Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Page #8

...a book all about a boy who

murders his mother and kills his father...

...and pretends it's all an accident.

Hey. Hey, wait a minute.

- You wanna know the clincher?

- Yeah.

You wanna know what

big, brave Georgie said to Daddy?

- Yeah. Hey.

- No, no, no.

- Hey, wait a minute.

- Georgie said, "But, Daddy...

I mean, but, sir,

this isn't a novel at all."

- You will not say this.

- The hell I won't. Keep away.

"No, sir, this is no novel at all.

This is the truth.

This really happened to me.

- I'll kill you.

- It happened."

Hey.

Violence!

Violence, violence.

Stop that.

Where are you?

All right. Very quiet now.

We'll all be very quiet.

Murderer.

- That's enough.

- What's the trouble in here?

Honestly, nothing.

No trouble. Just playing a game.

Well... Well, we're closing.

One more round.

Same for everybody. Give us one more

round and we'll be on our merry way.

All right? Good, good.

Thanks. Thanks.

Well, that's one game.

What shall we do now?

Come on.

I mean, let's think of something else.

We played Humiliate the Host.

What should we do now?

- Oh, look...

- Oh, look. Oh, look.

Come on. We must know other games,

college-type types like us.

- Can't be the limit of our vocabulary.

- Haven't had enough?

There are other games.

How about...?

How about Hump the Hostess?

How about that?

Wanna play that one?

- Wanna play Hump the Hostess?

- Calm down.

Or you wanna wait till later,

off in the bushes?

- Hump the Hostess.

- Just shut up, will you?

You don't wanna play that now. Save

that for later. What shall we play now?

- Portrait of a Man Drowning.

- I'm not drowning.

- You told me to shut up.

- I'm sorry.

- No, you're not.

- I'm sorry!

Okay. I know what we do.

Now that we're through with

Humiliate the Host for this round...

...and we don't want to play

Hump the Hostess yet...

...I know what we'll do. How about

a little round of Get the Guests?

- How about that? Get the Guests?

- Jesus, George.

- Book-dropper, child-mentioner.

- I don't like these games.

We've only had one game, we've got to

have another. You can't fly on one.

- Look, anyway, l...

- Silence!

How will we play Get the Guests?

- Oh, good God.

- You be quiet!

I wonder. I wonder.

Yeah. Yeah.

Martha, in her indiscreet way,

told you all about my first novel.

True or false that there

ever was such a thing.

She told you about my first novel,

my memory book.

I preferred she hadn't,

but that's blood under the bridge.

But what Martha didn't do,

didn't tell you...

...what Martha didn't tell us all about

was my second novel.

No, you didn't know about that, did you?

- True or false? True or false?

- No.

Well, it's an allegory, really. Probably.

It's all about this nice, young couple

who comes out of the Middle West.

It's a bucolic, you see.

This nice, young couple

comes out of the Middle West.

He's blond and he's about 30.

And he's a scientist...

A teacher, a scientist.

His mouse is a wifey thing,

gargles brandy...

Just a minute here.

This is my game.

You've had your game.

I wanna hear this. I love stories.

And mousy's father was a holy man, see.

And he ran a traveling clip joint,

and he took the faithful, just took them.

- This is familiar.

- No kidding.

Anyway, blondie and his frau

out of the Plains states came.

Very funny, George.

Thank you, Martha. They settled

in a town like Nouveau Carthage.

- I don't think you better go on.

- Do you not?

I love familiar stories.

They're the best.

How right you are. But blondie

was all in disguise as a teacher...

...because his baggage ticket had

bigger things writ on it: H.I.

Historical Inevitability.

- There's no reason to go any further.

- Let them go on.

We shall. He had this baggage.

Part of his baggage

was in the form of his mouse.

We don't have to listen.

- Why not?

- She has a point.

But nobody could figure out

blondie's baggage, his mouse.

I mean, here he was Pan-Kansas

swimming champion or something...

...and he had this mouse.

Of whom he was solicitous to a point

that faileth human understanding...

...given that she was

something of a simp.

- Look, this just isn't fair of you.

- Perhaps not. Like I said...

...his mouse tooted brandy immodestly

and spent half her time in the upchuck.

- I know these people.

- Do you?

But she was a money baggage,

amongst other things.

Godly money from the golden teeth of

the unfaithful, and she was put up with.

- I don't like this story.

- And she was put up with.

- Stop, George.

- Stop?

- Please. Please, don't.

- Beg, baby.

George.

And now a flashback

to how they got married.

- No!

- Yes!

- Why?

- How they got married was this:

The mouse got all puffed up one day...

...and she went over to blondie's house

and she stuck out her puff...

...and she said, "Look at me."

- I don't like this.

- Stop it.

"Look at me, I'm all puffed up."

"Oh, my goodness," said blondie.

- And so they were married.

- And so they were married.

- And then? What? And then what?

- And then?

And then the puff went away again

like magic.

The puff went away?

Honey, I didn't mean to.

Honestly, I didn't...

You told.

- Honey. Baby.

- You couldn't have told them. Please.

No. No, you couldn't have told them. No.

And that's how you play Get the Guests.

Please. I'm gonna be sick.

- Leave me alone, I'm gonna be sick.

- Honey.

You shouldn't have done that.

- I hate hypocrisy.

- That was cruel and vicious.

She'll get over it. She'll recover.

- Damaging to me.

- To you?

- To me.

- To you?

Yes!

Beautiful. My God,

you gotta have a swine...

...to show you where the truffles are.

Rearrange your alliances.

Look around and make the best of things.

Put your wife in the car.

I've had enough rides tonight.

We'll walk home.

That's right,

you go plan some new strategy.

- You're gonna regret this.

- No doubt. I regret everything.

- No, I mean I'll make you regret this.

- Go clean up the mess.

You just wait, mister.

- Very good, George.

- Thank you, Martha.

- Really good.

- I'm glad you enjoyed it.

I mean, you did a good job.

You really fixed it.

That's the most life

you've shown in a long time.

You bring out the best in me, baby.

You really are a bastard.

That's all right for you, you can

go around like a hopped-up Arab...

...slashing at everything,

scarring up half the world if you want...

...but let somebody else try it? Oh, no.

- You miserable...

Why, baby, I did it all for you.

I thought you'd like it, sweetheart.

It's to your taste,

blood, carnage and all.

I thought you'd sort of get excited.

Sort of heave and pant and come running

at me, your melons bobbling.

You have really screwed up, George.

- Come on, Martha.

- I mean it. You really have.

You can sit, gin running out of

your mouth. You can humiliate me.

You can tear me to pieces all night.

That's perfectly okay.

- You can stand it.

- I cannot stand it!

You can stand it. You married me for it!

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