The Donahues Episode 160

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Ryan and Michael have a great time one night, despite revelations that Delaney drew on some guy’s chest, Ms. Tucker approaches Preston to convince him to sell premium strains of LSD and Michael feels trapped in DEAP

Submitted: April 24, 2014

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 24, 2014









“I had a friend once, he took some acid. Now he thinks he’s a fire engine”

  • Maynard James Keenan


(We start with Preston Hernandez sitting in a prison cell on February 23, 2014. Preston is drumming his fingers across his knee. A couple prisoners walk over to the cell)


PRISONER: So, isn’t it just your lucky day, Senor Hernandez?


PRESTON: Not really, this was scheduled, luck had nothing to do with it.


PRISONER 2: Don’t think your free out there, Hernandez. The prison system is designed to be a revolving door so they can get more money per inmate. You’ll be back in here soon enough.


PRISONER: You’re a hardened criminal now.


(Preston stands up)


PRESTON: No fucking way, I can’t end up here again. All I did was throw a medicine ball at a crowd of people!


PRISONER: Whoa, that’s what you did? Asshole!


PRESTON: Why? What’d you do?


PRISONER: I beheaded a dog!


(A prison guard walks over)


PRISON GUARD: Alright, alright, get out of here, fuckos.


(The two prisoners walk away)


PRESTON: You beheaded a fucking dog?!


PRISON GUARD: You ready, Preston?


PRESTON: Yes sir.


(The Prison guard opens up the cell for Preston and Preston walks out)


PRISON GUARD: Go change.




PRISON GUARD: The prison bathroom.


PRESTON: …You fuckin’ serious?


PRISON GUARD: It’s policy, you have to get one more ass-pounding before you can leave.


(Cut to Preston, in civilian clothes, on the bus leaving the prison. He is looking out the window. Cut to Ms. Tucker teaching her Chemistry class on April 18, 2014)


MS. TUCKER: So essentially, kids, valence electrons are the tag-along buddies of atoms, and are involved in the formation of chemical bonds! Now, how are chemical bonds broken, kids? (A student raises their hand as Ms. Tucker receives a text) Yes, Nash?


NASH: Chemical energy is absorbed to break the bonds of the reactants?


(Ms. Tucker checks her text to see it’s from her boyfriend Zach saying “We’re more than broken up. I found a dame who’s willing to accept my constantly-changing name and penchant for stealing shoes #itsover”. Ms. Tucker, clearly distraught, puts away her phone)


MS. TUCKER: (Voice trembling) Say that again, Nash?


NASH: I said chemical energy is absorbed to break the bonds of the reactants.


MS. TUCKER: …Yes, that’s one way for bonds to break. Another way is…growing distant. Being secretive. Being inconsiderate of one’s feelings and not realizing how financially dependent someone is on you…


(Ms. Tucker looks off in the distance as tears grow in her eyes)


NASH: …Is this going to be on the test?


MS. TUCKER: …Yes. Since I’m supposed to write the test today, this is the only thing that’s going to be on the test.


(Cut to two kids outside school, talking to Preston, who is in a big long jacket and sun glasses)


STUDENT: So, Preston, do you have what we want?


STUDENT 2: We’ve been looking for it for a long-ass time, it’s been hard as all fuck to find. There’s a shortage, you know.


PRESTON: Well it’s your guys’ lucky day then. Because I have more tabs than I know what to do with. I mean, I know what I’m going to do with them, I’m gonna sell them all, but you get the picture.


STUDENT: Sure, sure, but yeah, we have the cash.


PRESTON: It’s fifteen dollars per hit.


STUDENT 2: Here.


(The student takes out two tens and two fives, but then Ms. Tucker walks outside with a cup of tea in her hand and looks over at the three)


MS. TUCKER: What’s going on here?!


(Preston looks at her)


PRESTON: MAYDAY MAYDAY! (He runs away, as do the two students he was selling to. He drops a couple tabs of acid in the process, and the students dropped their thirty dollars) ABANDON SHIP!

(Ms. Tucker runs over to the tabs and cash left on the ground and looks at them)


MS. TUCKER: LSD? Was that Preston Hernandez? Jesus. He almost made me drop my mescaline tea. (Ms. Tucker takes a sip of her mescaline tea) And look at that money. (She picks up the thirty dollars) It’s…thirty dollars. Holy shit. I get paid less than that a day. Huh…interesting.


