Sling Blade Page #6

no business to run,

don't have to have a job.

You got no old lady

eating on your ass all the time.

Well, I don't know.

I just stay nervous.

- Could I have some of that ham?

- Yeah. I'm sorry.

Thanks.

You know what, by God?

What?

I know what I ought to do tonight.

- Please, Doyle, don't.

- Yeah.

I'm gonna call up Morris, get the band

together. We'll have a party.

Party our asses off.

I'd love to show them Karl.

They'd get a kick out of him.

Please, not tonight.

I'm just not up for it. They always stay

till morning. I'm just give out, Doyle.

You don't gotta do nothing.

Put some chips in a bowl

and run ice out to us

when we look low.

Last time you got mad

and run Morris and them off,

- told them to stay away.

- That ain't your business.

Besides, that's the way

friends do one another.

F*** it, I'm calling 'em up.

Linda, go out there in the garage

and get my guitar.

- It's out there with that loony tune.

- Now?

Yeah, now. I'm calling 'em up.

Hey, Morris.

What you doing, boy?

Where's Randy and them?

Yeah, now, please.

Frankie, go help your mom.

- When are we gonna eat?

- Hang on.

When you come back.

Go get my guitar.

Come on, sugar.

No, I wanna get together.

Yeah.

Well, call him.

One, two,

one, two, three, four.

You gotta play through it.

When we're on a gig,

you gotta play through it.

- You play through it.

- You like that, Vaughan?

Sure. Sounds like

a number one hit tune, all right.

How about you, Karl?

Karl, did you like that?

- I reckon.

- I wish you'd all lay off for tonight.

I can't hear myself think

with that racket.

Well, it's nighttime. You let...

- I'm calling the police.

- I told you three times already.

The law's on my side.

I play cards with JD Shelnut,

chief of police,

so kiss my ass, you old bastard.

Linda.

You and Frank clean this up,

put the tarp over these instruments.

Me and the boys are gonna down the

county line. We're out of liquor.

Karl, come along with us.

Vaughan, come on.

No, I don't think so.

It's late. I have to work tomorrow.

Don't be a p*ssy, Vaughan.

We all gotta work tomorrow.

- Come on.

- He don't want to.

Don't go, Vaughan, if you don't want to.

You'll wreck, Doyle. You're drunk.

I ain't gonna wreck, honey.

Come on. I'll be good, I promise.

I love you, sweetie.

Come on, Karl, go with us.

I'm just trying to make these two

feel like they're part of it, baby.

Come on, Vaughan. This'll be fun.

Karl, let's go. Come on.

- You better lay off that tambourine.

- Hey, man, I ain't did nothing wrong.

Ain't anybody gonna come get me?

What exactly are you talking about?

I don't understand.

Exactly the point,

my young levelheaded friend.

- I don't get it.

- Well, I rest my case.

Morris is real smart

with philosophies and things.

That's why him and me

is the songwriting team of our group.

See, I come up with the good tunes,

or melodies as we call 'em,

and Morris is the lyrics.

Not unlike Gary Brooker

of the Procol Harum.

We don't ever play any songs that

y'all wrote. I ain't heard one of 'em.

Y'all just talk.

We don't even play any songs

with words at all that I remember.

We ain't got no f***ing microphone.

We ain't got no speaker setup.

We wrote one last night

outside the minimart,

and Morris called it

Stuart Drives a Comfortable Car.

And then, like in country songs,

you know, in parentheses it says:

There's usually someone in the Trunk.

And I came up with a tune,

just a-hummin'.

See, you don't wanna

question a genius, Vaughan.

Morris here,

he's a modern-day poet,

kinda like in the olden times.

Yeah. I got a new tune.

This composition's entitled The Thrill.

Goes something like this:

I stand on the hill

Not for a thrill

But for a breath of a fresh kill

And never mind

the man who contemplates

Doing away with license plates

He stands alone anyhow

Baking the cookies of discontent

By the heat of the Laundromat vent

Leaving his soul...

Then, like in poetry, I go dot-dot-dot,

you know, kinda off-center,

then I drop down, and then I go:

Leaving his soul parting the waters

Of the medulla oblongata of...

mankind

A damn good song, weren't it, Doyle?

You like that song? All right.

I don't think that's right.

I believe the dot-dot-dot

come between "medulla" and "oblongata."

- Well, it did.

- The dots are where I say they are.

Melody and tune,

that's your trade, Terence.

You're a tunesmith.

I don't understand

the meaning of the words.

If y'all don't shut up,

I'm gonna go outta my mind.

Besides, Karl here's liable to bust a

spring. He's already off balance.

That wasn't the way you made it up

before. That's all I know.

We don't need no fancy words.

I mean, we need to practice.

We need to rehearse.

I'll tell you what we need.

We need some paying gigs.

We don't need this messing around,

one patio then another.

- That's ridiculous.

- Amen, Johnson.

We don't got no goddamn band.

We don't need

to f***ing practice, Randy.

We don't need

a sh*t-ass manager, neither.

You motherfuckers.

Y'all just a bunch of losers.

I'm the only sane son of a b*tch here.

Just get the f*** outta my house now.

It's not your house, Doyle,

it's Linda's.

I'll whip the dog sh*t outta you,

Vaughan.

I will f***ing kill you

if you talk to me again.

Now, all of you, get the f*** out now,

before I get too mad to turn back.

What about our instruments?

Come here, you little prick.

Come here, you f***ing prick.

Get out. All of y'all.

Now, get the f*** out.

Come on, you motherfuckers.

Get the f*** out.

Randy, you tooting son of a b*tch.

Go f***ing practice, Randy.

Come on, Morris, you f***ing genius,

get the f*** up

and get the f*** outta here,

God damn it.

This ain't right, Doyle.

There is something wrong with you.

- Get the f*** out.

- Nobody wants to take this sh*t, man.

Dots look good on paper.

You don't sing 'em anyway.

You're showing your

true Aries color now.

Stay outta my goddamn face,

you f***ing buzzard.

I said, get outta my house.

That goes for cocksuckers and retards.

Now, get up off your asses and go.

- Come on.

- This is not your house, Doyle.

This is my house,

and I'll say who stays and who goes.

You got a house. Why don't you get one

of your girlfriends and go home to it?

You know better than to talk to me

like that when I'm hurting.

Don't make me

knock the piss outta you.

Don't you touch her.

That's funny, Vaughan.

Linda, go to bed,

and take little snot nose here with you.

You're not staying here tonight.

Go get sober before you come back.

I'm tired of my child seeing this.

Now, you get your ass straight, or I'll

lock your ass outta my life for good.

If you even think about leaving me,

Linda, I told you,

I'm gonna kill you

deader than a doornail.

- That might be better than this.

- I'm a witness. I heard you.

- You get the f*** out now!

- Leave.

- Don't tell me what to do, Linda.

- Leave.

- Don't tell me what to do.

- Leave.

- Don't tell me what to do.

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