we have to pay for their damned healthcare
for their housing, for their clothes,
we have to pay and pay and pay –
it’s immoral. They have no right
to have kids. None.

isn’t that evil? i asked him
no. it is evil to let them keep having kids
So, we are all slaves?
We’re already slaves – we have to pay
for all of them.

Do we really?
yes.
No, we don’t. We choose to.
It seems to me that you’re saying
society owns each baby – that we are responsible

We are responsible,
he said. We are. Whether we like it
or not.

So, you have authority over my body?
You can tell me no more children? You can tell a woman
no more babies? You can abort or save
which ever baby you’d like?

Who chooses? Who decides? A bank statement?
A bureaucrat?
This isn’t freedom – this is tyranny.

THIS is tyranny, all this money
taken from me, given to this bastards
fathering 8 children by 8 different women
and all of them ending up on welfare.

Perhaps the women would keep their legs closed
if they worried more about how they’d pay?
No, they wouldn’t. The only solution
is to sterilize the punks spreading their sperm.

And you don’t see any problem with this?
No.
You don’t see the evil of it? The Nazi-germany-style horror?
No.
You don’t see the problems with making babies
into commodities?
You’re an idiot.
Fine, I’m an idiot, but you don’t see
that your solution is a path to diabolical serial killing?

…

Ok then.

i would call out, i would
for thursday, for sunlight
for the last black kitten
hiding in the rotting shed

i would, but death is here
and wednesday feels it tightly
like a warm willing noose
and a man without hands

death is a honest grope
for God – this i swear to you
if i still swear at all
in the aftermath of wednesday

a soul, a stagnant air,
monday’s prayer whispered and
forgotten – you are with me
death, you and cold loss

if thursday only knew this
sadness this want – politics
would be the kindness of faith
not the religion of liars

alas, i only die on wednesday

STEVE: No.

SCOTT: You’re not on TV.

STEVE (facing somewhere between heaven and the camera):The problem with Scott is that he just doesn’t understand the nature of reality. He’s a good guy. Really, he is. He just doesn’t get that in any infinitely sized object, every point is the center point. In this infinitely large universe, I am, therefore, the center of the universe.

SCOTT: You know I can hear you, right?

STEVE: Scott, all this witless banter is making me thirsty, go get me a cup of coffee.

SCOTT: Dude.

STEVE (looking at Scott with one eyebrow raised)

SCOTT: Fine. I wanted one anyway. You’re ridiculous.

STEVE (looking at the camera): Someday he’ll understand.

[Themesong Music & Credits start to roll]

[Title in "Comic Lettering": Episode 1: The pilot]

Scene 2:

[On a random dock, at a random nameless lake, somewhere in the Northeastern Part of North America]

STEVE [casting with a crappy little-kid "Hello Kitty" fishing pole and reel] You know the world would be a happier place if there were a male version of Hello Kitty.

MIKE [changing a lure and casting his very expensive manly spincaster on a nifty graphite rod]: No it wouldn’t.

STEVE: Sure it would. Gender is cool. Almost everyone I know has one.

MIKE [Rolling his eyes]: That was almost the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

STEVE: But not the actual stupidest?

MIKE: It might have been.

STEVE: But you’re not sure?

[A fish hits Steve's line]

MIKE [Indicating with his eyes where STEVE should be looking]

STEVE: I’d think, if it were the actual ‘stupidest thing you ever heard’ [making air quotes with one hand] you’d remember.

[the back of a fish at least as big as STEVE swirls around in front of the dock]

MIKE (eyes bugging out): [pointing with his rod]

STEVE: It’s not that Hello Kitty has to be female, persay, it’s just that it is defacto girlish.

MIKE: [gesturing wildly with his rod]

STEVE: [Turning toward the space between the camera and heaven] I’m not sure he is aware just how phallic that whole motion is.

MIKE: [Primal Scream]

STEVE: [reels in his line] I guess I had a bite, the baits gone.

Scene 3:

[In a random cube farm in a random business somewhere in a generically accented North American City]

MIKE: I’m telling you, the fish was bigger than him.

SCOTT: Don’t exaggerate. It’s bad enough I have to listen to him 9hrs a day, 5 days a week, 50 weeks a year until I die. Don’t make it worse. For the love of God, don’t make it worse.

MIKE [Somewhere between exasperated and devastated]: I. Really — never mind.

SCOTT: Did you catch anything.