(Cut to Preston in his open garage, looking at a basket of bread at night)


PRESTON: Come on, come on, grow the magic fungus faster damnit!


(Preston hears someone coming in his gate. Preston grabs a shovel and comes out of his garage to see Ms. Tucker)


PRESTON: Wha…how’d you find me?


MS. TUCKER: Remember that chemistry project from sophomore year where you divided your street address by the atomic number of cadmium? Yeah, it was still on the wall in my classroom.


PRESTON: I never did get the point of that activity.


MS. TUCKER: We needed a project grade before the grading period ended, listen, no one is after you, okay? You can put the shovel down.


(Preston points the shovel towards the ground)


PRESTON: Then why are you here?!


MS. TUCKER: I was, curious. Honestly, I expected you to amount to selling LSD. I pictured it. And I was right. So there’s a lot of money in it, huh? At least thirty dollars, right?


PRESTON: I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ms. Tucker.




PRESTON: Not a clue.


MS. TUCKER: I remember hearing that from you a lot during your time in my class.


PRESTON: Listen, I don’t know what you think you’re doing here. Ms. Tucker. But if you’re going to give me some, bull-winder about getting right with Jesus, or turning myself in, or having sex with you-


MS. TUCKER: Not really.


PRESTON: I would do the last part, just because I’ve always wanted a teacher-student relationship-


MS. TUCKER: I said not really.


PRESTON: But other than that, High School was a long time ago-


MS. TUCKER: It was less than a year ago.


PRESTON: You’re not welcome back, Cotter, so step off. No speeches.


MS. TUCKER: Short speech. (Ms. Tucker pulls about ten pages out of her jacket pocket and looks at the first one and clears her throat) Since time immemorial, humans have craved the call of the dollar-


PRESTON: That doesn’t look like a short speech.


MS. TUCKER: Fine, fuck it. (She puts the speech back in her jacket pocket) You were in prison, for six months. Right? For throwing the medicine ball at that crowd of students?


PRESTON: Yeah, keep bringing it up.


MS. TUCKER: You got out of prison about two months ago, no?




MS. TUCKER: And yet, you were unbelievably close to getting caught again today. If I had called the campus police, you would be in handcuffs right now. The penalty for selling LSD, first offense, is 5-40 years in prison. You could get out when you’re twenty-four, or fifty-nine. You would be back in prison in record time. The system works, you’re a hardened criminal.


PRESTON: That’s at the federal level, Vermont penalties are more lenient.


MS. TUCKER: So I see you’re a fucking lawyer now.


PRESTON: Tell me what you want from me.


MS. TUCKER: You know the business. And I know the chemistry. (Preston squints) I’m thinking, maybe you and I could partner up.


(Preston rubs his eyes)


PRESTON: Am I having déjà vu here or something? Or is this one of my fetish dreams about a sexy female Brian Cranston? (Preston looks at Ms. Tucker) I mean, seriously, you, uh…you want to cook LSD? With me?!


MS. TUCKER: Yes. Either that, or I turn you in. Or I could tell everybody about your weird, female Brian Cranston fantasy.


PRESTON: Fine, I’ll fuckin’ do it.


(Cut to Michael arriving at his home one day. He tosses his backpack to the side)


MICHAEL: Ugh… (Michael walks into his room and sits in front of his desk. He takes out his phone and looks to see he has zero messages. He goes to his text conversation with Delaney. On Wednesday, April 16th at 8:09 AM, Michael texted her “hey (:” and she texted back “good morning”. Michael rolls his eyes and texts her “why don’t you text me anymore? );” and then sends it, but then texts “I did not mean to send a sad winkyface”. Michael then puts his phone on his desk and goes on his computer. He goes to and sees a picture of a guy’s chest with a drawing of a woman riding a saber tooth tiger on it. The caption says “Delaney Cortez drew this (: and I appreciate it”) …What the fuck… (He gets a text back from Delaney, he checks it and it says “sowwy, I’ve been busy. What’s up? (:” Michael starts grinding his teeth. Michael hears a knock at the door) Well, who could that be?


