Sounds interesting, seriously.

Oh, no.

You're not going to shit on me.

Talking about shit gets you hard doesn't it.

Irene, I don't want to shit on you. I'm not into scat.

I avoid that stuff on the Internet.

Like the enema subcategory. Have you ever done an enema?

Are we sharing scatological experiences? Really?

No, sorry.

Have you put your foot in it, Mister shit?

Is your script getting blurred?

Are you at the edge of the abyss?

Go on, tell me, I haven't finished my rum.

Don't leave it like that, come on.

Well, I don't know.

sometimes I imagined your typical American woman,

covered in tattoos, swastikas,

prison mottos, epitaphs.

One of those super-skinny yet imposing blondes.

- Have you seen the show Justified? - Toni...

do you like tattoos and all that tasteless stuff?

Sure, tattoos, piercings, dreadlocks,

hippie chicks, punks.

Crazy women in general.

Ones that do yoga too.

I love the ones that dream of peeing standing up.

Even the ones that mention in passing that they've been shat on. I love them.

But it's actually a bit

embarrassing, isn't it? Because we could say

that I like feminists. Could be.

Toni, that's such a bunch of bullshit and you know it.

Feminists and hippies are not the same thing.

If you don't know that you're a hopeless idiot.

I know. I know they're just fetishes.

But one's own fantasies are no-one else's business.

Forgive me for what I said before.

What?

The "batshit crazy" thing, it was wrong.

Now you're saying crazies turn you on.

One thing makes up for the other.

You know what they say about crazies.

Only they love madly, tied by bonds

- Sounds like an internet meme. - It is an Internet meme.

Do you do anything else except update your Facebook status?

Yes, I scribble notes to waitresses in certain joints,

I ask some women what time it is, just for the interaction,

I ask then if they studied journalism

or if they act in micro theater.

What else?

I like to dream.

Even about women like you.

Good one.

But no. Your fantasies are intoxicated.

Keep on thinking that,

that feminists live in squats

or in the health and spirituality sections of bookstores,

looking for a big fat book to take home

whilst you get hard looking at their sandals.

You said it.

But it's true.

Finish your rum and coke and let's go fuck.

This conversation can only end with you on all fours.

Right.

That was nice, Mister Grey.

Come on, finish it.

Are you being serious?

Or are you pretending to be a bold and daring guy who knows what he wants?

Seriously, I'm getting hornier all the time

and I'm not going to let you keep playing with me, okay?

You wouldn't know where to start.

What about the deep conversation you wanted a while ago?

Is this it?

Poop and tattoos?

German porn meet Suicidegirls.

Conversation's better after sex.

Sometimes.

Although I think after we fuck, I'd get dressed and leave.

Would you mind?

Perfect.

What a fucking shit night!

I hate you for what you make me do! No, for what you make me say!

What did I make you say?

Answering questions like that.

They shouldn't be asked,

let alone be answered.

You're like that, right? No way.

Now you want to go and fuck. No way. You'd shit yourself, you said it.

- This was a game you liked. - It's never a game.

At least, it's a dangerous game.

I'm going to the bathroom, I must look terrible.

- How's it going, pal? - All good.

Still want to kick my ass?

No.

I'm over it. Sorry, I wasn't quite myself.

Word of advice: step away from that girl.

You're wasting your time, plus she's a fucking loon.

Right.

Thanks, but no. I'm old enough to know what I'm doing.

I don't want anything, asshole.

Shit.

Did you order these drinks?

No.

Look, I'm going to pay because I've had enough

of you switching from angel to demon every few seconds

and stringing me along.

No, Toni, wait. Sit down.

I have to tell you something.

When I arrived and ordered the cake,

I guess I thought you'd just be a distraction.

I didn't have high hopes for your style of entertainment

or that you'd be very interesting or entertaining.

That's why I ordered cake.

Then you started to surprise me.

I started to like you and find you interesting.

So I decided I didn't want cake.

It may sound repellent,

as if I were giving in to your desires,

but that's the truth.

I guess I was expecting the same thing.

Maybe I had the same feeling.

I didn't know what to make of you at first,

but then, little by little, I guess...

