Where Threads Come Loose
"Jules & K: Communication Breakdown"

The Recording Script

• Written and directed by Christopher Bahn. Copyright 1996.
• Episode 8 (1997 Edition) of the radiodrama series Where Threads Come Loose
• Originally broadcast on KUOM-AM, February 1994.

• Narrator, K, Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Christopher Bahn
• Jules Hampton Sykes: Tony Pagel
• K's father: Chuck Keller
• Dave: Dan Grothe
• Cop: Paul Bernhardt

Author's Notes
• I'd write this differently if I wrote it today. Still, there's a few things I like, mostly individual one-liners. And Chuck Keller's performance as the crazy dad was inspired. The title is from a Led Zeppelin song.
EPISODE INTRO: Once in every decade, a story is told that captures the spirit of its time. A story infused with everything that makes its generation unique, yet lyrically affirms the universally noble qualities of the human race. Such a story is immediately lauded as a testament to genius, especially if the soundtrack sells well too. This story, however, is just a silly little piece of fluff called "Communication Breakdown."

SCENE I: Cafe Pathetique
(SFX: Hip music and restaurant ambience. Both continue throughout the scene unless otherwise noted)

Art by Dan Grothe & Christopher Bahn
Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Welcome to Cafe Pathetique. Order something or get the hell out.

Jules: Hello, my good man. Would you be so kind as to make me a double latte?

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Latte, fine.

Jules: Double latte!

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: I heard you the first time. Give me your money and shut up. They don't pay me enough to deal with you demanding, pretentious poet types. It's always complain, complain, complain. The espresso's weak, the cafe angelica is cold, the decaf has strychnine in it and somebody at table six just choked to death -- I mean, everybody's entitled to a few mistakes, right? I don't go out of my way to poison my customers, it just ... happens occasionally. I told the owner it was a bad idea to store the rat poison next to the sugar, but would he listen? Hmm?

Jules: Um, perhaps I won't have that cafe latte after all.

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: You ordered it, you're damn well gonna drink it! I can't guarantee it's safe, but then life's a crapshoot, ain't it pal?

Jules: Ah... Indeed. Just out of curiosity, why do you keep this job if you hate it so much?

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: I dunno. I only make minimum wage. I guess when you get right down to it, it's the satisfaction I get from dealing with people. You know, the warm feeling you get when you see the look on someone's face after they take a sip of the coffee you've just added a handful of salt to when they weren't looking. It makes me feel better about the fact that I'll never be a dancer.

Jules: Yes... I'm sure I feel the same way.

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Here's your drink.

Jules: Thank you.

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: What, no tip? You cheap beret-headed jerk!

Jules: Listen, my good man, I could always patronize another establishment. Cafe Maggot is just two doors down the street.

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: The employees there have even less patience than I do. I'm a sweet guy. Besides, they've got cockroaches.

Jules: Cockroaches?! I don't believe you.

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: You calling me a liar?

Jules: How do you know they've got roaches?

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Because we just fumigated the place and sent all our roaches over there. Now go find a table and leave me the hell alone. I'm busy.

Jules: Thank you. I believe I'll do that. Hmmm... table, table, where's a table... nothing. (to SCE) My good man, why don't you get more tables in this cramped little watering hole?

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: What are you talking about? There's six open tables right over there.

Jules: Yes, but that's in nonsmoking. How can I be expected to write sublime poetry without a silk-cut cigarette in my hands?

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: You know, smoking is a terrible habit. It takes years off your life.

Jules: And so what?

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: So keep it up, pal, and make sure to send me an invite to your funeral so I can dance on your grave. You'll have to share a table with someone else. There's a guy sitting alone over by the window.

Jules: (aghast) I can't sit there!

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Why not? It's in smoking. And he's wearing a beret too, you should feel comfortable.

Jules: That's not just any beret-wearer! That's K! My arch-rival! If I sat there, I'd just die!