(Michael gets up and goes to the front door, opens it and sees Ryan)


RYAN: Hey.


MICHAEL: Oh, I thought you were going to be Delaney giving a full-throated apology/full-throated blowjob.


(Ryan comes in and Michael shuts the door)


RYAN: Why? What’d she do?




(Michael shows Ryan his phone)


RYAN: Wow.


MICHAEL: Yeah. (Michael puts the phone away) Like, what the fuck? How is that okay?


RYAN: It’s not!


MICHAEL: Yeah, well, she doesn’t seem to get it. Let me text her. (Michael sends the text “did you really draw on that guys chest wtf?”) There.


RYAN: What’d you say?


MICHAEL: I asked her if she really did it.


RYAN: I guess we’ll wait for-


(Michael gets a text)


MICHAEL: Oh. There we are. (Michael takes out his phone and sees she sent “yeah so what? Hes just a friend”) Holy shit.


RYAN: What?


MICHAEL: She said “yeah, so what? He’s just a friend.”


RYAN: Oh my God. She just doesn’t get it, does she?


MICHAEL: I’m going to ignore that cliché, but you’re right. She doesn’t. FUCK!

(Michael turns around and walks into his room, followed by Ryan. Ryan slams the door)


RYAN: I’m gonna help you be mad, man!

MICHAEL: I can’t believe this SHIT!



(Ryan stomps his foot repeatedly)


MICHAEL: Don’t scuff up my floors!


RYAN: Sorry! URGH!!


MICHAEL: Just relax! Oh my God, this is so fucking stupid.


RYAN: Yeah, I don’t know what she expect to happen there.


MICHAEL: It’s like, it’s not just some stupid impulsive thing she did, she drew an incredibly intricate piece of ART on his chest! His chest was her CANVAS and she wasn’t like, fucking, Jackson Pollock, just splattering paint on there, she was Michelangelo painting the Sistine chapel on his pecks! That’s an intimate process, her hands had to be TOUCHING his chest at virtually all times!

RYAN: God…I hope she doesn’t text you “you should’ve seen what I doodled on his dick!”


(Michael laughs)


MICHAEL Goddamnit, fuck you!


RYAN: Sorry, I couldn’t resist.


MICHAEL: Uh…that was a good one, though.


RYAN: Thanks.


MICHAEL: I can’t even…deal with this right now. (Michael takes out his e-cigarette and vapes off of it) That was nice.


RYAN: Yeah.


MICHAEL: Ugh… (Michael sits down) what do you want to do?


RYAN: …There’s always getting high as all fuck. Sunday is 4/20, after all. And this is one of the only scheduled things stoners are willing to be early to, so, we might as well.


MICHAEL: That’s true.


(Cut to Ryan and Michael in the backyard. Michael is loading a bowl)


RYAN: Give it here.


MICHAEL: Holy shit, I am not done loading it!

RYAN: Trust me, I know how to get tight nugs. I could condense that shit into a black hole.


MICHAEL: I’ve got it. (Michael finishes packing it) Alright, do you have a lighter?


RYAN: No, I’m not a smoker.


MICHAEL: Well, neither am I! How are we going to light this? Hopes and dreams?


RYAN: Hold on, I have this match book. (Ryan takes out a match book and strikes a match) See that?


MICHAEL: Awesome. Why’d you just happen to have that, though?


RYAN: Sometimes I burn myself, anyway, let’s light this! (Ryan lights the bowl) Having been the one to light it, I get the inaugural puff.


(Ryan takes a hit off the pipe)


MICHAEL: Is it good?


RYAN: Yeah, you got pretty good shit, actually.


MICHAEL: I’m glad I surprised you. (Michael takes a hit) So what music do you listen to when you get high, kid?


RYAN: Soilwork or Get Scared, usually. You?


MICHAEL: Dude, when I’m high- (Ryan takes a hit) I’m not a metal-head anymore, I start listening to Daft Pink and Punk Floyd and…shit like that.


(Ryan laughs)


RYAN: You don’t even realize what you just did.




RYAN: Nothing. But yeah, those are great bands. I can listen to Iron Maiden when I’m high, for sure. Is that electronic enough for you?


MICHAEL: No, but it is classic enough for me.


