what’s in his liver.

[Terrence is sitting in a large chair in his living room. He seems to be watching television, but nothing is on. Mother enters.]

Mother: Terrence?


Mother: Terry?


Mother: How much longer are you going to do this? Because two can play at this game. I can hold out just as long as you can—maybe longer. 


Mother: Dan! Come in here!

[Father enters.]

Father: What is it, Darlene?

Mother: He’s still at it.

Father: Still at what?

Mother: This game he’s playing.

Father: What game? [Looks around.] I don’t see any game.

Mother: Idiot. This game.

Father: Honey, what game?

Mother: This game! This elaborate scheme! This deadly challenge that strikes every chord in my fragile mind and makes me feel like less of a parent—less of a person—and more like a tool—a tool used to bolster one sick little bastard’s self-esteem!


Father: You are so fucked up. [Exits.]


Mother: I will get you, you little fuck. I swear to God, I will! [Exits.]


Terrence: There’s a penguin in my liver.

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