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: The sooner the better. Take it or leave it.

Jules: Alright, alright. I'll take it. (pause) Hello, K.

K: Jules.

Jules: Could I... Do you mind if I...

K: What?

Jules: May I...

K: What do you want, K? I'm busy, I'm in the middle of this week's magnum opus.

Jules: Oh, another poem?

K: Well, no, actually, I'm trying to make out a grocery list. But I feel that there's no reason food shopping should be merely a tedious walk up and down the meat aisle. It can be sublime! It can be a way for people to really connect with their inner selves, a method of feeding the soul by purchasing food for the stomach.

Jules: So what are you doing?

K: I'm trying to make the list rhyme. I'm running into difficulty, though. I can't find a rhyme for macaroni.

Jules: Hmm... that's a tough one, all right. I tell you what. If you let me sit down, I'll help you with the list.

K: What? You want to sit here? With me? What will the public think? We're bitter poetic rivals!

Jules: Come, come, my good fellow! I merely want to help a fellow artist out of dire straits. Wouldn't want you to starve, now would we?

K: I can find a rhyme for macaroni without you!

Jules: Never!

K: I can so!

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Let the guy sit down, fer Chrissake. You can't spend the whole episode bickering about that!

Jules: He's right, K. We have other things to bicker about.

K: (sore loser) Oh, alright.

Jules: Now then, macaroni, macaroni. Hmm... I can't think of anything either. What have you got so far?

K: It's a fairly complex rhyme scheme -- aa bb cc dd and so on.

Jules: Oh, that is impressive! Let's hear it.

K: Well, alright, but keep in mind that it's still a work in progress. I'm hoping for some grant money eventually.

Jules: To finish the list?

K: No, to buy the groceries. Anyway, here's the list so far:
Let's shop for things so good to eats
Like meat and beets and candy treats
Pepsi, bread and ears of corn
Foodstuffs that no man would scorn
Lovely things I can devour
Turnips, Cap'n Crunch, and flour
Macaroons and macaroni --
And that's where I'm stuck.

Jules: Do you really want to buy turnips and macaroons?

K: No, of course not. I'm not even sure what a macaroon is. But when you're a poet, you have to make certain sacrifices.

Jules: Oh, indeed... Are you absolutely sure you want to make this list rhyme?

K: Yes, positive.

Jules: In that case, do you really need to eat? If not, we could stop working on this and go on to something else. We're three script pages into the episode and we still haven't talked about the terrible existential angst that plagues our society these days.

K: Well, I suppose I don't need to eat as such.

Jules: Good.

K: It's just that I picked up the habit when I was very young.

Jules: Well, habits like that are excellent things to break. I know this therapist who does wonderful work with food and oxygen addictions, perhaps I should give you his number sometime... Say, you wouldn't happen to have a cigarette, would you?

K: No, I'm all out.

Jules: Oh, drat. Well, perhaps we can borrow one from a kindhearted soul... Let's see... K, do you see anyone you know?

K: Hmmm... Yes! Look over there -- it's your friend Dave!

Jules: Where? I don't see him.

K: Over there, hiding behind the newspaper.

Jules: I still don't --

K: The one ignoring us, over by the window.

Jules: Oh yes~! (calls out to Dave) Dave! Oh Dave!

K: Perhaps he can't hear you.

Jules: He's only two tables away. Dave! Dave, my friend! Do you have a cigarette?

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Stop shouting! This is a public cafe!

Jules: I'm terribly sorry, my good man, but we were simply trying to get the attention of our friend over there.

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: If it'll make you shut up, I'll get his attention. Hey, pal! (SFX: slap)

Dave: Ouch! What do you want?

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Those two bozos over there want you to give them cigarettes.

Jules: And to read you our latest poetry!

Dave: I'm kind of busy right now, Jules.

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Look, pal, I'll make you a deal. You go humor those two for a while, I'll give you a free coffee.

