#5, “iBenjy”

Setting the Scene: After midnight in New Jersey. Benjy and Paul are in the middle of a conversation, each smoking a cigarette.

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Benjy: Think about – pod rhymes with god.

Paul: Okay Benjy…

Benjy: Don’t OK Benjy me! I’m serious here. The government actually invented a machine where we willingly – eagerly – put shit in our head and listen to what they want us to.

Paul: Benjy, the government didn’t invent iPods. They didn’t invent music. And they’re not in our heads.

Benjy: They are in our heads! We put those shit in our ears – fucking sound canceling headphone – what the fuck is that? And of course they’re inventing music! Why do you think it all sounds the same? Record producers might as well be wearing white coats. Think about it man: the media fucking owns this country. You think entertainment ain’t a part of that?

Paul: I think you’re losing it.

Benjy: Have you seen MTV lately? These fucks are getting younger and younger! I’m looking at 16 year old girls who look like they’re 30 singing about dating and young love and somehow I’m the fucked up one because I got a hard-on! It ain’t right! They’re fucking with my head, Paul, and I can’t fucking take it any more.

Paul: I don’t watch MTV.

Benjy: And then there’s BET. Might as well call it the Jigaboo Channel or Frightening-Darkey-Central. Or NNN.

Paul: Benjy, you can’t fucking talk like that, man.

Benjy: Why not! I’m saying it’s offensive. If I had a whole channel devoted to me and all they showed were fat loud people, murderers, and illiterate misogynists, I’d be fucking pissed off.

Paul: Yeah, you’re not illiterate.

Benjy: All I’m saying is that the media is saturated in every day life. I almost left here tonight without my phone. I panicked! I can’t fucking live without AT&T tracking my every fucking move. It’s sick. I’m willingly allowing myself to be tracked by a device I tell myself I can’t live without!

Paul: Benjy, listen to me because what I’m about to say is very important: there isn’t a room full of people controlling the world.

Benjy: But—

Paul: Let me finish motherfucker. There isn’t a small group of people controlling the world’s media. And record producers aren’t mad scientists tapping into people’s unconscious turning them into robots. The world operates in trends. It’s all about cultural movements. All the music sounds the same because that’s what people want to hear. Sure, people want to hear that stuff because the media pushes it…and yes, there’s a degree of media influence that’s dangerous – I’m not disagreeing with you. But you have to accept that you’re talking about forces that are bigger than you. There’s not a room full of people wearing Venetian masks fucking everyone and controlling the world. The world controls itself.

Benjy: So the only option is genocide?

Paul: Yep.

Benjy: Oh boy…the thought of all that work is exhausting.

#4, “Benjy the Bully”

Setting the Scene: After midnight in New Jersey. Benjy and Paul are in the middle of a conversation, each smoking a cigarette.

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Benjy: In New Jersey they just passed this fucking bully law – you hear about this shit?

Paul: Uh-huh.

Benjy: I read this in the paper the other day.

Paul: Yep.

Benjy: What the fuck do these people thing they’re fucking doing? I mean Jesus-fuckme-Christ! Getting pushed around a little builds character. And bullies don’t go away either. They’re around when you’re out of school. I can’t fucking stand it. I mean, why do we have to hold our kids’ fucking hands all the time. Let them figure shit out on their own. Toughen them up a bit. When I go to work I pass these fucks…you know what I’m talking about. These fucks with their fucking stop signs. They have no qualms about stepping into traffic, clogging up intersections, making people slam on their fucking breaks – all because these kids can’t fucking wait for the light to change. What’s this shit? We already have LIGHTS telling these fucking kids when they can cross. Unbe-fucking-lievable.

Paul: Did you say “Jesus-fuck-me-Christ”?

Benjy: What?

Paul: You said “Jesus-fuck-me-Christ.”

Benjy: No I said “Jesus-fucking-Christ”.

Paul: You didn’t. You said you want Jesus to fuck you.

Benjy: Well…don’t you?

Paul: I’m not a fag!

Benjy: It’s not about being a fag. It’s about Jesus. If Jesus wants to fuck me then I’m going to take one for the team and let him fuck me.

Paul: And that makes you a fag.

Benjy: No it doesn’t. It makes me a humanitarian.

Paul: A humanitarian?

Benjy: Of course. Jesus wants to fuck me so I let him fuck me. You can’t turn away Jesus…that’s why he’s Jesus.

Paul: Well, you’d better be prepared. Because you know Jesus has a big fucking cock.