I started to find you interesting,

attractive.

Then at other times you knocked me sideways.

Shut up, okay?

I need to tell you my story, my point of view.

Then you can tell me yours.

So, later on, for some reason I don't understand,

I felt I wanted to get to know you.

Have one of those deep conversations like you said

and feel that we'd meet again.

It's like I forgot about sex for ten minutes.

- It was weird. - Well, the moment...

Shut up.

Just wait.

So now

I'm torn between taking off

to go and fuck until I'm over this nonsense,

which you won't forget for years,

and disappearing from your dull life...

- What do you mean, dull life? - Alright.

You won't stop interrupting me.

My life is dull too, Toni.

Maybe I've been a smart-ass.

Okay?

Anyway, I'm torn between those two things.

Between your friend Meaningless Sex and your pal Conversation,

getting to know you and all that.

I'll let you decide what you want to do.

Look, I'd like to know you, that's where I'm at.

But your spiel about feminist fantasies brought...

my claws out, made me defensive.

I realize that crazy guys are a bore.

They should lock them up and throw away the key.

Crazy girls though...

we have our appeal.

We're good to have around.

Then... if I've met you I don't remember.

I want you to make a decision.

Right here I can help you.

I can help you locked up in a room.

Help you putting your dick in my pussy and fucking for hours.

Or even days.

Then... if I've seen you I don't remember.

Wow, talking like that sets my hormones going.

Well...

it's in your hands, you decide.

Whatever you say goes.

- Anything? - Anything.

Right.

I don't trust you.

Toni, do you trust every girl you sleep with?

You may have noticed, I don't fuck that much.

- Or not as much as I'd like. - A woman notices that.

But I think you're smart enough to know

that sex has nothing to do with trust.

Perhaps.

And I have never sought your trust.

Else I would have screwed it up.

Women I trust don't turn me on.

That's the problem.

No, that's your problem.

I'm a little worried about your tattooed bitch fantasies.

They say more about you than you think.

Good or bad?

Bad.

You've no clue what it's like being with a crazy girl,

or what it's like for a guy to fuck one.

I really don't like it when you try to shock me.

Liar.

You love it, it turns you on.

I won't argue, you seem to know me so well.

You bet.

We feminists have a word for people like you.

- Go on. - Misogynist.

Okay, several words, misogynist

with airs and pretensions.

Ring a bell?

No, because I don't go around boasting about my conquests.

I told you, I don't sleep around much.

You didn't tell me, I squeezed it out of you.

I've humiliated you a little and I'll do it some more.

You don't have to get laid every day to be a misogynist

in spirit, in your heart.

You just have to think that way, with notions about women.

I don't think of women as objects.

- Really? - No, I treat you the same as men.

You're people, aren't you?

Not exactly the same, but nearly.

This is really old-fashioned.

Nobody sees us as objects.

You see us as fantasies, you just see what you want to see.

You lack empathy, sensitivity, really.

You live in your own little world and nobody can bother you

or force you to choose between an amazing fuck

and a deep conversation. You short circuit.

What you are is at odds with how you want to seem.

You go blank.

I bet you love handjobs.

I can't deny it.

The world is more than handjobs, there's much more out there.

Real women are like me:

we're dangerous,

we're complicated and bitchy too.

But we're also fun and fascinating

- and mysterious. - Shit.

You really think a lot of yourself.

I think I'm smart, okay?

Do you think it's an advantage, being a woman?

Not for men either.

Do you want sympathy now, seriously?

- It's a little late. - Why?

Because you made me cry.

You were out of line.

And you have to admit I've been right about everything.

Why do you think I'm a misonygist?

Misogynist, fool.

That's what I said.

Because you're a coward, like the rest.

A heartless shit that thinks with his dick

and who has the cheek to appear to be interesting.

I'm not pretending. I don't know how to get through to you.

Of course you don't, you can't.

You're a lousy impostor.

Do you think I'd fuck a guy like you?

After this little scene of yours?

Didn't you just say that before?

I was just testing to see if I had you round my finger.

- If you had no will. - Of course, it was a test.