Dave: (pause) Make it two.

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Alright, two, but you have to keep them away from me for at least half an hour.

Dave: Deal. (pause) Hi Jules, hi K.

K: Where are the smokes?

Dave: Nice to see you too. Here.

Jules: Thank you. Would you like to hear my latest poem?

Dave: If I have to, I suppose so.

Jules: Oh, good! I wrote it this morning. I was up watching the dawn, and wondering to myself about the terrible existential angst that plagues our society these days.

Dave: You seem to do a lot of that.

Jules: Well, angst is a pretty big subject, and terrible existential angst is even bigger. There's a lot of philosophical ground to cover.

Dave: Like what?

Jules: Oh, um... (struggles to think of something) Dread, morbidity, lots of things. Hundreds of them. Right, K?

K: Yes, hundreds of them. Dead chipmunks, things like that.

Dave: You two spend all your time thinking about roadkill? What's so poetic about that?

K: Philistine.

Jules: Yes, Dave, I'm surprised at you. A truly creative spirit can't help thinking about dead chipmunks. In fact, that's the title of my new poem!

Dave: "Dead Chipmunks."

Jules: Yes, "Dead Chipmunks." Eventually I'd like to turn it into a novella, or perhaps sell the film rights. I see Johnny Depp as the dead chipmunk, and Winona Ryder as his love interest.

Dave: Well, let's hear it and get it over with.

Jules: Hmmph. I only have the first line so far, but I think you'll agree that it's simply brilliant. I'd even call it majestic. I simply can't believe what a wonderful writer I am. Move over e.e. cummings, here comes Jules Hampton Sykes!

Dave: Jules.

Jules: Oh, alright... Here's the poem, then. (in even-more-pretentious-than-usual-because-he's-reading-aloud-dammit voice) "Happy ducks. Happy ducks. Happy, happy ducks."

Dave: That's... wonderful, Jules.

Jules: Yes, I know!

Dave: What does it have to do with chipmunks?

Jules: Um... Nothing yet, but I'm working on it. If only there was some way of knowing if this was true inspiration and not just some kind of mood swing... They said the Prozac might do that.

K: Read it again. Perhaps you'll get an inkling of whether it really stands up to your best work.

Jules: Alright. "Happy ducks. Happy ducks. Happy, happy ducks."

(SFX: The "Hallelujah Chorus")

Jules: No, I guess that's genuine.

K: You know, it's funny, your poem sounds very similar to something I wrote last night as I was laying awake wondering to myself about the terrible existential angst that plagues our society these days.

Jules: Oh, really? Let's hear it.

K: "Happy ducks. Happy ducks. Happy, happy ducks."

(SFX: The "Hallelujah Chorus")

Dave: That's the same poem!

Jules and K (speaking together, but not saying precisely the same lines): No! Of course not! How could you possibly suggest such a thing! What a scandal!

Dave: What are you two talking about? It's exactly the same poem, word for word!

K: Oh, the same words, yes. But mine is better.

Jules: Mine is!

K: No, no, it's mine.

Dave: How are they different?

K: Well, it's a matter of stress, you see.

Jules: Yes. Obviously, Dave, if you knew anything about poetry, you'd have seen that right away.

K: After all, they covered it just today in our Intro to Poetry class.

Dave: I don't get it.

K: Jules' poem stresses the word "happy." Mine, on the other hand, places much greater emphasis on the word "ducks."

Jules: Completely changes the meaning, you see.

K: Yes. Jules is talking about happy ducks, as opposed to angry ducks or sad ducks. Conversely, I focus on happy ducks, in comparison with happy trout or happy wildebeest.

Dave: Yes, I'm sure they're both quite wonderful.

Jules: Well, sometimes I even amaze myself.

Dave: However do you do it?

Jules: I'm glad you asked that.

Dave: No, on second thought, don't answer that.