RYAN: Yeah, Bruce Dickinson has an amazing voice. Although I’m ashamed to say I listen to his son’s metalcore band more often than Iron Maiden.


MICHAEL: How dare you, I deserve this next toke.


(Michael takes a hit. Ryan smiles and stands by. Cut to the following Tuesday. Michael is in DEAP with Ryan Marcy and several others. Mr. Johnson is supervising. Michael is looking at the clock on the wall. It reads that is around 10:30. He then looks at Ryan Marcy, who is in an enclosed desk in the corner, slapping himself repeatedly while mumbling something)


RYAN MARCY: (Mumbling) Goddamnit, why do I have to be in here, I don’t want the ice bath again, (unintelligible) goddamn shit…


(Michael, clearly perturbed by Ryan Marcy’s strange behavior, turns back to the clock to see it now says its 10:45)




(Michael looks over at Ryan Marcy repeatedly bashing the blunt end of a canned food item into his head)






(Ryan Marcy looks at him)




MR. JOHNSON: Break it up you two.


MICHAEL: He’s fighting himself! Also, your clock is bork.




MICHAEL: It’s broken, look.


(Mr. Johnson looks at the clock and then his watch)


MR. JOHNSON: No, it’s 10:45, just like it says.


MICHAEL: Really?




MICHAEL: I could’ve sworn it just said it was 10:30.


MR. JOHNSON: You must be tripping.


(Michael looks up and then smiles)


MICHAEL: Right, of course. (Michael chuckles, as does Mr. Johnson. The security camera in the top corner of the room visibly and audibly zooms its lens on Michael) Wow, that thing is subtle.


MR. JOHNSON: Pardon?


MICHAEL: Can I use the restroom?


MR. JOHNSON: ‘Course, I’ll escort you there. I’m sure Mr. Marcy can be on his own for a few minutes.


MICHAEL: Yeah, I’m not so sure. But fine.


(Mr. Johnson gets up and Michael gets up as well and follows him out the door. They are walking down the hallway to a nearby bathroom and Ryan walks by, but then walks backwards and looks at Michael once he notices him)


RYAN: Oh my God, it’s a rare Michael sighting! (Michael laughs) The elusive Bingaman hasn’t been seen in the wild since early April!


(Ryan takes out his phone and ducks behind a water fountain to take a picture)


MR. JOHNSON: No! (Mr. Johnson waves his arms) No pictures!


RYAN: I got all I need, I’ll take this back to my colleagues, they’ll be thrilled!


(Ryan stands up and giggles)


MICHAEL: Does that tickle you?


RYAN: Yes, actually, it does.


MR. JOHNSON: Go ahead, Michael.




(Michael walks into the bathroom)


RYAN: So you can enter a grade change request after grades are due, right?


MR. JOHNSON: Goddamnit, Ryan. (Some spaghetti sauce drips onto Mr. Johnson’s shoe) What the-


(Mr. Johnson puts his finger in the sauce and tastes it)




MR. JOHNSON: Damnit, Ryan Marcy must be throwing canned foods through the ceiling tiles again.


(Cut to Ms. Tucker walking out of a bank. She walks over to Preston’s car and hands him an envelope full of cash)


MS. TUCKER: Use that to buy the RV.


PRESTON: This isn’t even enough to buy a brand new Chevy Cobalt.


MS. TUCKER: You’re a drug dealer, Preston. Negotiate. Otherwise, how else am I going to treat my night terrors?


(Ms. Tucker begins to walk away)


PRESTON: Wait, is that why you’re doing this?


(Ms. Tucker turns back to Preston)


MS. TUCKER: No. Not really.


PRESTON: Then why are you? Seriously?


MS. TUCKER: Why do you do it?


PRESTON: To earn respect in my community. But also, money.


MS. TUCKER: There you go.


PRESTON: Nahh, come on, some preppy little, derpy twenty-five year old teacher like you, she just decides one day to start breaking bad?


MS. TUCKER: Nobody actually uses that term.


PRESTON: It’s weird!

MS. TUCKER: And I’m not derpy!


PRESTON: People always said you were derpy, I’m sorry!


MS. TUCKER: I’m not derpy, they just don’t know how fucking chemistry works so they think I’m a dumb brunette when I talk about how atomic diagrams aren’t accurate.


