COURTNEY: Psst. Dude.

KARL: What is this ‘dude’? I am not naked.

COURTNEY: Whatever, dude. Listen, where’s the beer? You gotta be packin’, right?

KARL: Slang is the suitcase of the damned, my dear. CHECK IT.

COURTNEY: … So you’re saying you don’t have any?

KARL: Why would I? Your addlepated mind pricks like a rosebush. SNIP.

COURTNEY: “Lager”feld? Come on, dude. You expect me to think that doesn’t mean something?

KARL: It does mean something. It means I am the king and you are riding in a carriage of regret.

COURTNEY: Wow. What a waste, man. I mean, take me. I am Courtney Love. And so what do I give you all?


KARL: Return to sender.

COURTNEY: You’re no fun.

KARL: You know what is not fun? Swans stuffed into wedding gowns. Boobs coming out of hibernation. A tulle rain. Sweatpants. Sewage martinis.

COURTNEY: I smell what you’re fryin’.

KARL: Karl does not cook. Karl only consumes. The human psyche is my cutting board. Your dress is my salad. DRIFT.

COURTNEY: So I’m guessing you don’t want to go find somebody with a hip flask.

KARL: Go now, and return to me when you are someone else.