Jules: It can be helpful to write with an audience in mind. I find it helpful to think of a rampaging mob of torch-wielding German peasants trying to drive my monstrous and inhuman form off a high cliff.

Dave: I'm sure that keeps everything in perspective.

Jules: Oh, surely. I always remember that the mob might disapprove of my symbolism or syntax and therefore might clout me on the head with stones. It's a very liberating experience, really.

Dave: Uh huh. (yells to SCE) Can I leave yet?

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: No. You've got another fifteen minutes left.

Jules: It isn't that uncommon for artists of great stature to use a mental trick like that to keep their writing fresh. William Faulkner spoke of a horrible monster that lived under his bed. It would come out at night and shred to pieces any substandard writing that Faulkner may have done that day, unless he made sure to hide it completely under the bedsheets.

K: It's funny they never mentioned that in my last lit class.

Jules: It's one of those nuggets of information you just have to look for on your own. And Faulkner wasn't the only one. Sylvester Stallone, when he was working on the latest Rambo sequel, kept the image of Arnold Schwarzenegger constantly in his mind, raising one beefy arm to point and mock with derisive scorn. Perhaps for that reason alone, Rambo III became an instant classic in modern filmmaking.

Dave: (yells to SCE) I'll forget about the second coffee if you let me leave!

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: How weird are they getting?

Dave: They're talking about Sylvester Stallone's cinematic genius.

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: What, again? Alright, that's it, you two. Get out of my coffeeshop! And don't come back until you're ready to admit that Stallone's directorial style is a blatant and shameless aping of Kurosawa! This is the last time I'm going to tell you that!

Jules and K: Fascist!

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Stop that or I won't be your friend anymore!

Jules: No! We didn't mean it, we'll leave. Ta!

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Good riddance. You've gotta leave too, Dave.

Dave: Me? How come?

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Because the scene's ending, and we gotta go to a commercial.

Dave: Oh. Got it.

SCENE II: K's house
(SFX: Door opens, closes as K enters)

K: Father! I'm home from the coffeeshop!

Father: You're early. How many times have I told you, I don't want to see your sorry ass in here before 6 p.m.?

K: But father, I have wonderful news! I'm feeling terribly depressed!

Father: Say, that's great! When did you find out? Was it your psychologist's appointment?

K: Yes, father... he diagnosed me as acrophobic. I'm not sure if it's the right thing for me, though.

Father: Come on, son, don't get cold feet now. You've always wanted a phobia, ever since you were a little child. When you were six, I asked you what you wanted for Christmas and you told me you wanted to be terrified of rattlesnakes.

K: Yes, but the problem is that I don't know what I'm supposed to be afraid of. I can't remember if acrophobia is the fear of heights, crowds, or open spaces.

Father: That's easily solved. Just be afraid of all of them!

K: It's not that simple. Suppose I meet an acrophobe who's petrified of the correct thing -- someone who's really got their act together. I'd be too embarrassed even to wear my straitjacket in public any more.

Father: I wouldn't worry about it too much. Why don't you get your mind off it, and join me in a game of chess. It would be very ... relaxing.

K: Oh, no, I couldn't.

Father: Oh, come on, just one game.

K: No, I really mean I couldn't. You've only got the white pieces set up.

Father: That's not true...all the pieces are here.

K: Yes, but you painted the black pieces white and now every time we play you start moving my pieces for me claiming that they actually belong to you.

Father: I'm trying to teach you a lesson in sharing.

K: Oh, the heck with it. I'm hungry. I'm going to the hospital.

Father: Wait! K, one of these days we're going to have to have a long talk about your cannibalism problem. You'll have to deal with it sooner or later. You can't just run off to the leprosy ward every time you want a snack.

K: (angrily) My eating habits are my own, Father. If you don't enjoy a human liver every now and again, that's your choice. Besides, I brush with Enamelovely brand toothpaste after each meal.

Father: Oh...I didn't realize. Well, it's okay then.

