Wing Chun: AAAAAAAAARRRRGGH!

Sarah: AAAAGGHHHH!

Wing Chun: RRRRRRRRR!

Sarah: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Wing Chun: WAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

Sarah: UUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHH!

Wing Chun: NOT!

Sarah: I KNOW!

Wing Chun: FUCK!

Sarah: SHIT!

Wing Chun: ASS! ASSHEAD!

Sarah: FUCKING…FUCKER!

Wing Chun: HATE!

Sarah: HATEY HATE!

Wing Chun and Sarah: HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE!

Wing Chun: I CAN’T STOP SCREAMING!

Sarah: ME NEITHER!

Wing Chun: GOD! I MEAN…GOD!

Sarah: I FEEL LIKE OWEN MEANY!

Wing Chun: I THINK I’M GETTING A POLYP!

Sarah: …Jesus.

Wing Chun: …Crap.

Sarah: Okay. Okay, we’ve got to lighten this shit up.

Wing Chun: GEORGE GODDAMN BUSH GAVE ME A GODDAMN POLYP, SARAH.

Sarah: GEORGE GODDAMN BUSH IS NOT GOING TO STOP ME FROM PUTTING EDWARD GODDAMN FURLONG ON A GODDAMN GIRLS’ BIKE, WING.

Wing Chun: THIS IS NO TIME TO MAKE JOKES.

Sarah: THIS IS THE BEST TIME TO MAKE JOKES.

Wing Chun: HE GOT DRUNK AND JAILBROKE A BUNCH OF LOBSTERS.

Sarah: …

Wing Chun: …Hee.

Sarah: Behold, my point.

Wing Chun: I have to wonder how he thought that was going to play out.

Sarah: Well, really. Say he actually gets out of the store with the lobsters…then what? He drives them back to the sea?

Wing Chun: Long trip — didn’t he get arrested in Kentucky?

Sarah: Yeah. Even the lobsters were like, “Dude, this ‘plan’ could use some work.”

Wing Chun: Really. “Just put us back in the tank, homes. It’s over.”

Sarah: I’d love to have heard that 911 call.

Wing Chun: What would you even say? “Pecker is drunkenly pilfering my crustaceans”?

Sarah: Seriously. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Just send a car down here.”

Wing Chun: Hee. Now I’m imagining what would happen if one of the other members of the GBC showed up wearing those cords from J. Crew with the little lobsters embroidered on them.

Sarah: Oh, God. He’s on his knees, drunk, clawing at Rush Limbaugh’s leg…

Wing Chun: “Must set them free! Must…set…them…freeeeeee!”

Sarah: And Limbaugh’s all, “Pinko!” and kicks him in the stomach.

Wing Chun: And he rolls into the gutter, moaning to himself.

Sarah: “Free…freeeeeee…auugghhh.”

Wing Chun: Sometimes the Girls’ Bike Club makes me sad.

Sarah: Me too. The other day I was thinking about Hasselhoff tooling up to the front door of rehab and, like, locking up his bike and sadly patting the seat and telling it he’d see it in six months, and going inside.

Wing Chun: That’s what I mean. As the door closes behind him, it starts to rain on the bike…

Sarah: Yeah.

Wing Chun: Poor Hasselhoff. Six months is really a long time.

Sarah: I know! I get the feeling there’s something about that situation that we aren’t being told.

Wing Chun: Well, it’s not his first time in rehab.

Sarah: Or maybe he just wanted to get away from Feldman for six months. Feldman, and Jim Morrison.

Wing Chun: Hell, I’d go to rehab to get away from Jim Morrison and I don’t even drink.

Sarah: Word. Shut up, Jim Morrison.

Wing Chun: Well, seriously.

Sarah: No…seriously.

Wing Chun: No, seriously! Do you know how much I hate that “oh show me, the way, to the next, whisky bar” song?

Sarah: Dude. Don’t get me started. First of all, like you don’t know where the next whisky bar is, Jim. You know exactly where it is. Not that they have any whisky left since the last time you graced it with your loutish presence.

Wing Chun: Ex-act-ly. And second of all, if I want a little polka with my rock-and-roll, I will ask for it, so lose the accordion.

Sarah: And that cheesy girly belt.

Wing Chun: Oh, God, the belt. Shut up, belt.

Sarah: And shut up, poem Jim Morrison probably wrote about the belt.

Wing Chun: And shut up, every other poem Jim Morrison wrote.

Sarah: Shut up, everything Jim Morrison wrote, including shopping lists.

Wing Chun: Oh, please. Like he ever wrote a shopping list.

Sarah: Oh, he did. It didn’t have anything on it but booze and books about Native American culture, but still.

Wing Chun: I hesitate to say this, because it isn’t very politically correct, but —

Sarah: Are you about to tell Native American culture to shut up?

Wing Chun: Um. Maybe.

Sarah: Well, if you aren’t going to, I will, because there is just no excuse for encouraging Jim Morrison.

Wing Chun: I agree. And on that same tip, shut up, Oedipus.