PRESTON: Listen, Ms. Tucker, if you’ve gone crazy, or something, like, (whispering) if you’ve gone crazy, or depressed, or something, I’m just sayin’, that’s, that’s something I need to know about! I mean, that affects me!


MS. TUCKER: …I am…awake!


PRESTON: Oh, okay. Makes sense. See you tomorrow.


MS. TUCKER: See you.


(Ms. Tucker gets in her car and Preston and her drive off at essentially the same time. Cut to Ms. Tucker and Preston standing outside and RV in the middle of a pass between the Adirondacks Mountains)


PRESTON: Seems like an acceptable enough place to cook, Ms. Tucker.


MS. TUCKER: Preston, keep in mind, we’re in the midst of a mountain pass. So put- (Ms. Tucker takes out a park ranger hat) this on so passing motorists will think we’re park rangers.


PRESTON: If you want to dress like a faggot, that’s your deal, but not me!


MS. TUCKER: How could I dress like a faggot?


PRESTON: You should remove your clothes by the way, wouldn’t want to smell like an LSD lab when you get home.


MS. TUCKER: I live alone, so it isn’t really a problem. You fucking pervert.


(Preston puts the Park Ranger hat on)


PRESTON: Is this what gets you off?




(Ms. Tucker walks inside the RV and Preston follows. Cut to inside the RV. There is a bunch of lab equipment set up)


PRESTON: So, you can make LSD with, stolen school equipment?


MS. TUCKER: Yes sir.


PRESTON: Well, where are the morning glory seeds?


MS. TUCKER: Are you kidding me?




MS. TUCKER: You make your LSD with Morning Glory seeds?


PRESTON: Shit, Miss T, that’s the only way to fly!


MS. TUCKER: Morning glory seeds are coated with toxic chemicals, to discourage consumption.


PRESTON: Doesn’t that just make consumption more dangerous?


MS. TUCKER: Yeah, but that’s not the point! You always want to use lysergic acid! (Ms. Tucker takes out a container of lysergic acid) Like this one.


PRESTON: Huh. And then what?


MS. TUCKER: And then you throw it out the window!

(Ms. Tucker throws the lysergic acid container out one of the RV’s open windows)






PRESTON: Oh my God, stop testing me, what do you start with then?!


MS. TUCKER: Ergot! That’s what you start with!


PRESTON: Isn’t ergot on its own really toxic?


MS. TUCKER: In the wrong hands, yes. But, not only do I teach high school chemistry for a living, I also used to trip balls in college. So, here’s your ergot- (Ms. Tucker takes out some ergot) we need to extract ergot alkaloids out of this. This RV has a dark room right?


PRESTON: Jesus Christ.


MS. TUCKER: It needs one, because the fungus will break down under bright lights.


PRESTON: This RV does not have a darkroom!


MS. TUCKER: You sure?


(Ms. Tucker opens up a door in the RV to reveal a darkroom full of photographs)




MS. TUCKER: Look at that. I guess whoever you bought this from was interested in photography.


PRESTON: Apparently not interested enough, he didn’t take his photos with him.


MS. TUCKER: I have feeling- (She peeks in the dark room and looks at the pictures of tied up, bound and gagged women hung up everywhere) that he had a vested interest in getting rid of all this stuff.


PRESTON: Wow, yeah, I guess.


MS. TUCKER: So, did you bring the anhydrous hydrazine?


PRESTON: Uh…I didn’t bring anything, this is your thing, Ms. Tucker.


MS. TUCKER: It’s fine, I provided my own. (Ms. Tucker takes out some anhydrous hydrazine) As long as you brought booze.


PRESTON: Is it safe to drink while making LSD?


MS. TUCKER: What I’m holding right now explodes when heated. It’s also a known carcinogen.


(Preston takes out a cigarette and lights it in his mouth)


PRESTON: Are you ready?


(Cut to a montage of Ms. Tucker and Preston working with lab equipment to make LSD while the “Breaking Bad” theme music plays. We see Ms. Tucker synthesizing the ergot alkaloid into iso-lysergic acid hydrazide through the addition of chemicals and heating processes. That iso-lysergic acid is then isomerized and then Preston mixes it with an acid and a base, namely, soap and cream soda, and then it is evaporated. They are then left with iso-lysergic diethylamide. They proceed to isomerize it, purify it and crystallize it. Once the song ends, they look at their finished batch of LSD. The LSD tabs are shaped like ginger bread men)


MS. TUCKER: Did you think the ginger bread thing was a good touch?