K: Father, would it be alright if we interrupted this scene with a short commercial break?

Father: What, right now?

K: Well, yes... It's our sponsor, and we --

Father: No! I absolutely forbid it.

K: But father, they paid for the time.

Father: We're right in the middle of an important scene! Cutting to a commercial now would interrupt the dramatic flow! It would destroy the integrity of the episode as a whole!

K: What integrity?

F: Don't interrupt me when I'm talking nonsense.

K: But father --

Father: No.

K: The makers of Enamelovely paid us five thousand dollars to work their product unobtrusively into the script.

Father: Five thousand? Why didn't you say so?

K: Well, I wasn't sure if I should tell you, since we mentioned them in that cannibalism joke a minute or so ago.

Father: Ha ha ha ha! Oh, son, you worry too much. No self-respecting American corporation would shy away from being associated with cannibalism! That goes against everything America stands for!

K: I suppose you're right, father. I hope they like it. I wonder if it's going to be too obvious.

Father: No, no, it's very subtle.

K: To be honest, father, I don't think our scriptwriters are capable of subtlety.

Father: Aaaaaah, shaddup and go to the commercial.

K: Yes, father.

Narrator: This week's episode of Where Threads Come Loose is brought to you proudly by the makers of Enamelovely brand toothpaste. For bright white teeth, nothing works better than Enamelovely! Now available in regular, mint and human liver flavors.


K: Was that alright, father? I mean, it didn't break up the action too much, did it?

Father: No, son, that was fine. Now what were we talking about?

K: I was about to storm out in a huff.

Father: Oh, right, right. Go on, then.

K: (long pause) I can't.

Father: Why not? Just go storm out of the door?

K: I've lost the mood. You were right, that commercial was too much of an interruption.

Father: Stop that! I didn't raise my boy to be a method actor!

K: Yes, father.

Father: You lily-livered little sponge! You're a disgrace to the family! You have shamed us all with your incompetence. Do you want to end up like your uncle Frank?

K: Who's that? I don't have an uncle Frank.

Father: Yes you do, but we've never said anything about him because of the embarrassment.

K: What happened?

Father: Frank got involved with a group of left-wing revolutionaries back in the 1960s. They were going to blow up the Vietnam War Memorial as a way to protest Daylight Savings Time.

K: But the Vietnam memorial wasn't built yet!

Father: Well, they didn't know that! Anyway, their plan failed because Frank showed up an hour late to the bombing. He forgot to set his clock back and overslept. The idiot!

K: What happened to him after that?

Father: He could have had a brilliant career as a terrorist, even after that fiasco. I mean, he had what it takes. He was intelligent, fearless, knew more about explosives than most of the FBI's bomb squad, and he wasn't afraid to pose naked, even with farm animals. But he threw it all away. Some say he lost his nerve. But that isn't true. He had it in a safe-deposit box in Philadelphia while he was on the run from the cops. After he died, I got it in his will, but it didn't match any of my shirts, so I put it in a box and kept it up in the attic.

K: I always wondered what was in that box.

Father: Anyway, Frank became despondent after he realized that he would never be able to safely retire from terrorism and make his living on the talk-show circuit -- you have to understand, this is before Geraldo. I know it's hard for you young'uns to imagine a world with no Geraldo.

K: Don't say that, father, you're scaring me.

Father: Sorry, son, but that's the way the world was. Frank wandered around from town to town, living off the kindness of strangers. Then one day he stumbled into a junior high school and passed out in one of the locker bays. One of the janitors saw him and tried to get him out of the way, but it was too late -- the class bell rang, and 200 thirteen-year-olds trampled him on their way to skip gym class.

K: What a stupid story.

Father: Well, Uncle Frank was a stupid man. It was the best thing for him, really.

K: But what a senseless way to die! And he left so much unaccomplished. Father... I think I want to carry on Uncle Frank's work!

Father: What for?

