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  GORDON: Why not?

  WALLY: Walk right in there all-of-a-sudden-gay?

  GORDON: I repeat: Why not?

  WALLY: They’re gonna be back from T.G.I. Friday’s in twenty—(checks watch)—six minutes—! You can’t be gay—!

  GORDON: They’re gonna have to—

  WALLY: You’ve been at NYU for three semesters—!

  GORDON: They’re gonna have to hear it, Wally—

  WALLY: Three semesters, Gordon! Mom and Dad go out for cheeseburgers and baby back ribs, their firstborn comes back a homo—!

  GORDON: I’m not—

  WALLY: Have you met Dad?

  GORDON: Wally—

  WALLY: He was in Vietnam—

  GORDON: I don’t give a fuck what war—

  WALLY: He voted for Reagan—

  GORDON: Or century—

  WALLY: Twice! He voted for Reagan twice!

  GORDON: Or—

  WALLY: He’s got Billy Graham, Live in Concert T-shirts—!

  GORDON: Or lifestyle he comes from—

  WALLY: Eight of them—!

  GORDON: I’m bringing my boyfriend home.

  WALLY: Boyfriend, what is boyfriend? The hell can you call him boyfriend?

  GORDON: You’re very smart, Wally, I’m sure if you think about it, you can figure it out.

  WALLY: Cut the smart shit, all right? Boyfriend! I mean my God, what about you and, and—yanno what’s-her-tits—?

  GORDON: What’s-her-tits doesn’t really narrow anything down, Wally—

  WALLY: Stacey Feeskin—!

  GORDON: Oh my God—that was high school—

  WALLY: So?

  GORDON: So, it didn’t mean anything—

  WALLY: Didn’t mean anything—?

  GORDON: We watched Pretty in Pink together; that was all.

  WALLY: Vicky Bassman?

  GORDON: Class lesbian.

  WALLY: Sarah Shellder—?

  GORDON: (Pointing to self.) Gay, not blind—

  WALLY: Debbie Fawson—?

  GORDON: Not even with your dick, Wally—

  WALLY: Oh come on!

  GORDON: Oh come on, what—?

  WALLY: What about Maureen Dellnick—?

  GORDON: Yeah, but who didn’t—?

  WALLY: Ha!—you’re straight—!

  GORDON: Wally, it’s a bit more complicated than that—

  WALLY: Complicated my balls: you had sex with a girl—

  GORDON: Yeah—but I was thinking about the football team while I was doing it—

  WALLY: Don’t—

  GORDON: Soon as I jumped in I wanted to jump out—

  WALLY: No, don’t say that—

  GORDON: What?

  WALLY: About the—the—football team—

  GORDON: Wally—

  WALLY: Just—it makes me uncomfortable.

  GORDON: I wasn’t—

  WALLY: It makes me uncomfortable—

  GORDON: Fine.

  WALLY: Just—

  GORDON: I said fine.

  WALLY: Thank you.

  (Slight beat.)

  GORDON: Yanno, if I had a dollar every time I had to listen to you, “she’s so hot,” “her tits this,” “her ass that,” I’d be a fucking millionaire.

  WALLY: Yeah, well it’s different.

  (Beat.)

  You don’t—I mean, this guy, you, you don’t … yanno … you …

  GORDON: What? Sex?—Do we have sex?

  WALLY: No, God—!

  GORDON: What? Ask.

  WALLY: No, I don’t—I—

  GORDON: It’s fine, ask.

  WALLY: I don’t want to ask!

  GORDON: Fine.

  WALLY: I don’t care what you do.

  GORDON: Whatever.

  WALLY: Fucking disgusting …

  (Long beat. Finally:)

  Gordon, that is where poop is made.

  GORDON: Well, I’m very glad you figured that out.

  WALLY: You really want to put your (makes a motion) in somebody’s—(makes another motion)?

  GORDON: Yeah, that’s much worse than a vagina. Much worse.

  (Slight beat.)

  WALLY: Yes. Yes it is.

  GORDON: You are absurd.

  WALLY: No. No, no, no. No you are absurd. You want to fuck butts. That is absurd.

  GORDON: You telling me you never tried to do that with Rachael?

  WALLY: Don’t you fuckin’—

  GORDON: You never tried?

  WALLY: Don’t you fuckin’ talk about my girlfriend like that.

  GORDON: Have you, Wally?

  (Beat.)

  WALLY: That’s different.

  GORDON: For whom?

  WALLY: For—for everyone involved!

  GORDON: How’s it different?

  WALLY: (Counting off the reasons on his fingers.) It’s not a man!

  GORDON: It’s still a butt.

  WALLY: But it’s not a man’s butt. It’s a girl butt—a lady butt! There’s a difference.