(Preston picks up one of the tabs with a pair of tweezers)


PRESTON: I don’t think it matters. This is the purest LSD I’ve ever seen.


MS. TUCKER: Probably because you’ve never seen actual LSD. You’ve seen pieces of blotter paper covered in mosquito repellant or, maybe you’ve just seen straight-up stickers from the Doctor’s office.


PRESTON: This is insane, Ms. Tucker. When this gets on the street, every curious seventeen-year old kid is going to want to have their dreams of being a pilot ruined by this shit!


MS. TUCKER: Well then, what’s our next step?


PRESTON: We have to sell it.


MS. TUCKER: Then go peddle it, kid. And not to psychologists, either.


PRESTON: Psychology majors?


MS. TUCKER: Bingo.


(Cut to Ryan and Michael in Michael’s room. They are high and Michael is playing Skyrim while Ryan watches. In the game, the main character is outside a dungeon cage with a treasure chest in it. He has a slave girl by his side)


MICHAEL: The only fuckin’ way I can get into that cage is if I can pick the lock on the wall over there so the cage bars will lift up, and I’m too high for that shit.


RYAN: Picking a lock in video games is as easy as Wii bowling though, so…


MICHAEL: Which I can’t do, why can’t Julia do this? She’s so useless!


JULIA THE SLAVE GIRL: I am sworn to carry your burdens.


RYAN: Shut the fuck up, Julia!


(Michael laughs)


MICHAEL: God, be more reluctant. Alright, let me try this. (Michael directs his character to pick the lock on the wall. In the lock-picking simulation, Michael attempts to balance the toggle with perfect precision to turn the lock, but it breaks off) Damnit. (Michael tries again, but it breaks off) Suck my dick! (Michael tries once more, and it works, lifting the bars up) Thank God…


RYAN: You did it.


(Michael’s character walks into the cage and the cage bars jut quickly down to the floor, leaving Julia outside of the cage)


MICHAEL: No thanks to Julia. She didn’t even fucking come in!


(Ryan laughs and Michael opens up the chest and discovers several septims, the currency in Tamriel)


RYAN: And all that for a few measly septims!

MICHAEL: Who would go to so much trouble to protect such a small amount of skrillah?


RYAN: It was probably some overly-optimistic orch who was convinced that the cage would be useful after his business idea really took off.


(Michael laughs)


MICHAEL: Oh my God, let’s go. (Michael’s character turns around to see Julia is now somehow in the cage with him) What? How did you get in here?


RYAN: I guess she can teleport, so that’s one thing she can do.


MICHAEL: That’s pretty swag I guess, but it doesn’t really help me.


(Ryan laughs)


RYAN: Oh my God, this is so awesome…


(Michael pauses the game)


MICHAEL: I can’t even think enough right now to play this.


RYAN: No kidding.


MICHAEL: You know what, Ryan?


RYAN: What?


MICHAEL: You were right about Eric and I’s plan to do ecstasy.


RYAN: Really?


MICHAEL: Yeah, we shouldn’t do it. It’s too addictive.


RYAN: Good call. It ruined my life, and I wouldn’t want to see you go down that path.


MICHAEL: But we do plan to do LSD.


RYAN: What?




RYAN: Jesus, you just jumped from one drug that ruined my life to another drug that ruined my life!


MICHAEL: Ryan, LSD’s not addictive though, so if we do it every once and a while, we’ll be just fine. It’s a mind-opening experience.


RYAN: But if you have a bad trip, that’s an awful, terrifying experience. It’s literally the most harrowing thing you’ll ever experience. And even if you have good experiences, doing it too much will fuck up your mind, make it to where you never quite come back from the trip.


MICHAEL: Permanent vacation.


RYAN: Michael.


MICHAEL: Dude, I already said I’m not going to too often! So just relax!


RYAN: I would just, discourage it. When are you supposedly doing it?


MICHAEL: Tomorrow night, with Eric.


RYAN: …Can I be there?