K: I dunno. I'd get to blow stuff up.

Father: Do you know anything about political activism?

K: Um... well, I don't like fascists. Or grouchy people.

Father: Good enough for me, son. Go up into the attic and you'll find a trunk with all of Uncle Frank's homemade nitroglycerine in it.

K: Oh, happy day! (SFX: K goes into the attic.) Here, catch the box, father!

Father: Don't throw it! (SFX: Explosion)

K: Whoops, sorry. You alright?

Father: Yes, it was just a sound effect. But it was a pretty weak joke.

K: Sorry, father.

Father: Just do better in Scene III.

K: Yes, father.

SCENE III: Cafe Pathetique
(SFX: The Cafe Pathetique ambience.)

Jules: Dave, hello! Nice to see you, you wouldn't happen to have a cigarette would you, I've run out.

Dave: Here. Do you ever have cigarettes of your own? Every time I see you, you've just run out.

Jules: Yes, funny how that works, isn't it. Would you have a light?

Dave: Here. (SFX: match lights)

Jules: Oh, look, there's K.

K: Jules, hello! Nice to see you, you wouldn't happen to have a cigarette would you, I've run out.

Jules: Here, have one of Dave's. Oh dear, it's your last one -- you don't mind, do you Dave?

Dave: Whatever.

Jules: So what did you do last night, K?

K: It's funny you should mention that. I --

Dave: You lay awake wondering about the terrible existential angst that plagues our society these days.

K: Of course not. Whatever would I do that for?

Dave: I... guess I just wasn't thinking.

K: I guess not!

Jules: Really, Dave, sometimes you just don't get it, do you. Write any poetry, K?

K: No, I've given it all up.

Dave: Gosh, what a shame.

K: I've decided to focus on political works. Do you realize how much injustice there is in the world?

Jules: Not really, no. Is there a lot of it, then?

K: Oh yes, tons. I was leafing through an old copy of Newsweek, and it was just shocking! I mean, I don't really care all that much, since it doesn't affect me personally, but it still had a sort of chilling effect. I decided then and there that I would devote all my energies to raising this world to a higher state! A better state!

Jules: That explains the stack of protest signs you brought with you.

K: Yes, I've been walking around town waving them at people. I think I've really opened some eyes!

Jules: Let's take a look at your messages: "STOP IT!!!" "DON'T BE BAD!!!" "QUIT BEING SO MEAN ALL THE TIME!!!"

Dave: Nothing like taking a controversial stance.

Jules: Oh, hush. I think it's wonderful, K. A word of advice, though -- I wouldn't spell everything out in capital letters. It makes you look cheap.

K: Alright. What do you think of the exclamation points?

Jules: Oh, it's a tremendous breakthrough. Really makes what you say sound forceful, as though you really mean it.

K: Well, you can't be afraid to use strong language when it's required. Many people I've come in contact with have found my use of punctuation quite surprising.

Dave: Like who?

K: Well, like my father. When he was asleep last night, I glued several hundred cut-out exclamation points to his body.

Dave: How did he react?

K: I don't know, I was gone before he woke up this morning.

Father: K! There you are!

K: Oh, hello, father. What did you think of the punctuation?

Father: It took me four hours to get all the glue off.

K: Oh, good. It's nice to see you finally take an interest in my work.

Father: On the contrary -- I found it terribly unoriginal.

K: What?!

Father: Didn't you know that Sylvia Plath did exactly the same thing to her father?

K: Well, yes, father, but she used commas.

Father: That's not important! The idea's been explored fully already, and I don't appreciate being forced to participate in such derivative artistic expression. Do you realize I had to miss the Bulls-Lakers game on ESPN just to pull off all those exclamation points? You could at least have used a water-based glue.

Jules: (singsong) K's getting grounded!

K: Shut up, Jules.

Father: Quiet, K. Your friend is right -- you're grounded! I forbid you from using the English language for a week.