I was meant to come straight out and ask you if you wanted to fuck,

so you could come and point the finger:

hey, I was only kidding!

- Well, fuck that shit, - You just don't get it.

It's not about succeeding or not.

Look,

there are three types of people in the world.

First you have the simple types,

the ones who don't see beyond, like the contestants on Love Island.

They don't have a brain, but they're authentic in their own way.

They're great for sex, but we're not that type.

No, I don't see you as one of those.

Don't hide behind irony to conceal your obvious mediocrity.

Then you have type two:

impostors.

Naturally they despise type one

and they aspire to fuck someone they think

at their physical and intellectual level. Especially intellectual.

They're the worst, they're trash.

The ones that really hurt you.

Me, right? I'm type two.

Exactly.

Right, then there's type three and they're awesome.

They're authentic, open-minded...

Like you, right? I get it.

Simplified, but basically, yep.

Look, we don't pre-judge

and we look beyond interests and shitty fantasies.

We have a sense of abstraction.

- I think I'm wasting my time. - Oh no, please.

I think this theory you've come up with is awesome.

You're teaching me so much tonight.

Do you have a fanzine you publish this in?

Don't you dare mock me.

Or what?

You don't know who you're messing with.

You have no clue how much harm I can do.

- Yeah?. - Yes.

Two more please.

More?

I haven't finished this one.

Truce?

Do you deserve one?

I believe so.

I haven't got up, I haven't slapped you,

I'm here waiting, listening.

- I think so. - In that case

I've either been right about everything

or you're a masochist

or you really want to screw me bad.

I withdraw it, I don't think you're crazy.

- Really? - No, you're just messing.

You mess and occasionally you try to shock me a little.

You're a spoiled brat who changes her mind every two seconds.

And who likes to trample on everything she sees

because it's the only way to hide the fact she doesn't have much to bring.

That's not crazy.

Respect for the crazies.

They have it bad, they suffer.

They crawl and squirm.

They stumble through the world on their knees. And you?

You love to fuck with people, you're a total egomaniac.

Crazy women love people, they care about them a lot,

to the point of obsession

and breathlessness.

What I have before me is someone who only thinks and talks about herself.

What do you know about me?

How do you know me?

Same as you know me. But you dare to psychoanalyze me just like that.

- Calling me a shit, a misonygist... - Misogynist!

A misogynist, a cowardly virgin as well...

Fine. But now you have to hear what I think of you.

Do you want to see my wrists?

Wanna see how many times I've attempted suicide?

Will you show me your loony bin passkey too?

It's much more serious than all that.

How dare you say I don't know what suffering is.

Now don't get carried away.

You started it. You missed something though.

Something that went over your head,

there's a part of this person that you can't see

and you missed it. You put your foot right in it.

You called me "crazy."

Now you're upset when I say the opposite and I think you're sane?

Shit.

You really disappoint me, Irene.

I'd love it if you were crazy, not just acting crazy. That pisses me off.

Okay, fine.

You play.

Destroy me.

Let me tell you:

if I go down, I take you with me. I go down fighting.

That means you must like me and you can't let go of me.

Yes, I like you.

It's true.

That's why what you say gets to me.

So why do you attack me?

Why must you destroy me? Why?

Can't you see I'm the weak one here?

- Dick. - Precisely.

I was just rolling with your punches,

neutralizing your dive-bar

pick-up artist tricks.

Defending myself.

- Pretending to be batshit crazy? - Shit, I am crazy.

That shit is beyond the pale.

But you're scared, I mean...

- What the fuck happened? - Someone threw a glass at me.

Who was it?

Them I think.

- I'm only getting started. - You just proved me right.

Showing yourself to be a phony.

You go, or I fuck him up.

I'll handle it, okay.

It got you hard though.

That too, sure.

Really?

You're going to have to leave or I call the police.

I won't put up with that behavior.

Put up with what? What are you on about?

He took liberties with me. I threw something at him,

he ducked and that's it. I was protecting myself.

Irene, go fuck yourself. You hurt a customer.

We don't allow animals in here.

Toni, he called us "animals."

Will you let that pass?