MICHAEL: Sure. But you can’t take it.


RYAN: I know, I just want to be there to, supervise the process.


MICHAEL: That’s probably best. We need a babysitter.


RYAN: You have kids?


(Michael laughs)


MICHAEL: No, I don’t need a babysitter to look after my kids while I do LSD, although that will probably be a situation I run into in the next thirty years-


RYAN: Wow.


MICHAEL: We just need a babysitter to make sure we don’t go crazy or whatever. On the acid.


RYAN: Okay, I can do that.


MICHAEL: Cool. Hey, did you hear about that fuck-head in Nevada who thinks he has the right to have his cows graze on federal land he isn’t paying for?


RYAN: Yeah, I heard that there’s an armed stand-off between Cliven Bundy and Federal Agents over it. And that Sean Hannity is on the side of the free-loaders as long as President Obongo wants to punish them.


MICHAEL: Ugh…it’s so much nonsense, if you don’t pay taxes on land, you can’t have it! It’s not government tyranny to take it away!


RYAN: Those hicks who were defending the land that’s rightfully not theirs, were saying they wanted to put a bunch of women in front of the armed agents so that they would have to shoot women to get the land back. Like, why not just have them breastfeed in front of the firing squad?


MICHAEL: Better yet, slit one woman’s throat every hour the federal agents don’t leave.


RYAN: Or they could just slit one cow’s throat every hour they don’t leave and then hell, the problem solves itself. All the feds need to pay for is cleaning up the cow carcasses.


MICHAEL: Or just let McDonald’s come in and allow them to reduce their resource costs.


(Ryan laughs)


RYAN: That sounds good. The point is, these are dumb hicks who love to pick and choose what laws to follow.


MICHAEL: You hate America. These men are patriots, like the three-hundred Spartans with women as shields!

(Ryan laughs. Cut to Preston Hernandez in his car smoking a cigarette in the mid-afternoon. Ms. Tucker comes out from behind the front seat)


MS. TUCKER: Have you sold any-


(Preston is startled)


PRESTON: AHHH! (Preston turns around) Jesus Christ, how’d you get back there?!


MS. TUCKER: Be quiet and drive.


PRESTON: To where? I’m making a deal here!


MS. TUCKER: Fine, hurry.


PRESTON: I did not know you were riding along on this deal, though.


MS. TUCKER: I wanted to see how the business works. But I’ll hide back here.


PRESTON: Yeah, you wouldn’t want to run into a student or, someone who just happens to be go to the high school you teach at.


MS. TUCKER: Exactly.


(Ms. Tucker hides behind the seat)


PRESTON: Alright, here they come. (Preston gets out of the car and sees Michael and Eric sitting outside their car) Gentlemen?




(Preston walks over to them)


PRESTON: Oh, it’s…you two.


ERIC: Preston Hernandez, huh? Didn’t you have butt sex with Ryan’s brother?


PRESTON: We were cellmates, but we only did that once. And he was asleep.


MICHAEL: These drugs better be really good if you want me to forget that.


PRESTON: I guarantee this LSD is tops. (Preston takes out a baggie of LSD tabs) It really cleanses the mind, and will beat- (takes out a bag of LSD tabs that read the “other leading brand”) the other leading brand.


ERIC: Then would you be willing to take it in front of us?


PRESTON: ‘Course. (Preston takes out an LSD tab) Remember, you have to let it melt on your tongue real nicely.


(Preston puts it on his tongue)


MICHAEL: I’m convinced. How much?


PRESTON: Ten dollars a tab.


ERIC: It wasn’t that expensive when my dad did acid in law school.


PRESTON: Listen, you’d be getting temporary tattoo sheets from anyone else selling this shit, this is legitimate, chemically pure LSD. The best acid I’ve ever sold.


MICHAEL: Ten dollars is fine. (Michael takes out twenty dollars) We’ll take two hits.


PRESTON: Perfect.


(Preston takes out two hits of LSD and puts them in a bag and hands them to Michael as Michael hands him the twenty)




PRESTON: Thank you very much. Let me hold this up to the light though. Can you, shine a cell phone on it?


ERIC: Fine.


(Eric shines his cell phone on the money)


PRESTON: Appears to be legit.