Dave: You forbid him to what?

Father: You heard me, punk. For the next seven days, if my son utters even one phrase in English, I'll whip his hide from here to Mars. And watch yourself or I'll do the same to you.

Dave: This is getting seriously weird.

Father: You should have thought of that before consenting to appear in this episode. I'm leaving now, K.

K: Goodbye, father.

(SFX: slap)

Father: Consider that a warning, son, just because I love you.

K: Mm-hmm!

Father: Goodbye, K. Kiss!

Dave: You have a strange relationship with your father, K.

K: (noncommittal) Mmmm.

Jules: I know how you can get back at him, K. Tonight, wait until he's asleep and paste fifty of those upside-down question marks that Spanish people use to his chest.

Dave: That's stupid, Jules.

Jules: I know, but it's in the script. K -- why are you waving your arms at me? (pause) Oh, I see, you're trying to communicate through mime. Well, stop it! That is radio! (pause) No, no, sign language isn't going to be any good either. You'll have to think of a way to express what you're thinking in some kind of sound. I told you, this is radio drama.

Dave: What if he used sound effects during post-production?

Jules: What a good idea! Try it, K.

(SFX: Boing.)

Jules: Yes, that seems to work. Now what did he say?

Dave: He said "Boing."

(SFX: Boing.)

Jules: I know that! I mean what did he mean by "boing"?

Dave: Well, what do people usually mean when they say "boing"?

Jules: Hmm... that's a toughie. I don't think I've ever talked about "boing" with anyone before.

Dave: That explains a lot about you.

Jules: (doesn't catch the insinuation) What do you mean?

Dave: Oh, nothing. Maybe we should find out if anybody here speaks "boing."

(SFX: Boing.)

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Who said that? We've got rules in this place about people boinging in public! I could lose my license!

Jules: Can you understand what he's saying?

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Of course I can. I'm not stupid, like you.

Jules: Oh, good!

(SFX: Boing.)

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: (laughs) You got that right, K.

Jules: What did he say about me?

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Nothing your therapist doesn't already know.

(SFX: Several boings in a row.)

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Hmm... I didn't quite catch all that. I think he said something about "boing."

Jules: I thought you said you could understand him!

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: So I lied. Like either of you have anything interesting to say anyway.

(SFX: Boing.)

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: I am not either a fascist.

(SFX: Several boings in a row.)

Jules: Calm down, K. He's gone to harass the people in nonsmoking.

(SFX: Boing.)

Jules: Can you make any other noises?

(SFX: A nasty wet smacking noise)

Jules: Ah. Stick to the boings.

Dave: What if he spoke in a French accent?

Jules: How would you feel about that, K?

(SFX: A nasty wet smacking noise)

Jules: He doesn't seem to like it.

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Will you guys stop clowning around and make that guy speak English? This show is only half an hour long.

Dave: Hey, stop breaking the fourth wall.

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: It's my coffeeshop, I'll break what I damn well please.

Jules: Besides, we've been doing it through the whole show.

Dave: Well, yeah, but that's just because the scriptwriter couldn't think of anything better to do.

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: So what's your point?

Dave: So we're gonna get in trouble if we keep flouting dramatic convention.

Surly Coffeeshop Employee: Oh, right. Like the fourth-wall police are gonna come and take us all away.

(SFX: Police siren)

Cop: OK, you're all under arrest. C'mon, c'mon, get into the paddy wagon.

Jules: Wait! Let me gather my poetry. I can't leave all this brilliance just scattered around.

Cop: I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that. In fact, I'm going to have to club you with my nightstick now.

Jules: What? Why?

Cop: It's right here in the script. A cheap slapstick gag is always a good way to wind up the show.

Jules: Who's breaking the fourth wall now?

Cop: Don't sass back at the law, son. (SFX: club) Alright, alright, everybody move along. Nothing to see here. Somebody run the credits, willya? This is a wrap.