MIKE [Banging head against his desk hard enough that his phone goes off the hook and randomly dials NIALL at the Customer Service desk]

NIALL: (over the speaker phone) Hi Mike, what do you need?

SCOTT: I don’t think he meant to call you NIALL, he was just banging his head against his desk and it happened.

NIALL: (over speaker phone) [a loud sigh then a dial tone]

STEVE: Why is MIKE banging his head against his desk?

SCOTT: He didn’t catch any fish.

STEVE: [Turns to the space between the camera and heaven] It’s not easy for everyone to understand the way the universe works. MIKE has a hard time seeing the truth of things – fishing isn’t supposed to be so stressful. The man needs to learn to relax.

MIKE: [Primal Scream]

SCOTT (Looks at STEVE then at MIKE): MIKE, do you need a coffee?

MIKE: [grunts]

Scene 4:

[At a coffee shop across the street from the generic business where STEVE works]

STEVE: I’d like a small black coffee with extra black.

KID BEHIND COUNTER: Extra black?

STEVE: Yes please.

KID BEHIND COUNTER: I have no idea what that means.

STEVE: Well, I like my coffee black.

KID BEHIND COUNTER: Ok. I can do that.

STEVE: Great, can you add some extra black to it? I think that’s the part I like.

KID BEHIND COUNTER: [Vacant Stare]

PILOT: Stop screwing with the kid, some of us are in a hurry.

STEVE: I don’t think it’ll take him any extra time to give me extra black.

PILOT: THere is no such thing as..

STEVE: OF course there is.

PILOT: No there isn’t.

STEVE: Are you saying that the coffee he will serve me will be completely opaque?

PILOT: What the hell is wrong with you?

STEVE: Nothing, I just want extra black.

PILOT: You’re an idiot.

STEVE [Turns toward space between camera and heaven]: The problem here is that time is really a matter of perception. Regardless whether Einstein is right or wrong, it is a fact that if you’re waiting for something, time slows and if you need to be somewhere, time speeds up. I think it has situational awareness.

PILOT: You stupid son of a…. [making a fist with his right hand and readying it for a swing]

KID BEHIND THE COUNTER: Here you go sir

STEVE: [Turning back to the counter reaching into his pocket for change, drops a quarter and bends down to get it.

PILOT [swinging at STEVE's head misses and catches the KID BEHIND THE COUNTER right in the nose]

Scene 5:

[In front of the Coffee Shop with the KID BEHIND THE COUNTER and the PILOT separated and talking to police in the background.]

POLICE [With a notepad]: Extra Black?

STEVE: Yessir.

POLICE: Is that some sort of racial thing? Are you trying to start trouble?

STEVE: No sir.

POLICE: What does it even mean?

STEVE: My friend SCOTT got me a coffee the other day, and I was thinking how it would taste better if it were blacker. So, today, when I got here, I thought I’d just ask for extra black.

POLICE: Are you retarded?

STEVE: If I were, would I know?

POLICE: Are you sassing me?

STEVE: I think I”m a bit too manly to sass.

POLICE: [Pauses, takes a deep breath]: TEll me what happened.

STEVE: When? [Turns to the space between the camera and Heaven] This is the problem with narrative, there is no beginning or end. Everything is middle. Everything is past tense.

POLICE: What the hell is wrong with you? Do you need to be brought in for observation?

PILOT [Yelling over from behind] See! Do you see what I mean, the man is a lunatic.

STEVE: No sir.

POLICE: So what happened here?

STEVE: I didn’t see anything. I bent down to pick up a quarter and that man hit the kid behind the counter.

POLICE: So you turned and missed the entire exchange?

STEVE: Yes sir.

POLICE: Get out of here. I’ve got your info, if we need you, we’ll call.

SCENE 6:

[By the reception desk of a nameless business in a nameless town somewhere in North America]

NIALL: The kid still has the shiner.

SCOTT: Yeah, I saw that. Did you hear what he said?

NIALL: I just heard he caused the whole thing and that the owner asked him not to come in again.

SCOTT: He asked for extra black in his coffee?

NIALL: Freakin’ racist pig!

SCOTT: I don’t think black coffee is racist.

NIALL: It sounds racist.

SCOTT: Yeah, but I am pretty sure ordering black coffee isn’t racist.

NIALL: But with EXTRA BLACK??? No wonder they don’t want him back in there.

SCOTT: Dude’s not right.

NIALL: True that.

[Door opens]

PILOT: I’m looking for a STEVE?

NIALL: Can I ask what this is about?