Benjy: Yeah, ‘cause he’s black.

Paul: Big ol’ black Jesus cock…in your ass because of humanity.

Benjy: Yeah…anyway…

Paul: You were ranting about bullies.

Benjy: Yeah…

Paul: You OK, Ben?

Benjy: Can I use your bathroom

#3, “Benjy the Existentialist”

Setting the Scene: After midnight in New Jersey. Benjy and Paul are in the middle of a conversation, each smoking a cigarette.

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Benjy: I used to have a hard time believing that I was actually alive. I could never believe or fully comprehend that I was actually going through the motions of living. I used to have very existential moments where I’m hyper-aware of what I’m doing: what I look like, where I am. I could see myself moving in slow motion. And not even with major events in my life – I’m fucking putting on my socks or making lunch. And then I just step outside of myself. I think about my life. I think about human life. I think about this huge planet that’s microscopic in comparison to the rest of the universe. And I’m overwhelmed, so much so that my heart beats faster and I’m short of breath. I almost fainted once.

Paul: I know what you—

Benjy: Don’t fucking interrupt me asshole!

Paul: Jesus, Benjy, I was just—

Benjy: I said don’t fucking interrupt me!

Paul: Sorry.

Benjy: OK, then.

Paul: Damn.

Benjy: I was reading about Einstein’s theory of relativity. It’s basically about gravity. He says that gravity isn’t a force that attracts things together, but objects literally bend space and time. I read it on Wikipedia and I don’t really understand it, but that’s not my point.

Paul: You have a point?

Benjy: I’m tempted to tell you to go fuck yourself with a pineapple but I’m turning a new leaf here, Paul.

Paul: Sorry.

Benjy: I mean very tempted to say horrible things about your anus. I’m trying really hard to be a better person, Paul. So please, don’t fucking interrupt me, because my point is very important.

Paul: Sorry Benjy.

Benjy: My point is, now that I’m back on the wagon – 3 weeks sober – I’m looking at things differently. I feel that life is meaningless and god is dead, and if god is dead that means death is the answer. And since I can’t take anything to calm me the fuck down, I was thinking that I would masturbate myself to death. And I want you to watch.

Paul: Watch?

Benjy: And I want to be cremated.

#2, “Benjy Sells His Soul”

Setting the Scene: After midnight in New Jersey. Benjy and Paul are in the middle of a conversation, each smoking a cigarette.
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Benjy: I didn’t sell my soul.

Paul: The moment you start working for a blood-thirsty corporation you’re a sell out. And the only currency corporate America uses are the souls of its workers.

Benjy: Bullshit.

Paul: I’m surprised at you Benjy, I really am.

Benjy: We all can’t be like fucking George Carlin or Bill Hicks you asshole. We all can’t fight the good fight. Some of us have people who want to fucking kill us just because of who we are.

Paul: I don’t think anyone is trying to kill you because of who you are.

Benjy: What about the IRS?

Paul: The IRS wants to rape you, not kill you.

Benjy: Fucking semantics. I’m just saying, I got shit to figure out.

Paul: What happened to the old Benjy? I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.

Benjy: Get off your fucking high horse you asshole. You’re a fucking salve to your customers too man.

Paul: I’m a tattoo artist, Benjy. I create art.

Benjy: Bullshit. You’re a fucking tramp-stamp machine who writes “hit this” for a living.

Paul: At least I’m not in advertising.

Benjy: Fuck you Paul.

Paul: It’s true!

Benjy: We’re all slaves you fuck. You’re a slave to your customers. I’m a slave to advertising. And so is your fucking tattoo parlor – the parlor you work for. You’re a slave to your boss. And your boss is a slave to his fucking business which is a fucking slave to money which is the fucking overseer. You have to understand it man! I’m a slave to my boss and my boss is a slave to fucking power, bro. My boss is a slave to money and power and greed. Just like every other working fuck. We’re all slaves to our jobs. You think Carlin wasn’t a slave to his job? He was a celebrity who was a slave to himself, man. We’re all fucking slaves Paul. And I know that which makes me above everyone else. The truth will set you free!

Paul: That’s from the Bible.

Benjy: Fuck that book.

Paul: Nah, I’d get paper cuts on my dick.

Benjy: You’re an asshole. A crowning, shitting asshole.

Paul: How much is your soul worth?

