Part 22 (1/2)
”I'm the director,” I said. I was really starting to lose focus. I felt the distant rumblings of a major freak-out coming on.
”I have to run. I'm so happy you're doing this!” she exclaimed.
”Yeahhhh,” I said weakly.
”You're the best,” she said, hugging me. Then she ran away.
”Burp,” I said, when she was out of earshot.
The exploding turkey had an expression on his face, like: ”G.o.ddammit! I'm exploding again?”
Earl had even less of an idea of how to do this project than I did. However, he was much better at articulating that.
”The f.u.c.k,” he kept muttering as I was trying to describe the project to him.
”Look,” he finally said. ”You agreed to make a film for somebody. Now what the h.e.l.l do that mean.”
”Uh, I guess . . . It means . . . Huh.”
”Yeah. You got no idea what the h.e.l.l it mean.”
”I feel like I sort of do.”
”Well, spit it out, son.”
We were in my kitchen and he was rummaging through our food, which put him in at least a neutral mood, if not a good one.
”I mean, if we were painters, we could just paint a picture of something and give it to her as a gift. Right? So let's just do the film version of that.”
”Where the h.e.l.l do Pa Gaines keep the salsa at.”
”I think we're out. Look-what if we just did a one-off film? And gave her the only copy? That works, right?”
”Son, that don't give oh, hot d.a.m.n.”
”What?”
”What the h.e.l.l is this.”
”That's-lemme look at it.”
”This smell like a donkey's hairy-a.s.s d.i.c.k.”
”Ohhhh. This is goose-liver pate.”
”There ain't no salsa, I'ma eat this s.h.i.+t.”
As I've mentioned before, Earl gets very fired up about the occasionally gross animal-derived foods purchased and refrigerated by Dr. Victor Q. Gaines. I say ”purchased and refrigerated” because Dad never eats them right away. He likes for them to spend a lot of time in the fridge, so that the rest of the family has a chance to become aware of them. It's a habit that Gretchen may hate more than anything else in the world. However, Gretchen's extreme dislike is balanced by the almost-as-extreme appreciation of Earl. Earl expresses his appreciation by talking about how disgusting the food is while eating it.
”Son. We still have no idea what the film gonna be about.”
”Yeah, that's the hard part.”
”Yeah.”
”Uhhhh.”
”Like, we could make the David Lynch film that we was gonna make, and just give it to Rachel, and that's her film. But I don't think we want to do that.”
”No?”
”h.e.l.l no. That'd be weird as h.e.l.l. We'd be like, Yo, Rachel, watch this crazy-a.s.s film about lesbians running around and hallucinating and s.h.i.+t. We made this film especially for you.”
”Huh.”
”Like at the beginning, it's like, 'For Rachel.' It's like we're saying: Rachel, you love David Lynch. You love freaky-a.s.s lesbians getting they freak on. So here's a film about that s.h.i.+t. Nah. That don't make no sense. Now what the f.u.c.k is this.”
”No, no, don't eat that. That's dried cuttlefish. That's like Dad's favorite. He likes to wander around with part of it sticking out of his mouth.”
”I'ma take a little bite.”
”You can like nibble it once, but that's it.”
”Mmm.”
”What do you think?”
”Man, this taste stupid. This taste like some kinda . . . undersea . . . urinal.”
”Huh.”
”It taste like dolphins and s.h.i.+t.”
”So, you don't like it.”
”I did not say that.”
”Oh.”