Asshole, I told you to leave me alone!

- When will you let me breathe? - Honey,

that'll do, okay.

I'll show you.

Please, could we talk...

Outside now, fucking scarecrow.

Don't you touch him.

He's mine and this is between us.

But get out.

Call the cops, we'll go when we finish our drinks.

We'll get shat on all night, smart, very smart.

We'll see. Come on.

I'll kill you.

You stop whinging, okay?

He's with me now. It's my turn.

Beat it. Go.

What is with this chick!

It's okay, all over now.

Oh, I do have tobacco!

You can't smoke in here.

After what we did, who gives a shit!

We'll be arrested.

No, you'll be arrested, you threw the glass.

Come on.

Toni,

it's no big deal.

They know me here.

I've done worse things and they didn't lay a finger on me.

Anyway, we're in it together.

What were we saying...

you were saying I'm not crazy.

And I said you don't have any balls.

- Something like that? - Along those lines.

Both yet to be proven.

I'm starting to think

that maybe you're the crazy one.

Why don't you get lost?

Are you that horny for me?

- Not that. - Well then?

Maybe I have more balls than you think.

I lost all shame long ago.

I won't let you win.

- We're still playing. - Of course.

Well, I'm going to let you win.

What?

You'll let me win?

- You want to go then? - No, sorry.

I meant, I won't let you win.

Would you like me to let you?

Would you like me to say, "Rape me"?

Think before you answer, it's a loaded question.

It means I don't consent. I don't want to and you force me.

But you're the one asking for it...

That's because...

I want it, but I don't really.

What matters is I don't want it. It would be rape either way.

Does the question really interest you? Are you obsessed?

Not obsessed,

it's the last line for you to cross.

Brute force. It's the only thing you have left.

You men.

Misogynists.

I'm not sure I follow all that well.

There are weakling rapists who use weapons.

But look,

we don't carry weapons in the street.

I'm talking about tilted tables.

I'm the first to see that the rapist is the victim.

Do you care to expand on that?

Well, a rapist

is a desperate man

who's been messed around by women all his life,

and who wants his moment of glory.

And society will fuck him over even more for his crime.

Poor thing.

I'd rather be raped than be a rapist.

And the trauma?

That's so mainstream.

A guy rapes me and he fucks up...

my week for me,

the month,

or the year. But I bring charges

against some random dude for rape

and I fuck his life.

See?

We always win, we call the shots.

Funny, isn't it?

A girl I had sex with said that once.

She fantasized about being raped by a guy

But that doesn't mean we like rapists.

Fantasy is one thing, real life is another.

A rapist is a desperate man committing a desperate deed.

A bit like suicide.

Maybe that's why I feel sorry for them.

More than cowards, weaklings or wusses.

Give me a rapist over a coward every time.

At least the rapist has balls.

Irene, have you ever been raped, by the way?

- No. - So, what do you mean?

Never you mind.

And don't change the subject.

Answer me, truthfully,

would you like me to say, "Rape me"?

If we both knew that...

really you wanted it

but we're pretending you don't,

it could be cool, it could be fun.

It's not a role-play, idiot.

It's a crime.

Man, you're crapping yourself.

It's going to stink around here soon. Seriously.

Come on, try me.

Rape me.

Here?

Just like that? Bam!

We could go inside to the bathroom.

It's big enough for you to get it in

and small enough to be uncomfortable.

No-one will see, if that worries you.

Look...

maybe not.

I wasn't planning on raping anyone in a stinky bathroom today.

- I think I'll just go. - You're not leaving.

Hey, fucking scarecrow,

- did you say our bathroom is shitty? - Stinky.

I said stinky.

- Were you eavesdropping? - Sure.

You're lucky

we like Irene so much, or else,

we would have all fucked you up

and rammed a bottle of wine up your asshole.

- For real? - Dani, chill out.

Everything's fine, okay?

I want to hear him say our bathroom isn't stinky.

- I want to hear it. - Is this a joke?

Come on!

Okay, fine.

Dani, your bathroom is not stinky.

Great, got that straight.

Doll face, two more drinks?

Sure, why not?