  GORDON: Yanno what, Wally?—you’re right. What I do? That’s disgusting; what you do—that just takes a bottle of Jäger and a cheerleader—

  WALLY: No! No, mine is—mine is about love! And commitment. And yours—yours is—

  GORDON: Is what, Wally?

  WALLY: Queerin’ don’t make the world work, Gordon!

  (Slight beat.)

  GORDON: I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the incessant pounding of your bigotry—what did you just say?

  WALLY: It’s the birds and the bees, Gordon; not the birds and the birds—

  GORDON: What—?

  WALLY: With the—the stingers, and—the—the wings—

  GORDON: What are you—?

  WALLY: Feathers …

  GORDON: That doesn’t even make sense, Wally—

  WALLY: Cross-pollination—

  GORDON: What are you talking about?

  (Slight beat.)

  WALLY: Vagina is better than penis! Vagina is better than penis!

  GORDON: Oh my God—

  WALLY: Vagina is, yanno, good, and yes, and everything good—And penis is just, yanno, you just look at it and you wonder how things ever got that bad—yanno? I mean what happened, Gordon?—what happened?

  (Beat.)

  GORDON: Sometimes you talk and I just, I don’t understand—

  WALLY: No, you—

  GORDON: Anything, anything at all; you just—

  WALLY: This isn’t about understanding or not understanding! This is about birds and bees and you and—your—your ugh! Ugh!

  GORDON: … My boyfriend?

  WALLY: No, God, no—! Stop saying that!

  (Beat.)

  You uh (Makes a masculine gesture.)—or—? (Makes a feminine gesture.)

  GORDON: What?

  WALLY: Your—you and the guy, you—? (Another masculine gesture.) Or—? (Another feminine gesture.)

  GORDON: What are you doing—?

  WALLY: Do you, yanno—(Makes a masculine gesture of “thrusting” or “pumping.”) Or—? Yanno?

  GORDON: What—?

  (WALLY makes a feminine gesture of being “taken by surprise.”)

  I don’t know what that means, Wallace—

  WALLY: Are you—I mean, do you—?

  (WALLY makes a “baseball pitcher” motion.)

  Or—

  (WALLY makes a “baseball catcher” motion.)

  GORDON: I—what—?

  (WALLY continues to make motions, thrusting and pumping, getting more and more into it as the guessing goes along, trying to act out what he can’t bring himself to ask.)

  Are you skiing? Did you hurt your ass—? The fuck are you doing—? I don’t—

  WALLY: Oh come on, you know what I’m saying—!

  GORDON: No, Wally, I don’t—

  WALLY: Oh come on—!

  You’re gonna argue with me about what I understand? Really, Wally—?

  WALLY: Don’t be a fucking asshole about this—

  GORD
ON: “Fucking asshole”; interesting choice of words—

  WALLY: Don’t start—!

  GORDON: I’m not being an asshole, I just don’t speak retard—

  WALLY: For the love of God, are you the fucker or the fuckee—?

  GORDON: Depends on the day, Wally—

  WALLY: Oh my God!

  GORDON: For fuck’s sake, he’s my boyfriend—!

  WALLY: Oh my God! Don’t touch me ever again!—Don’t touch me—!

  GORDON: You fucking hillbilly—

  WALLY: Yeah, well, you’re a fucking faggot, faggot!

  GORDON: Good one, Wally; really. Like I’ve never heard that before.

  WALLY: No! No, this is just your gayness—

  GORDON: My “gayness”—?

  WALLY: Your icky, fucking gayness!—your gayness!—How did you—how are you even like this? I mean, Jesus Christ—there aren’t any gay people in our family!

  GORDON: Well, first time for everything …

  WALLY: No—! No not “first time for everything”! Fuck “first time for everything.” Go back to being straight!

  GORDON: Wally, I was never straight.

  WALLY: Yes, you were.

  GORDON: No. I wasn’t.

  WALLY: Yes—you—were!

  GORDON: No, Wally, I wasn’t. Believe me. I was there.

  WALLY: No—no!

  (WALLY goes to the couch and gets several porn magazines and DVDs from underneath it.)

  You see those titties—?

  GORDON: Why do you have porn in the living room—?

  WALLY: We don’t have time for questions, Gordon, we only have time for titties! You see the shirt puppies—?

  GORDON: Shirt puppies—?

  WALLY: Nice big—

  GORDON: Who says shirt puppies—?

  WALLY: Mahatmas—

  GORDON: Don’t—don’t do that; don’t say that—don’t call them—

  WALLY: Mahat—

  GORDON: For God’s sake, the man was a legend—!

  WALLY: Moo-moos—

  GORDON: Moo-moos? What are you five—?