Sarah: Ohhhhhh, how I hate that song. “Fatherrrr…I want to kiiillll you.” Nobody cares, Jim Morrison. Get therapy and shut up.

Wing Chun: Even his parents don’t care.

Sarah: No, they really don’t. “Mother? I want to…gleearrrggh!” “That’s nice, dear. Now keep it down, my stories are on.”

Wing Chun: “The blue bus…is calling us…” “Well, it can call back during a commercial.”

Sarah: Shut up, blue bus. And what kind of phoned-in rhyme scheme is that shit, anyway?

Wing Chun: Dude, “the west is the best”?

Sarah: “Ride the snake to the ancient lake”? And that blithering about going down the hall to see his sister? He’s not even trying — he’s just rambling! My brother wrote better songs than that when he was four!

Wing Chun: And ooh, ride the snake, it’s so sexual and blah blah we get it, Jim Morrison.

Sarah: And could he rhyme “pain” and “insane” a few more times? I mean, really.

Wing Chun: He’s just such a giant cheese log with nuts. “I want to hear the scream of the butterfly”? What does that even mean?

Sarah: And the butterfly is only screaming because your writing is so goddamn bad anyway. If you put your ear riiiiiight next to the butterfly?

Wing Chun: “SHUT UP, JIM MORRISON! AND STOP TELLING YOUR MOM YOU WANT TO FUCK HER, IT’S ANNOYING!”

Sarah: And what’s that other song I hate?

Wing Chun: Uh…the one where Jim Morrison is singing?

Sarah: Heh. No, seriously. Ray Manzarek is plonking away in the beginning, and —

Wing Chun: Oh, that narrows it down. Not. Shut up, Ray Manzarek.

Sarah: There’s something about his brain screaming out this song?

Wing Chun: Ew. “Hello, I Love You.”

Sarah: Yeah. Uch. Hate.

Wing Chun: “Love Street” is worse than that one.

Sarah: “Light My Fire” is worse than all of the others, because it just will not go away. I mean, speaking of “shut up, Ray Manzarek” — do we need five full minutes of Casio noodling? No! No, we don’t!

Wing Chun: Well, and…”wallow in the mire”? Are they…at a pig farm?

Sarah: He probably just ran through the alphabet and kept yelling words out, and John Densmore had to be like, “No. … No. … No.”

Wing Chun: “I’ll grip you like a pair of pliers!” “No, Jim.”

Sarah: “My hug is round, like a tire!” “No, Jim.”

Wing Chun: “I’m interested in Yeats’s gyre!” “No, Jim.”

Sarah: “Something something something…wire!” “No, Jim.”

Wing Chun: Poor John Densmore.

Sarah: Oh, whatever. He could have left.

Wing Chun: Well, and done what? Formed John Densmore and the Denstones?

Sarah: Yeah, why not? I mean, they all hated Jim Morrison, and he would pee on their couches, but they’d just be like, well, I guess we have to put up with it because he’s the hot one.

Wing Chun: That’s another thing. He’s not that hot.

Sarah: Really.

Wing Chun: I mean, he’s not ugly, but…he’s not that hot. He’s not hot enough to be peeing on furniture.

Sarah: Nobody’s hot enough to —

Wing Chun: Jude Law. Jude Law is hot enough.

Sarah: Fair enough.

Wing Chun: But Jim Morrison is not Jude Law.

Sarah: No, he isn’t.

Wing Chun: And who just gives himself a nickname like that? Other people have to nickname you, that’s the whole point. You don’t just get to decide one day that everyone’s going to call you the Lizard King.

Sarah: Or that “you can do anything,” when apparently you can’t buy a rhyming dictionary.

Wing Chun: Or keep your hands out of your pants.

Sarah: Or understand the concept of too much information. Gee, what ever could he mean by “Back Door Man”? I don’t think I get it, Jim Morrison!

Wing Chun: I don’t think I care, Jim Morrison!

Sarah: Shut up, Jim Morrison!

Wing Chun: You too, Pam…whatever your name was!

Sarah: Courson! Shut up, Pam Courson, even though you called yourself “Pamela Morrison” when you two never got married!

Wing Chun: Um.

Sarah: Go on, it’s okay.

Wing Chun: Okay. Shut up, Sarah, for knowing obscure factoids about Jim Morrison’s girlfriend! Sorry!

Sarah: No, I totally hear you! Shut up, self, and don’t read books about Jim Morrison anymore!

Wing Chun: Heh.

Sarah: And shut up, author of that book!

Wing Chun: Really. Get a job.

Sarah: I can’t imagine spending that much time researching the subject and still basically not getting that he was a reasonably hot, but usually drunk, jackass with about as much poetic talent as Jewel.

Wing Chun: Oh, another song I hate? “Soul Kitchen.”

Sarah: Shut up…wait, which one is that again?

Wing Chun: “The clock says it’s time to clooooooose noooooow.”

Sarah: Oh, that one. Shut up, clock.