Be right there.

Is that guy a dick or what?

- Toni... - I mean...

look, you know

when we arrived and I said I wanted to leave,

you knew I wasn't being serious, right?

- I really don't know, Irene. - Listen.

The thing is now, when I asked you to rape me,

I meant it for real.

You just want to start yelling like a banshee when we're in there

and accuse me of assault.

- A trap for a misogynist, very smart. - You said it right!

But you're wrong.

I'm not a total asshole.

God.

I really have no idea how we'll end up, seriously.

But I must say one thing: chicks like you piss me off,

that drive me nuts, you piss me off.

Batshit crazy chicks? Ones that say they aren't total assholes.

Call it what you will.

Hey.

Surprise me with a good accusation.

Then we'll go to the bathroom.

I get the feeling and not for the first time

that you're just trying to convince yourself,

being with me was something good and your friends too.

And whether I'm worthy of a feather in your cap.

If I can live up to your desire

to masturbate with a real dick instead of a finger.

You'd fuck anything.

Come off it. What's worse, do you know what's worse?

You wouldn't even know how to do it.

To get a hard on,

I'd have to recite a few yoga mantras for you.

You're just seeing what you could get away with,

to see if you get laid

so you can laugh about it with your pals on Friday.

Guy seeks gal to talk about the weather...

What an amazing caption, pal.

I practically squirted.

Well, you answered.

Just to pass the time.

Perhaps get laid, perhaps not.

I wanted to try my luck,

see if I got some perv.

A real one, not like you.

Someone who'd have me tied to a bed by now

and wearing an animal mask.

Speaking to me in strange languages,

whilst he twisted my nipples between his fingers.

What you want, what you all want is not to be alone.

Don't generalize, I didn't.

I talk about you and you about me.

Look, a free table.

Let's go, please,

I don't want half the bar gawping at my butt.

And you don't want me hooking up with the guy at the end of the bar.

You hate being alone.

It eats you up inside

and you need someone drooling over you all the time.

Still generalizing.

It's much easier for a woman like you.

You just have to open your address book or go to the nearest bar,

and wait for some stud to break your pussy.

That's fine when you're 16.

But do you think it's nice to go somewhere and realize

absolutely everyone would give anything to fuck you?

That must be traumatic, right?

Not at first,

but then you're 16,

and 17, 18... Shit, 19, okay?

Let's see,

when you want what you have... when you want...

whenever you want...

when... when you can have whatever you want when you want,

you take it for granted, is that it?

I'm just as lonely as you although I can jerk off whenever I want.

Sex saved me from going mad.

Because I learned to control it, I learned to use it.

It taught me how to defend myself.

It gave me power, intelligence...

a handle on the people who hurt me.

That on its own is nothing.

It's working out.

Well.

in my case, contortionism.

Sure... What...?

Imagine your life just the same,

but not being able to fuck when you want.

We live that distress every day.

That's your problem.

I don't feel sorry for you. Not in that way.

Why is it so hard to acknowledge it?

There's nothing to acknowledge.

It's the way of the world.

We're lonely, you're lonely.

We have nothing to offer and neither do you.

At most

you'd like to admit we're right like little piglets.

And string us along just long enough

to feel like you're tired of banging us.

A piglet?

Motherfucker, a motherfucking little piglet...

- On Erasmus there was a restaurant... - Shut up.

I don't want to know

who you tried to screw, or screwed on your fucking Erasmus.

No, honestly. That's enough, I'm gonna go.

But a word of advice.

Try having a bit less respect. Dare to say to a girl

you don't want to spend the night alone.

and drop all the preambles and excuses.

I know what you see: a crazy fuck,

with a head full of doubts and contradictions,

but, you know what? You're worse, you're just a mask.

That's worse.

I won't find anything on those dating sites,

in those ads,

but I found you, didn't I?

You use those sites too.

We could say you're a phony too.

Spare me the life lessons.

Oh, I forgot,

you can go whoring too.

But don't tell me about that, okay? Or write a book.

Write a book about your dull life.

I already am.

Both things.

Both.

You're a whorehound?

He's a whorehound!

Whorehound.