Benjy: …fucking stupid…

Paul: Seriously. How much? $50? $1 million? Remember that episode of The Simpsons where Bart sells his soul? He sold it to Milhouse for five bucks. It’s a serious question you corporate swine: how much is your soul worth?

Benjy: I sold my soul six years ago for an eight-ball and a taste of your mother’s cunt.

Paul: Was it worth it?

Benjy: The eight-ball was great but your mother’s cunt tasted like the floor of the Pike Place Market.

Paul: No dice.

Benjy: No it was great. But if I could do it over again I’d get a taste of her asshole so I could at least leave with a fresh taste in my mouth.

# 1, “Benjy is Back on the Wagon”

Setting the Scene: After midnight in New Jersey. Benjy and Paul are in the middle of a conversation, each smoking a cigarette. Paul is wearing a goofy hat.

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Benjy: No, I ain’t talking about Communism.

Paul: So what then?

Benjy: Labor. Marx was like the first motherfucker who talked about the division of labor. It might sound simple, but it’s something no one talked about before. You see, we tend to think that companies produce things. And they do. But we talk about Nike as if this incorporated…thing – entity (right) – that actually makes the sneakers. But we all know that ain’t true. There’s factories all around the world filled with people who get paid shit to make those sneakers. You see, Marx said in order for capitalism to work we need two things: a market – people who buy shit – and a social division of labor.

Paul: What’s your point, Benjy?

Benjy: A social division of labor, Paul. You see, we’re talking social status vs. social class. They’re related but they’re different. Social status is about value; social class is about money. A teacher doesn’t make shit for money but they’re important, right? Everybody supports teachers despite their political party. I mean, who doesn’t support teachers?

Paul: What does this have to do with my hat?

Benjy: I’m getting to that, Paul – do you get what I’m talking about here? If we don’t have division of labor we don’t have goods. We need those fucks in India and Mexico to make our shoes for cheap so schmucks like me can buy them and assholes like Nike can make tons of money – all that needs to be in place for capitalism to work.

Paul: OK, OK, I got it.

Benjy: Now… this Ferdinand guy was talking some other shit. He breaks down what words mean.

Paul: Benjy, listen to me for one second: what the fuck does this have to do with my hat?

Benjy: Goddamnit Paul! This shit is important. People all over the world are getting fucking in the ass for pennies – people are bleeding out of their assholes, Paul, so the least you can fucking do is listen to me for 5 goddamn minutes.

Paul: Fine.

Benjy: Gee, thanks for your undi-fucking-vided attention. Now…this Ferdinand fuck says that words are signs and a sign has two parts: the signifier and the signified. A signifier is the word dog: D-O-G on a piece of paper. An actual dog is the signified. Therefore D-O-G signifies a dog, right? The word fire extinguisher signifies an actual fire extinguisher. But we can also argue that an actual fire extinguisher signifies safety. Do you see what I’m saying? This Ferdinand fuck talks about how things represent other things.

Paul: Benjy, I’m begging you—

Benjy: Fuck your hat Paul!

Paul: Fuck my hat? Fuck my hat?! If “fuck my hat” then why the whole philosophy lesson?

Benjy: What do you have to be such an asshole?

Paul: What?

Benjy: I’m trying to talk about something other than you fingering your girlfriend, and you’re—

Paul: What the fuck Benjy? Since when don’t you want to hear about Mona’s pussy?

Benjy: I’m trying to turn over a new leaf here.

Paul: And your fucking conspiracy theories are going to put you back on the wagon?

Benjy: This ain’t conspiracy it’s philosophy. Fucking professors an’ shit write books about these kinds of things. And yes, I do think knowing some of this will put me back on the wagon, Paul. I’m reading, I ain’t rubbin’ crab ointment in my bush anymore because I want to sniff some coke with Lisa in that fucking hotel by the George Washing Bridge.

Paul: OK, ok.

Benjy: So what happens Paul when you take Marx and the Ferdinand fuck and put them together? Huh?

Paul: I don’t know Benjy.

Benjy: You get a world where objects signify social status, Paul. You get a world where objects define people, not the other way around. That fucking hat Paul…that fucking expensive dumb fucking hat is what’s wrong with America. You buying that hat has destroyed more lives than fucking 9/11. You support modern slavery Paul. The world is about to collapse on itself, and our whole culture is on the brink of being liquidated – literally turned into liquid shit streaming from Justin Bieber’s pussy – and all you can do is stand there in that dumb fucking hat.

Paul: Benjy…you have some serious fucking issues.