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Greenwich, Connecticut
“Okay,” Shannon muttered. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
Tyler had his head immersed in a bowl of ice, and Ann was sitting at the kitchen table with a quart of ginger ale. Betty was throwing up in the kitchen sink. “We’re going to............get together tomorrow and fix this. I’m going to bed. See you.”
“Great answer,” Tyler said. “Do you have any Tylenol?”
“Dunno,” Shannon said. “I never take that shit. It does liver damage.”
“As opposed to 300 gallons of beer a week,” Ann mumbled under her breath.
“How about some heroin, then?” Tyler sighed. “Crack? Morphine? Opiates of any description? I simply must kill this headache.”
“You can look in the bathroom. I’ll go ask what’s her name,” Shannon said and headed for the stairs. There was a brief period of yelling and screaming, followed by a slamming door. Shannon came down and threw a bottle of Tylenol onto the table. “Here. Why don’t I ever get headaches?”
“Your brain is so rotted out from being smashed all the time, you probably can’t feel pain any more,” Ann said.
“She has a point,” Tyler sighed. “I, on the other hand, am sober most of the time.”
“And Coleman is a virgin,” Shannon said. “Where can we buy gas masks? You know, for when the radioactive cloud of poison gets here.”
“We are supposed to prevent that,” Tyler said.
“Sure we are. Three idiots with the combined IQ of a bag of sand, and nasty hangovers. What are we ever going to prevent, except the collapse of the liquor industry.”
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Greenwich, Connecticut
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“Is the country still here?” Shannon asked, looking around.
“I guess so,” Ann said. “I don‘t remember. We have to stop doing this. We’re going to kill ourselves. I haven’t been to work in a month. I don’t know if I even have a paper left.”
“Don’t worry,” Shannon sighed. “Those degenerates who work for you will produce worse filth than even you are capable of. I’m sure your rag is still in production.”
“I have to call them,” Ann said, reaching for the phone. Minutes later, she had her editor on the line. “Yeah, it’s me. What the fuck do you care where I am? Mind your own business, you asshole. What have you been doing? Yeah? Really? Okay, bye.”
“That sounded good,” Shannon said.
“He ran a story about a possessed nun who cooked a baby in a microwave because she thought it was the son of Satan,” Ann huffed. “There. How do you like that? Circulation is up 15 %.”
“Excellent,” Tyler said. “My compliments. You have exceeded even the basest characteristics of human depravity, which is a new low even for you. You are to be commended. And killed immediately.”
“You wish,” Ann said. “I’ll outlive you, because I don’t engage in sexual depravity.” Ann looked at Shannon, then looked away. “Well, not really. Not that anybody can prove. The incident with the Lakers was..........oh, forget it. I give up.”
“Nukes,” Shannon said. “Don’t lose sight of what we’re going to do. The only question I have is when this dude is going to set off this shit. Any ideas?”
“From who?” Betty laughed. “We’re all idiots, according to you. Figure it out yourself, Blondie.”
“Throw her the fuck out,” Shannon said. “Tyler.”
“Your wish is my command,” Tyler said. He grabbed Betty by the hair and dragged her squalling to the door. He threw her out onto the lawn and slammed the door behind her. “Mission accomplished,” he said as he brushed himself off and sat back down at the kitchen table.
“Now,” Shannon said. “We missed a major holiday. He didn’t do anything on the fourth, which would be symbolic. Therefore he isn’t an historical crackpot.”
“He missed June 21,” Tyler said. “The date the Constitution was adopted. The next significant date is September 17. That is the day the Constitution was signed.”
“How do you know this shit?” Ann said in wonderment. “You’re an actor.”
“And a damned good one,” Tyler said. “I once played Thomas Jefferson in a movie. It was towards the beginning of my stellar career, so nobody remembers it. I learned quite a bit from that role.”
“So we’re basically screwed where dates are concerned,” Shannon said. “How do we solve this? What day would you pick, crotch cricket girl?”
“Your birthday, you rat bastard,” Ann said. “Stupid day. How should I know? Call Gwen.”
“Jesus, I was afraid somebody would suggest that,” Shannon said.
“You may have no choice,” Ann said. “Remember Randy?”
“I’d rather not. That’s a very disturbing part of my life.”
“You can’t turn away from it. You call her.”
“Okay.”