Not bad, for a kiss.

Look...

Did the whores teach you to kiss?

You're really good at it.

Irene.

Irene, I want to kiss you again.

I wanna kiss you all night.

Let's drop the dumb conversation now.

I'm exhausted, I am.

I'm sorry, it's not possible.

Really.

I'll pay and we'll go. Each to their own bed.

So, you mean in two days

I'm going to write you an e-mail saying what a great time I had

and I'd like to do it again and you'll completely ignore me.

and "If we've met I don't remember."

- It won't be that bad. - Irene...

Irene.

I have a massive boner right now.

I have a massive boner, Irene.

For real.

- Do you want to check like before? - No.

Irene.

It's really hard thanks to you. You did it.

You basely squeezed my tit.

Did you like me doing it?

And you squeezed my butt like there was no tomorrow.

- Did you like it? - I loved it.

But I have to go now.

It was really great to meet you.

It was really great, I mean it

and I'm not just saying it.

What's wrong with you all of a sudden?

I just want to go, okay?

Will you be okay if I go now...?

I've given you some great jerk-off material.

Yes. Don't go. No!

I want to know what you think. I still don't know

what girls think on dates with me.

Don't be a jerk.

If you get like this after a kiss, I don't want to know

what kind of pussy you'd become if I let you fuck me.

Seriously.

I'm off.

Will you walk me to the subway?

I could drop you at the whorehouse.

If it were always the same whorehouse, I'd say, "Come along,"

but I don't go

to the same one each day, nor do I go whoring so often,

nor do I go to a particular place. I like to go privately.

I like private apartments.

Speak later.

Did I freak you out?

- Are you grossed out? - No, I'm not freaked out.

I'm kind of breathless.

I feel like I need to end this conversation

- and get moving. - You're not going.

Really, honestly.

Is it so hard to do what I ask, please?

- Tell me what you think. - It's ridiculous.

It's completely ridiculous.

As if tonight hadn't been ridiculous enough.

I mean it in a good way, for the record.

I don't know what you expect me to say...

I expect nothing,

just tell me what you think, that's all.

I think you're a masochist, dude,

because you want me to destroy you.

I dunno, Toni, fuck.

Get back in your place, you're freaking me out!

For fuck's sake.

Anyway, I lowered

your mask and your pants at the same time.

What?

What is there underneath the mask?

Another mask.

- After that? - Another mask.

- Then? - Another and another.

And then, absolutely nothing.

Emptiness.

Seriously?

You think I'm that phony?

Am I that phony?

- Me? - I mean...

You don't know how to pretend.

You're not funny.

You're not interesting.

You're not special either.

You're a terrible actor

and a lousy conversationalist.

So...?

I have to go to the bathroom.

Wait, I have to go to.

didn't you kiss me twice earlier?

I don't know, I was goofing around.

I think you're very lonely.

But I don't feel sorry for you at all.

No, because I think you deserve it.

You deserve it because you think you're so great.

You think you're the most...

the smartest and the sharpest...

- guy in the world - Are you disrespecting me?

Just like you generalize with me. Right?

Because you compare me... listen,

to the women in your head

that don't even exist.

Oh, no.

Poor little airheads

who don't appreciate a good thing.

They don't recognize a guy who could make them happy.

Well, they're condemned to be abused

and raped,

and all that, but by guys...

Don't throw up, idiot.

Listen to me!

Sensitive men make me laugh.

Sensitive men make me retch.

Give me a thicko.

Thicko...

- Thicko. - Thicko.

A thicko and a sensitive guy

and I'll take the thicko every time.

And they fuck better, whether you like it or not.

So we may conclude,

your honor,

- What? - that at no time

did you intend to fuck me.

Do you reckon

someone like me would fuck someone like you?

I really did think so.

- Really? - I thought so.

And you said so.

Me?

Look,

let me tell you another thing

because I'm a little wasted now.

I'm sick, okay?

I'm sick because I have rape fantasies.

But I'm sure you've tried everything.

Really, I mean, humiliation,

lesbianism,

bestiality,

coprophagy.

On the Internet, of course.

