Heathers Page #2

Take the two shots or send me out?

Did you have a brain tumour for breakfast?

First you ask if you can be red,

knowing that I'm always red.

Sh*t.

It's your turn, Heather.

Easy shot, Heather.

No way, no day.

Give it up, girl.

- Holy sh*t.

- Incredible!

Whoo!

So tonight's the night. Are you two excited?

I'm giving Veronica her shot,

her first Remington party.

You blow it tonight, girl,

and it's keggers with kids all next year.

Why?

Why not?

Heather, your mother's here.

Come on, whoever wants a ride.

- Bye. Thank you.

- Bye-bye, girls.

Hey, take a break, Veronica. Sit down.

So what was the first week

of spring vacation withdrawal like?

I don't know. It was OK, I guess.

Hey, kid, isn't the prom coming up?

I guess.

Any contestants worth mentioning?

Maybe.

There's kind of

a dark horse in the running.

God, will somebody tell me

why I read these spy novels?

Because you're an idiot.

Oh, yeah, that's it.

You two...

Great pt, but I gotta motor

if I want to be ready for that party tonight.

Corn nuts!

BQ or plain?

BQ!

You're going to pull a super-chug with that?

No, but if you're nice,

I'll let you buy me a slushie.

I see you know

your convenience-speak pretty well.

Yeah, well, I've been

moved around all my life.

Dallas, Baton Rouge, Vegas...

Sherwood, Ohio.

There's always been

a Snappy Snack Shack.

Any town, any time, pop a ham and cheese

in the microwave and feast on a turbo-dog.

Keeps me sane.

Really?

That thing you pulled in the caff today

was pretty severe.

Yeah, well, the extreme

always seems to make an impression.

Did you say a cherry or Coke slushie?

I didn't. Cherry.

Great bike.

Yeah. Just a humble perk

from my dad's construction company.

Seen the commercial, right?

"Bringing every state to a higher state."

Wait a minute. Jason Dean.

Your pop's Big Bud Dean Construction?

It must be rough moving place to place.

Everybody's life has got static.

Is your life perfect?

Yeah. I'm going to

a Remington University party.

No, my life's not perfect.

I don't really like my friends.

Yeah, uh, I don't really like

your friends, either.

Well, it's just like they're people I work with

and our job is being popular and sh*t.

Maybe it's time to take a vacation.

Hello, ladies.

Throw your coats on the floor.

Veronica, this is Brad.

Excellent.

Did you girls bring

your partying slippers?

- Let's party.

- She loves to party.

'Dear diary, I want to kill,

'and it's for more than just selfish reasons.

'More than a spoke in my menstrual cycle.

'You have to believe me.'

It's so great to talk to a girl

and not have to ask "what's your major?"

I hate that.

So, when you go to college,

what subjects do you think you'll study?

Come on, David.

Shouldn't we get back to the party?

We will.

It's just you're so hot tonight.

I can't control myself.

'I can't explain it but

I'm allowed an understanding

'that my parents and these

Remington a**holes have chosen to ignore.

'I understand that I must stop Heather.'

How's my little cheerleader, huh?

Oh, I know everyone

at your high school isn't so uptight.

- Come on.

- I don't feel so good, OK?

Let's do it on the coats.

It'll be excellent, huh?

I have a prepared speech I tell my suitor

when he wants more

than I'd like to give him.

Gee, blank, I had a really nice...

Save the speeches for Malcolm X.

I just want to get laid.

You don't deserve my f***ing speech.

'Betty Finn was a true friend

and I sold her out

'for a bunch of Swatchdogs

and Diet Cokeheads.

'Killing Heather would be like offing

the Wicked Witch of the West.

'Wait, East. West!

I sound like a f***ing psycho.'

What's your damage?

Brad says you're being a cooze.

I feel really sick, like I'm gonna throw up.

Can we please jam now?

No. Hell, no.

'Tomorrow I'll be kissing

her aerobicised ass

'but tonight let me dream of

a world without Heather,

'a world where I am free.'

You stupid f***.

You goddamn b*tch.

You were nothing before you met me.

You were playing Barbies with Betty Finn.

You were a Bluebird, you were a Brownie,

you were a Girl Scout Cookie.

I got you into a Remington party.

What's my thanks?

It's on the hallway carpet.

I got paid in puke.

Lick it up, baby. Lick it up.

Monday morning you're history.

I'll tell everyone about tonight.

Transfer to Washington,

transfer to Jefferson,

no one at Westerburg's gonna let you

play their reindeer games.

Dreadful etiquette. I apologise.

That's OK.

I saw the croquet set up in the back.

You up for a match?

I thank you.

That was my first game of strip croquet.

You're welcome.

It's a lot more interesting

than just flinging off your clothes

and boning away

on a neighbour's swing set.

There's lots to be said for throwing off...

What a night.

What a life.

They wanted to move me

into high school out of the sixth grade

because I was supposed to be

this big genius.

Then we decided to chuck the idea

because I'd have trouble

making friends, blah, blah, blah.

Now blah, blah, blah is all I do.

I use my grand IQ

to decide what colour gloss to wear

and how to hit three keggers before curfew.

Heather Chandler is one b*tch

that deserves to die.

Killing her won't solve anything.

I say we just grow up, be adults and die.

But before that...

I'd love to see Heather Chandler

puke her guts out.

Trust me, she skips

the Saturday morning trip to grandma's

even when she's not hung over.

We'll just concoct ourselves

a little hangover cure

that'll induce her to spew

red, white and blue, then.

What about milk and orange juice?

What's the up-chuck factor on that?

I'm a no-rust-build-up man, myself.

Don't be a dick.

That stuff will kill her.

I know, we can cook up some soup

and put it in a Coke.

That's pretty sick, eh?

Should it be chicken noodle

or bean with bacon?

Put a lid on that stuff.

I say we go with big blue here.

What are you talking about?

She would never drink anything

that looked like that, anyway.

So we'll... put it in this.

She won't be able to see

what she's drinking.

Let me get a cup, jerk.

OK.

Milk and orange juice.

Maybe we could, like, cough up

a phlegm globber in it or something.

- No?

- Nothing.

Oh, well. Milk and orange juice

will do quite nicely.

You're chicken.

You're not funny.

I'm sorry.

- Uh, Veronica?

- What?

Uh, never mind. I'll, er, carry the cup.

Morning, Heather.

Veronica... and Jesse James.

Quelle surprise.

Hear about Veronica's

affection for regurgitation?

Last night we both

said things we didn't mean.

Did we?

How did you get in?

Um... Veronica knew

you'd have a hangover

so, uh, I whipped this up for you.

It's a family recipe.

What, you put a phlegm globber in it?

I'm not going to drink that piss.

I knew this stuff'd be too intense for her.

Intense.

Grow up.

You think I'll drink it

just because you call me chicken?

Just give me the cup, jerk.

Corn nuts.

Oh, my God.

I can't believe it.

I just killed my best friend.

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