1787 c/o Stephen O'Toole

Two cool friends (male) are huffing Huggies baby wipes, 
          right out of the packet, 

          This gentle eucalyptus scent got me faded.
          You feelin’ it, bro?


          He shrugs.          

          I guess so.

          He sighs.

          It's just. . .
                    the name,
                    you know?
          ‘Baby Wipes.’
          All I can think about is a toddler,
                    knocked off his surfboard,
                    over and over again and
                    yes, he's wearing cool dude sunglasses, sure, but. . .

You watch him, every time, hanging two at best, and you say to yourself:

(together) What if he never gets to hang ten?

          You get me, dude.

Always , bro. Always.

          They pause.

          Listen bro, I
want you to know that
                    you are not that baby. Okay?
                    I promise you.
                    you’re gonna get to hang all sorts of ten.

          you really think so?

Do I think so?! Bro!
          Answer me this:
          What was the name of that burlesque dancer who followed me on Instagram?

Uhm, Claire?
          Wait. . .
          Claire Voyant!

Exactly, bro.
          Which means that I'm qualified to predict stuff.

          He taps his head.

          These balls is crystal.

Thanks, dude.

          Don’t you ever say that.
          That’s lesson number one, son.
           You never thank anyone for telling you the truth.
          That shit'll
                    get you killed. . .

          He looks off for a second, somewhere into the distance.

. . . ?

Look at you.

          He laughs.

you don't even know how good you are. . .
          Your hair,
your hair, it—can anything apart from tones be dulcet? Cos these locks is on some smooth, honeyed, horsey shit, bro. It’s like you’re already a magazine cover. I touch you, I’m expecting to fucking crease you or something. And when I
                    take a breath in from over here it smells like
                     But with, you know,
                    like when they put those strips of perfume in the pages,
                    like you just,
                    tear them out that's. . .
                    what I’m saying.

Well uhm
          it's not just all about me, uh,
           It’s us! The band! Together!

Oh! No doubt, bro!
          This band’s about to blow up!
          The interest we’ve been getting already?
                     Just think what'll happen once we’ve written that first song. . .
          . . .
          My dad says he’ll totally be our manager now too, which is

          . . .
          You asked him, then, that’s,
          that’s great.

Everything he's heard so far,
          he loves.

Which is?

You know. . .
          the band name,
                    the title of our album. . .
          He said that off our album name alone we'll sell a million.

A million?

A million.

He said that?

Oh yeah!
          Can you believe that?

          the one who named the band, so. . .
                    And he named the album too, he. . .

Whoa whoa whoa, bro.
          I'm sensing something off about your 'tude here.
          You don't
                    like the names that we've chosen?

Snakes with Tits by The Unreasonable Bleeders?’


Am I not a fan of 'Snakes with Tits by The Unreasonable Bleeders?’

Yes! Are you or aren’t you?
          ‘Cos you agreed with me that the name should be provocative.
          Get the sheeple shaken from their shell, you said, or. . .
                    their wool. You. . .
                     get the turtles shaved from. . .

Sure, fine, we’ll shave them, whatever,
          I think we’re being more
                    problematic than provocative here.

          don’t follow.

I’m saying that
          I can’t be a part of
                    your dad’s weird shit about women.

About women?!


Well. . .
          just because women have tits doesn't mean. . .
                    These are snakes we're talking about!
                    Busty snakes!
                    In corsets!
                    It's cool as all hell!

And who are the ‘Unreasonable Bleeders?’
          Have you asked him?

No! I don’t have to ask him.
          They're Draculas. Spooky Draculas!

But, dude,
          there isn’t even a Dracula on that logo he drew for us.

                    there is a wolfman.

          woman, dude.
          With an apron,
                    some lipstick, a cigarette, and,
                    a mole on her cheek for some reason,
                    howling at a blood red moon with a rolling pin in one hand
                    and a box of Tampax in the other!

Now who’s being unreasonable?
          That drawing means a lot to him!

Oh really?

Yes, really!
          It’s based on an actual tattoo that my mother made him get.

And when you say,
           ‘made him get…?’

I mean,
          ‘drove him to it with her constant, uncalled for nagging!’
          You know what, dude?
          I’m done.
                    I can’t be around people with this point of view.
It’s. . .
too fucked up.
          I’ll see you.

          Bono, please.
          Don’t go.
          I’m. . .
                    I mean, The Edge is
                    sorry, I. . .
                    pushed our friendship
                    to the me
                    and I’m sorry.
                    . . .
          If it
                    if it’s a choice between you and my weird dad, then,
                     I choose you.

Dude, I
          I choose you too.

          They hug.

And if you have, like
          any ideas of your own
          band names or anything,
                    love to hear them.

          now that you mention it,
                    there was
                    one name, I’d thought of.

Oh yeah?

          pretty simple.
          two words.
          You ready?

          He nods.