In your little comfort zone,

so you don't get stained,

or splashed with shit,

or life jumps you and gobbles you up, of course.

Well, women like me,

brave women,

who are everything you don't dare to be,

we disturb you.

We mess up your heads, really.

Look, Toni.

Look... oh, of course,

that explains your handjobs.

The handjobs and the whores, of course.

It's textbook, of course.

But that's not how things are.

Us crazies

fall in love for real.

We have a bad time.

We suffer.

We go down fighting.

Of course.

And we're not funny, no.

We're not funny at all. Indeed, we're not here

for you to have a goof time,

to entertain you with our angst,

with our sickness.

You know what your problem is?

- You know your problem? - What?

I think... no, I'm sure

you've never touched a titty in your life.

Don't do it now.

I'm sure you haven't licked a pussy that wasn't a whore's.

Naturally, it must be

really fucking with your head.

What happens if you're wrong?

- No, know why? - Why?

Because I can smell a virgin at a hundred paces.

- Can you now? - Yes.

I smelt you. I smelt you from the start.

I just thought

it might be fun to mess with you for a while

Yes.

- You're not crazy. - Oh, really?

- Know why? - Why?

- Because you don't have a heart. - Of course.

- Well, guess what? - What?

I'm not letting you tell me what I am any more.

- Not again. - Okay.

Now I'm gonna make your end...

the hairs on your balls stand on end.

Look, you know what? I'm gonna kill you.

Kill me?

But I don't know how to make it really painful.

But I am really going to kill you.

- Alright. - Okay?

Well, let's see

if it's true I don't have any balls.

Okay then.

You shat yourself, finally!

Please, someone call an ambulance.

Yup, sex is overrated.

I've heard that a few times.

Oddly, always from people who have a lot of sex,

or that have sex from time to time.

I guess it makes sense. Too much of a good thing.

It's the same with candy or Mexican food.

One time, a girl who boasted that she carried a machete in her handbag,

told me sex is overrated.

And then, I don't know what I did to her, she added:

"It really sucks when you want to have sex but you can't".

Maybe it's not all that but it's absolutely everywhere:

in commercials, in movies.

Book covers absolutely reek of sex,

even in high school.

I remember feeling depressed when I heard

that a teacher, whose wife had died of cancer,

had hooked up with the English teacher, a stunning blonde.

Irene must be right, I'm a shit.

I know, have you never asked yourselves that?

Everything starts with sex.

It always plays a part in people's lives.

Often, those who write books or make films that win prizes,

say that without such-and-such, they wouldn't have managed.

And meanwhile they could have been fucking someone else.

Life goes on.

In kids' films when someone wants to win their crush,

there's always some redemption,

although it may crop up as tragic sex but there is sex.

Any old chump can get some, even if it's just a lousy kiss.

In real life it's not always like that.

Real life is more like this, like what you've seen,

this mess, this nonsense.

This time.

- Rape me. No.

Rape me.

Robbing banks and storming Congress is all very well,

yelling at the powerful and the wealthy,

but sex is more powerful.

So if you can't dance and don't fuck, nowadays you're an outcast.

Those who pull it out and waggle it in the street to amuse themselves,

those that fantasize about waitresses,

those who sit down next to girls on the train,

those that jerk off to redheads and assembly leaders,

those who stick it into the soil in graveyards.

The collateral damage from Tinder, Match or Badoo.

Those that were born fat and never overcame it.

Those born emaciated and are now fat.

Fans of women's tennis and rhythmic gymnastics.

Those who go whoring, and those that don't dare,

those who fantasize about whoring.

Those who dream of children, teens or thirty-somethings.

To hell with them all.

The girl with the machete, who dreams of a better world

wouldn't dream of giving them head.

There are things a girl shouldn't do, like helping the sexually-deprived.

You see, guys like me are nothing,

no-one wants to fuck us. Nobody wants our dick or our caresses.

Quit talking already!

No-one wants to listen to our shit.

No-one cares if we do ourselves in.

- Was I talking out loud? - Yes.

For quite a while.

Shit.

Damn, I think I love you.

Can we meet again?

I'm worn out from that fuck.

