Queens, Dec 10, 2008

Neil’s mother is cooking in the kitchen.  Neil is in the bathroom, combing his hair.

Mother: “Where ya going?”

Neil: “Out.”

Mother: “Where ya going?”

Neil: “I said out.”

Mother: “I know what you said.  I wanna know where you are going!  I wanna know who you’re gonna be seeing.”

Neil comes out of the bathroom, his hair slicked back.

Neil: “None of your f**kin’ business, Mom!  I’m going out.  Jesus.  What am I a prisoner here?”

Mother: “You live here, you live by my rules.”

Neil: “What are ya gonna do, throw me out?  You want me to leave?  You really want me to leave?  Cause I’ll walk right out and never come back?  Is that what you want?!”

Mother (crying):  “No, no, no.  I’m sorry, Neil.  Go, have a good time. (handing him ten dollars)  Here’s some money for you to enjoy yourself.  Just don’t stay out too late.”

Neil: “I’ll be home when I WANT to come home.”

Mother: “Sure, sure…”

Neil slams the door behind him, and leaves his apartment building wearing his tightest jeans, sexiest shirt, and disco shoes.  He confidently walks down the boulevard, in rhythm to Britney Spears latest single.  As Neil walks down the street, all eyes are on him.  Everyone in Queens knows, wants him, or wants to be like him.  Neil enters Valentino’s, the hottest pizzeria on Kissena Boulevard.  Everyone shouts his name.

“Neil!  The King is here!’

Neil has arrived and the party can get rolling!

Neil: “Yo! how ya doing, everyone!  Joey!  Tony!  Raj!  Bagel!  Mr. DJ!  BigBoy!  Donna!”

Donna comes up to Neil and rubs against him, like a lonely little kitten.  She is wearing the tightest dress imaginable.

Donna: “So, Neil, are you finally gonna f**k me in the back of your car tonight?  Cause I will do anything you want, even the crazy shit from behind.”

Neil: “Donna, ain’t you got any self-respect?”

Donna: “I do have respect  I respect ya a lot.  That’s why you don’t have to buy me a slice of pizza before you do me like a dog!  So, is your car outside?”

Neil: “Are you f**kin’ stupid, Donna!  My car is in LA, and even it was here, I’m not gonna be humpin’ some easy whore like you in the back of my new Toyota Prius.  It ain’t environmentally sound.  Now if I had my gas-guzzling Hyndai Santa Fe SUV, that would be a different story.”

Luigi, the Pizza Maker: “So, Neil, what do you want to eat — the usual — a plain slice?

Tony: “None of that pineapple shit on the pizza like those yuppie assholes in Redondo Beach, right Neil?”

Bagel: “Those California phonies are idiots.  We should bash their heads in.  Hey, let’s do that.  Let’s go over there right now and f**kin’ bash their heads in!”

Neil: “Bagel, California is 3000 miles away.”

Bagel: “F**k that!  F**k California!  F**k the LA Dodgers!  Brooklyn Dodgers!  Brooklyn Dodgers! Those Dodgers belong in Brooklyn!  Assholes.”

Luigi, the Pizza Maker: “So, how many slices, Neil?  And no money from you.  It’s on the house.  You’re the King here.  You’re the most famous person to ever eat in this pizzeria other than Fran Drescher (showing Neil the photo of Fran Drescher on the wall for the 100th time).”

BigBoy: “I’d f**k Fran Drescher.  I like her voice.”

Raj: “She sounds like a goddamn hyena!”

BigBoy: “My mother sounds like Fran Drescher, you dolt.”

Neil (to Luigi the Pizza-Maker):  “You know what, Luigi.  I’m watching my cholesterol.  I’m not going to have a slice at all.  I’m probably just gonna go home and watch “Top Chef” with my mother!”

Donna: “That is so sweet. I like a man who loves his mother.  You sure you don’t want to f**k me in the back of the pizzeria?  I’ll be loud if you want.”

Neil: “Not tonight, Donna.  “Top Chef” is gonna be on in ten minutes.”

Donna: “You son of a bitch, Neil. No one turns me down.  You’re gonna regret it.  You know why?  Cause I’m gonna f**k every guy in here tonight, every way, every position, and then you’re gonna regret it.

Neil: “I saw the promo for “Top Chef.”  It looks like a good chef challenge.

Donna: “Yeah?  OK, then maybe I’ll go home, too, and watch “Top Chef.”  There’s really not much doing on Kissena Boulevard at night anyway.

Neil: “No, it’s pretty dead.  See you, everyone!  Luigi!  Joey!  Tony!  Raj!  Bagel!  BigBoy!  Donna!””

Everyone: “Bye, Neil!”

As Neil walks down the street, back to his apartment, all eyes are on him, mostly from the two thugs sitting on the ledge by the bank, drinking some cheap stuff out of a paper bag.  Neil walks a little faster, remembering that somebody got mugged on Kissena Boulevard last week.