Wing Chun: He does rhyme “alphabets” and “minarets” in that one.

Sarah: “Minarets”?

Wing Chun: Yeah…shut up, Jim Morrison.

Sarah: I have to rent the movie again. That shit is hilarious.

Wing Chun: Oh, man, Kevin Dillon.

Sarah: Hee. Strasberg pinches a loaf.

Wing Chun: It’s not his fault, though. That whole movie is, like, Val Kilmer spazzing and everyone else looking concerned and high in response.

Sarah: And Kyle MacLachlan devouring the scenery.

Wing Chun: While being devoured in turn by that horrendous wig.

Sarah: Oh, I know. There are at least three scenes where he turns his head and the wig doesn’t move at all.

Wing Chun: Shut up, Oliver Stone.

Sarah: Amen.

Wing Chun: He’s not in the GBC, is he?

Sarah: I don’t think so. I think he’d suggest one three-hour bike-ride-slash-vision-quest and the Baldwins would be like, “That’ll do,” and chuck his bike into a ravine.

Wing Chun: I think you’re right.

Sarah: And to tell you the truth, I don’t think Bore-ison would last very long either.

Wing Chun: Oh, I don’t know. He could hang out with the Beat poets.

Sarah: That’s true. And Ken Kesey.

Wing Chun: Ken Kesey would have an awesome bike.

Sarah: He would. And he’d ride it all around the country.

Wing Chun: “Okay, let’s call this meeting to order. …Where’s Kesey?” “Omaha.”

Sarah: “Again?”

Wing Chun: Not that they have meetings.

Sarah: They have a fort. Therefore they have meetings.

Wing Chun: And if they have a fort, and meetings, they must also have a talisman which they must hold in order to speak.

Sarah: A U lock?

Wing Chun: A bike horn?

Sarah: Yes.

Wing Chun: “Point of order!” “Quiet please, Mr. Feldman. Mr. Haim has the horn.”

Sarah: “[Hahnk hahnk!] Has anyone seen my teeth? …DAWSON!”

Wing Chun: Oh, God.

Sarah: We might need two forts, though, because I don’t think you want Limbaugh and Ted Kennedy sharing a hideout.

Wing Chun: Ew. Limbaugh.

Sarah: I know. Although I bet he’d come blustering in and make fun of Brian Wilson’s bike hat, and the others would be like, dude, that isn’t cool.

Wing Chun: And they’d kick his ass.

Sarah: No. They’d slather him in barbecue sauce, lock him in the fort with Lecter and Dawson, and let nature take its course.

Wing Chun: Non-survival of the fattest.

Sarah: Word. Shut up, Rush Limbaugh.

Wing Chun: Forever. And by the way, you know how we said they’d have to let Bush into the GBC?

Sarah: Yeah?

Wing Chun: Fuck that. Kick his ass out.

Sarah: Done.

Wing Chun: “No Bike Left Behind! EXCEPT YOURS!”

Sarah: “The State of the Union is that YOU ARE NOT IN IT!”

Wing Chun: Yeah!

Sarah: But I must once again bring up Jesus, because —

Wing Chun: Dude, he’s just not in the GBC. We’ve been over this, and — no.

Sarah: Yeah, yeah, but hear me out. Bush gets bounced. He makes that angry turtle face and starts pounding on the door and threatening to tell Rumsfeld to bomb the fort if they won’t let him in.

Wing Chun: Obviously.

Sarah: Jesus is hanging out eating a loaf and some fish.

Wing Chun: …

Sarah: Trust me, there’s a point to this. So still nobody is letting Bush in, and finally Bush is all, Jesus, buddy, you in there? Tell ’em I’m cool! Tell ’em to let me in!

Wing Chun: Ohhhh, I see now.

Sarah: So Vince Neil looks at Jesus like, well?

Wing Chun: And Jesus goes, “Don’t believe the hype, I don’t hang with that guy.”

Sarah: Correct.

Wing Chun: I love Jesus.

Sarah: This I know. For the GBC tells me so.

Wing Chun: Okay. He’s in.

Sarah: That’s what I’m talking about.

Wing Chun: But doesn’t Jesus have better things to do?

Sarah: You’d think so. Then you’d look at the election results.

Wing Chun: That’s kind of what I mean. He seems pretty busy hating gays these days.

Sarah: Oh, we can’t blame Jesus for that. I bet he’s under the bed totally mortified that people are using his name to pull this shit down here. “I died for this? Gah!”

Wing Chun: And God is tapping at his bedroom door all, “Jesus? Honey? Are you okay in there? I heated up some Bagel Bites, do you want some?”

Sarah: “They’re pepperoni, your favorite. … Jesus?”

Wing Chun: Aw. Our God is a snacky God.

Sarah: That’s what I choose to believe.

Wing Chun: I wish he’d make me some Bagel Bites.

Sarah: I wish he’d make me four dozen Democratic congresspeople and a martini.

Wing Chun: I’ll pray for you.

Sarah: Someone better.

November 8, 2004

Tags:   GBC