Whatever it was anyway, I'm not sure it was a fuck.

I guess it all comes down,

once again,

to your ego.

Your ego and your pathetic condition because you think

everyone has to discover you.

They have to make you a martyr

or an icon for frustrated masculinity.

When what I think you are is a coward

and a pussy.

I turn you on a bit, don't I?

Yes, a lot.

But you know I'm crazy.

Glad to hear it.

The first thing.

Look, Toni,

tonight you're really great

because somehow or other, you achieved your objective.

But tomorrow,

if you want,

the horror show starts.

You know I'm not well,

you know I'm stronger than you.

You know I can wreck your life and it's exactly what I'll do.

And neither of us is ready for an adult relationship.

I'm going to play games

you won't even know.

I'll drive you crazy.

And part of me will be proud

of being the marshal of that hell.

But another part of me

will feel like a war criminal.

Yes.

Like a...

wretch who wants to slash a vein in every bar.

Well, in the bathroom of every bar.

In every bathroom.

You'll have less time to kill time

and that will bother you.

But you'll want to believe

that it's better to face torture and get laid from time to time.

There's a chance in a million this will go well.

Maybe if we'd met

at another point in our lives...

or been other people,

it would all fall into place.

Yes.

It might just fall into place because we'd be dead.

Not hard to fall into place when you're dead,

just dump the two bodies together

and let decomposition take care of the rest.

And wait for the shit to overcome us

and the worms.

- Irene. - What?

- Irene, - What is it?

I don't mind if you wreck my life,

I don't know how to tell you.

Shit.

It's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me.

Never mind, here we are

and I think I'm falling for you.

Shit.

Shit, me too.

Human relationships.

Who was it that said, "Loving is "the most exquisite self-destruction",

because it is.

Suddenly we're not talking sex, we're talking love,

or something like that.

Toxic and destructive relationships

ought to be the purest and healthiest ones.

I don't know if "healthy" is the right word,

but the most logical and authentic ones.

And here I am,

with this loon who said she'd wreck my life.

And I want it.

And this crazy is with me, just another crazy

and I won't make it easy for her.

Toni,

I think I love you.

What?

What?

Letting the person you love wreck your life when you don't care,

is the closest thing to happiness.

Like she said:

it could go well or it could go badly

and hopefully it'll be well.

Maybe she'll meet my family or we'll have children

but more than likely,

we'll be yanking our hair out in a couple of weeks.

Or setting light to each other, or poking fingers in our eyes.

Say you love me.

Say you love me.

- Say you love me. - I love you.

- I love you. - Mean it.

Well.

Okay.

I'm done.

I felt like everything that happened was worth it.

It was a magical night.

Damn, I don't know why I feel so utterly happy.

It must be a good thing. Yes.

Yes, it must be good.

Can you spoon me?

I'm hungry.

Young pretty girls

with great inner lives

sing out their feelings

and play at festivals.

Here I go

and here they go.

Here I go and they go patrolling the city.

Girls with ukuleles, I can't stand them anymore.

Young bearded boys

who look harmless

sing out their feelings

and play at festivals.

Here I go

and here they go.

Here I go and here they go patrolling the city.

Boys with mandolins, I can't stand them anymore.

Young angry boys

who want to split skulls

sing about life outside

and don't play at festivals.

Here I go

and here they go.

Here I go and here they go patrolling the city.

Boys with distortions, is what I want now.

Here I go

and here they go.

Here I go and here they go patrolling the city.

Boys with distortions, is what I want now.

Punk's not dead, punk is back.

Punk's not dead, punk is back.

Punk's not dead, punk is back.

Punk's not dead, punk is back.

Punk's not dead, punk is back.

Punk's not dead, punk is back.

Punk's not dead, punk is back.

Punk's not dead, punk is back.

Punk's not dead, punk is back.

Punk's not dead, punk is back.

Punk's not dead, punk is back.

Punk's not dead, punk is back.

Punk's not dead, punk is back.

Punk's not dead, punk is back.

Punk's not dead, punk is back.

Punk's not dead, punk is back.

Punk's not dead, punk is back.