Fender Bender Page #2

been worse, I suppose.

Alright, let me just pull up

your family's file here.

Okay, Diaz, I got it.

The driver's name?

Hilary?

Hilary, are you still there, sweetie?

Were you able to get the driver's name?

Oh, I'm sorry.

That's okay.

Jonathan Barker.

Address and phone.

312 Grinnell Street, Littleton,

Colorado, 80120.

Phone, 303-555-6462.

Ooh, out-of-towner, huh?

Okay, plates and driver's license number.

Sweetie?

Uh.

- Are you there?

- Plate 14SG69.

Driver's license 063250331.

And what was his insurance carrier?

- Reliable.

- Reliable.

Got it.

How boring's this weekend gonna be?

Huh, Harry Manilow?

Ah, great.

Oh, my God.

Oh, my God.

Oh, my God.

Get it together, Diaz.

It's gonna be a really long night.

The hell?

Going on, Harry?

Getting all crazy up in here by yourself?

Mama?

Papa?

Is that you?

Did you guys decide to

come home early or something?

Sh*t, sh*t.

Hello?

Alright, who's there?

Be warned, a**hole, I'm gonna t-ball

your freaking head off your freaking neck!

Boo!

Alright, ease up there A-Rod.

Okay.

Say cheese and pepperoni!

Rachel, Erik!

How did you guys get in here?

Spare key underneath the fake rock.

Yeah, three down, the left side bush.

God, thank God it was there.

We would've drowned out there.

- When did I tell you guys that?

- You tell us everything, sweetpea.

I could've really hurt you guys.

With your batting average,

I don't think so.

You looks so freaked out.

You should post these.

- No, I was freaked out.

- Right, let me see.

Oh, my God, you should post those.

Don't worry, I'll delete 'em.

Wait, delete my pictures?

Alright, let's eat this soggy mess.

Of course, I always delete the bad ones.

- Oh, music, we need some music.

- Hold up, will or did?

Whatever you want. You can't have

nasty shots lying around like that.

They'll end up haunting you forever.

I hear that!

You know, I once took a pic of myself

taking a dump in the bathroom mirror.

You know, just like for shits and giggles?

- And, uh...

- Ew, gross.

- I accidentally sent it to my boss.

- Mr. Bessinger?

Alright, who's hungry?

Yeah, now.

- Sodas?

- Diet please.

Real sugar, por favor.

- Hey, you guys?

- Hm?

Thank you so much. Coming over tonight.

Seriously, I really needed the company.

Well, after the day you had,

Andy, the accident.

- Andy.

- I know, I know.

We figured you could use a little TLC.

Yeah. Now, you PYT, you better

E-A-T before you waste away.

Really, I should've known

when I got with him.

I shoulda known that a day like today

was eventually gonna happen.

Oh, should, woulda, coulda.

You rolled the dice

with Mr. Fantasy Football.

Came up double dots.

So what? You're hot, he's not.

His loss, big time.

- Time to move on.

- Amen.

Whatever happened to all the nice guys?

Like when did that just suddenly change?

You mean, non-douchebags

without bloated egos

who don't feel entitled

to absolutely everything

in existence and can carry on some

semblance of an intelligent conversation

beyond that of professional

sports and/or video games?

Yes, that. Exactly that.

Yeah, sorry, gone the way

of the dodo bird, puddin'.

Actually, they do exist.

They're just all like me.

Oh, my God, that's so true.

Straight guys are all such pricks.

- You can say that again.

- Straight guys are all such pricks.

- Here's to boys who don't suck.

- Hells yes!

Ah, speak for yourself.

Alright, what's for dessert?

- There's some ice cream in the freezer.

- Mmm, perfect.

Oh, cake!

Oh, my God, so much better. Mmm.

What is that?

Sorry?

Don't tell me Andy left this for you.

Yeah, I think so.

Maybe.

It could've been somebody else.

Oh, who? I'm intrigued.

Well, the fender bender I had today.

The other driver, I think

that maybe it could've been him.

What?

Yeah, wait, what? Really?

It was on top of my mom's

car in the driveway.

Why would he do that?

I don't know.

He texted me, too.

- Hilary!

- Wait, how did he get your number?

From the information that we

exchanged at the accident scene.

It's what you're supposed to do.

You give your name,

you give your phone number,

you... your address,

like everything pretty much.

Well, maybe he was just being polite?

You know, actually sorry

for what happened?

Believe it or not, there actually are

some decent people left in this sad world.

Yeah, maybe.

What else?

Well, a little earlier,

somebody snuck in here

and took pictures of me

in the shower with my phone

and then deleted

the accident pictures, too.

Okay, what?

You've gotta be making this up, right?

Was it you guys?

Are you playing a prank on me?

Cause you were talking earlier

about deleting pictures.

I won't be mad. I just wanna know.

No, of course it wasn't.

Okay, this is so nuts.

There's gotta be a good

explanation for all of it.

Were you expecting someone else?

Maybe we should call 911.

Yeah, I like that idea a lot.

No, I've caused so many problems as it is.

We'll take care of this.

Who's there?

- Andy?

- Hey, babe.

- What are you doing here?

- Obvious, ain't it?

You're drunk?

- Like always.

- Wow, obvious again.

You always were crazy smart, Hil.

Look, you can't be here.

You need to leave right now.

Why? Can't I see my girl when I want?

Or do I need a f***ing engraved

invitation or something

to your lame f***ing pizza party?

You were spying on us?

Come on, babe, how many times

do I have to say I'm sorry?

I am not your babe. It's over.

I already told you that.

You need to go right now.

See, that's not the way this works, Hil,

because I say when it's over.

Understand that? Me.

Not you. Never you.

What's this?

Supposed to be threatening or something?

Listen a**hole...

Wow, see you got your poodles

here to protect you.

- Who you calling a dog?

- You, b*tch!

What are you gonna do about it,

hump my leg or something?

It's okay, you guys.

I'll take care of this.

Your call, Hil.

But I think we both know

how this is going to end.

Yeah, see? That's what I thought.

What the...

I'm gonna spell this out

for you nice and slow,

cause I know you're not

the brightest bulb in the box.

You crazy b*tch.

If you don't get your juiced-up,

sorry ass out of here

and leave me and my friends alone,

then you can kiss

the homecoming game goodbye.

It's gonna be really hard scoring touchdowns

with both your goddamn legs in casts.

Get the hell out of my house.

Whatever. Kiss my ass.

No thanks.

I already kicked it. It's much more fun.

Ha, I'm scared of you.

Yeah!

F***ing b*tch.

Did you change your mind?

So how are you gonna explain this later?

Thought you said no more trouble.

Uh.

I tripped over it in the dark, right?

If it weren't for my dancer catlike

reflexes, I would've been a goner.

Yes, I like this new you.

See, I told you there's a good explanation

for all that crazy sh*t earlier.

It was just the a**hole the entire time.

Yeah, it looks like it, huh.

Puts the creep in creepy,

that's for goddamn sure.

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