PILOT: I Just need to give him some paperwork.

NIALL: One second. [Dial's STEVE] Steve? Yeah, there’s someone here with paperwork for you?

NIALL: He’ll be right down. You can wait right over there. [Points to a couch]

PILOT: Thank you.

[Elevator dings and STEVE steps off]

STEVE [tilts head]: Can I help you?

PILOT: My therapist told me I should apologize to you.

STEVE: For what?

PILOT: For trying to take a swing at you.

STEVE: You didn’t hit me though.

PILOT: Still, I tried. I”m sorry about that.

STEVE: Don’t worry about it.

PILOT: I heard you can’t get coffee over there anymore?

STEVE: At least for now. They think I’m racist.

PILOT [nodding]

STEVE: What can you do? I think if there were some masculine version fo Hello Kitty a lot of this could have been avoided.

PILOT [opens mouth, then closes it]

STEVE: I think it’s just a gender thing.

PILOT: Whatever you say. Hey, I just wanted to give you this and tell you how sorry I am about what happened.
[Hands STEVE an envelope]

STEVE: What’s this?

PILOT: Just a little something something.

STEVE: A plane ticket?

PILOT: [Shrugs] See ya. [Walks out]

NIALL: WHere’s it to?

STEVE: Anywhere.

SCENE 7:

[On a random dock on a random lake in a random part of North America]

STEVE [casting his Hello KItty fishing pole]: Maybe Smurfs are the answer.

MIKE [Changing his lure] What’s the question?

SCOTT: There is no answer.

MIKE: I have an extra pole if you want to fish SCOTT.

SCOTT [shrugs and then looks at STEVE]: How was Paris?

STEVE [Turns to the space between the Camera and Heaven] Every place is really no better or worse than any other place. This is difficult for most people to accept, but it is a fact. There is nothing intrinsically better about one location in spacetime over another.

SCOTT: You do know you’re not on TV, right?

MIKE: I don’t think he thinks he’s on TV, I think he thinks he’s God.

STEVE: Paris was fine. I think I learned something important.

SCOTT: Oh God.

MIKE: What?

STEVE: Smurfs are the masculine Hello Kitty.

SCOTT: Why is that important?

STEVE: It answers some of my questions about gender roles in modern society.

MIKE: What questions?

SCOTT: Why would you ask that?

MIKE [shrugging loudly]

STEVE: I think smurfs represent the violence inherent in masculine identity, where Hello Kitty exposes the peaceful nature of the feminine.

SCOTT: Dude, smurfs are not violent.

MIKE: He’s right.

STEVE [Turns to the space between heaven and the camera] Clearly they’re not comfortable with their sexuality.

[the giant fish whirls in front of the dock]

MIKE & SCOTT stare at the fish as STEVE casts again.

[THEME MUSIC AND CREDITS ROLL]

I watched that kid next to me
in his red plaid Dutchmaid pajamas
read comic books full of talking animals
and tell his mother to bring him something
to do – anything that didn’t involve reading

Later, she brought him a radio
and the little bastard listened to talk radio for hours

When my mother came in, she asked me
If there was anything she could get for me
i shook my head, glancing at him,
“wait…” i rasped, “my red pajamas.”

the smell of sinful green
the taste of tomato off the vine
the sound of a frisbee through the air
the color of hope before dinner

Jubilation, exultation, ecstasy and bliss
trapped in black and white for all time
- a lie.

The Bruins, for a moment, were the greatest
of all time, the black and gold statement
of a perfect moment proof of the wild
over the ranger, riffing jazz over the blues

I was still the inkling of me, the wish, the dream
the maybe poet in the angry womb
waiting for the old man to get home
half-in-the-bag and giddy

For ten years, Bobby Orr, could fly
he soared in all my dreams on stainless steel razor wings
over smooth gentle honest ice

The Bruins were Gods, until dad told me
the truth about Bobby Orr.

He’d been there with his mother just before his father
was shot in the head – he’d stayed at that gorgeous inn
right near the fly fishing museum.

We passed by and talked about stove-pipe hats
old photos – and how small the green mountains seemed.
“His birthday was a couple of weeks ago,” I said.

“Whose?” you said. I laughed at you.
“Never mind.”
“you’d look good in a hat like that,” you snicker and run
your hand through my hair.

a naked emu leaping
out into the acrid city air
in search of a tall one
then gone

‘that’s something you don’t see everyday,”
the bartender said, swirling a rag in a glass

I just nod.