  WALLY: Meat balloons—

  GORDON: Meat balloons? Meat balloons, Wally?

  WALLY: Whatever; look at that pussy! Look!

  GORDON: I—

  WALLY: Look at that!

  GORDON: I—

  WALLY: You see that—?

  GORDON: I—yes—

  WALLY: You see the little—honey pot—

  GORDON: Honey pot—? What are you, Winnie the Pooh—?

  WALLY: Ham wallet—furburger—

  GORDON: That doesn’t even sound appealing—!

  WALLY: Beef curtains; love canal—little panty hamster—

  GORDON: Jesus, Wally—

  WALLY: Seafood pit—the child-slide—

  GORDON: Oh my God—

  WALLY: The cock-vacuum—skin chimney—bearded love clam—!

  GORDON: Oh my God—!

  WALLY: Mud flaps—

  GORDON: Oh my God—!

  WALLY: Slammin’ salmon canyon—vajingle-jangle—

  GORDON: Wally, I don’t even know what that means—“vajingle-jangle”; what is it, a Christmas carol—?

  WALLY: Look at it, it just makes you wanna—(Makes a growling sound; bares his teeth; sticks out tongue; licks the air vigorously.)

  GORDON: Were you raised by retarded wolves—?

  WALLY: What? No—

  GORDON: When did feminism cease completely in Virginia—?

  WALLY: These are all well-known terms—

  GORDON: Well-known terms? Well-known by whom? Lucifer—?

  WALLY: They’re in the dictionary, okay—?

  GORDON: What kind of dictionary do you read—?

  WALLY: The American kind—!

  GORDON: Wait—Wally; hold on—

  WALLY: You don’t wanna (repeats the motion he did several lines back)—?

  GORDON: Let me see that?

  WALLY: Yes—Good; yes—!

  GORDON: Wally—

  WALLY: Yes! This is good; this is awesome!

  GORDON: Wally—

  WALLY: Awesome, I’m winning—!

  GORDON: Wally, all this porn is anal.

  WALLY: Yeah, naw—yeah—

  GORDON: Wally, “Butt Pilots 36”—?

  WALLY: Naw, that—wait—

  GORDON: There were thirty-five other “Butt Pilots”—?

  WALLY: Gimme those—

  GORDON: “Ass-Clowns: The Saga Begins”—?

  WALLY: Those are mine—!

  GORDON: It’s a saga—?

  WALLY: Stoppit—!

  GORDON: “Dookie Pirates: Plunder Down Under”—

  WALLY: Gimme that—!

  GORDON: Starring—Dame Judi Drench—Does Mom know you watch this stuff—?

  WALLY: No, this—gimme that—!

  (GORDON throws the porn back to WALLY.)

  GORDON: I don’t like women, Wally! Nothing you’re gonna do is gonna make me want to sleep with these women. This pornography is abhorrent.

  (WALLY points to the picture.)

  WALLY: Vagina.

  GORDON: Wally. That wasn’t even a full sentence—

  WALLY: But—(Points.)

  GORDON: I know; it’s a vagina—I’ve heard really good things; I’m just not interested—

  WALLY: Panty hamster—

  GORDON: I—stop calling it that—

  WALLY: I—

  GORDON: I know—it’s all right; it’s gonna be all right, man—

  (GORDON gives WALLY a pat on the back, or some other such show of reassurance; then resumes his activity of cleaning up or unpacking. Beat.)

  WALLY: You don’t—I mean—

  GORDON: What?

  WALLY: You don’t touch kids, right? (Beat.) I’m just asking—that’s all, I just—

  GORDON: No, Wally. I don’t. How the fuck you gonna ask me that?

  WALLY: I just, I mean most a’ those guys—

  GORDON: What?

  WALLY: You know exactly what. Those fuckin’ people are—

  GORDON: “Those fucking people”? Excuse me; “those fucking people,” Wally?

  WALLY: Yes, those people—!

  GORDON: Just shut the fuck up, Wally—just shut the fuck up.

  (Beat. Then very small:)

  WALLY: … You taught me how to pee standing up.

  GORDON: What, I’m gonna touch you twelve years ago? I’m your brother for Christ’s sake—!

  WALLY: We took baths together—

  GORDON: Like I’m gonna get in my big gay time machine—?

  WALLY: Baths, Gordon—

  GORDON: I know, Wally; I remember—

  WALLY: My penis saw your penis!

  GORDON: We’re not talking anymore; you’re a fucking idiot—

  WALLY: If our penises were people, they’d be on a first-name basis—!

  GORDON: I’m not having this conversation right now—

  WALLY: My penis cannot take a bath with a faggot penis—!

  GORDON: I’m not having this conversation right now, Wallace—!