(Eric puts his cell phone away)


MICHAEL: Why don’t we shine light on the LSD?


PRESTON: Because it’ll dissolve. Good doing business with you gentlemen, tell your friends.


(Preston walks away as Michael and Eric look at one another. Cut to Michael, Eric and Ryan in Eric’s upstairs room)


RYAN: Is it smart for you guys to drop acid in Eric’s house when Eric’s dad is a judge?


ERIC: It’s actually the smartest thing, because if the cops try to enter to seize our LSD, he would have the legal authority to tell them to stand down.


MICHAEL: Or at least beat them to death with a gavel.


ERIC: There you go.


RYAN: Great, problem solved.


MICHAEL: You ready?


ERIC: Here we go.


(Michael and Eric take the tabs of LSD and each put them on their tongue)


RYAN: Remember, don’t swallow them. Just let them melt on their, like butter.


MICHAEL: We got it. It’s fine.


ERIC: This does taste like butter, is that normal?


MICHAEL: No, you just ate a glob of butter earlier.


ERIC: Oh yeah, nevermind.


RYAN: Why’d you do that?


ERIC: I was pre-gaming with weed. How long does it take for this to kick in?


MICHAEL: About half an hour from what I’ve heard.


ERIC: What should we do in the meantime?


RYAN: We could-



RYAN: No you’re not.


ERIC: Yeah, you’re right, that was just an eye floater I saw. Go on.


(Ryan shakes his head as “Third Eye” by Tool begins playing. We cut to a montage of Michael, Eric and Ryan in Eric’s room. Michael, Eric and Ryan are talking, until we speed up the footage to where it kicks in, and Michael sees Milk Way approaching him like a hurricane on a weather map, with Ryan in a suit pointing out the direction of the Milk Way hurricane. Eric looks at this in amazement. Cut to Ryan’s perspective. He sees Michael dragging his finger across a wall while Eric holds a closed umbrella and sits in the corner. Cut to Michael bouncing a ball up and down while Eric pets Ryan in the corner. Cut to Michael, Ryan and Eric watching Futurama. They seem enthralled by it while Ryan looks bored. Cut to Michael and Eric pissing out the window side by side. Cut to Ryan looking at them with disgust. Then pan down to reveal he’s pissing in a water bottle. Michael and Eric turn around as they zip their pants up and the song ends)


RYAN: You people are animals!


MICHAEL: We have reasons to piss out this window, we don’t want to go downstairs and seem weird to Eric’s parents, but what’s your excuse?


RYAN: I always seem weird to Eric’s dad, that’s my excuse.


ERIC: He has a point.


(Ryan takes the bottle off of his dick and holds it up, full of piss)


RYAN: They lock the bathrooms at night at the schools, so late-night editing for KDGM involves a lot of this.




RYAN: Where do I put this?


ERIC: Pour it all over us-I mean, the window, pour it on the window!


RYAN: Out the window?




MICHAEL: You said “all over us” at first!


ERIC: I’M TRIPPING! Okay?! I’m not revealing a secret fetish!


MICHAEL: Eric, do you see that Grateful Dead poster over there?


ERIC: You bet your ass I do.


(Ryan looks behind him)


RYAN: There is no poster over there, does LSD just make you imagine Grateful Dead posters? Here I thought I had been seeing the universe, but I guess I was just seeing what psychedelic cinema told me I would see.


MICHAEL: No, dude…I’m… (Michael sits down near a book shelf) holy shit…


ERIC: What’s up?


MICHAEL: Ryan…I’m going into a black hole.


(Cut to Michael floating towards a black hole. “Reflection” by Tool begins playing in the background. Nearby, Eric is witnessing the event through a telescope)


ERIC: Space ho! Man overboard!


(Michael Stevens, the star of YouTube’s Vsauce channel, pops into the frame)


MICHAEL STEVENS: Hey! Vsauce! Michael here. But-Michael is also, right there! Look!


(Michael Stevens points at Michael approaching the black hole)


MICHAEL: Michael! Save me!


MICHAEL STEVENS: Well… (Michael Stevens shrugs) that’s where it gets complicated. I can’t actually rescue you from a black hole, you’re about to pass the event horizon.


MICHAEL: What the fuck is that?!


(Ryan, dressed as a weatherman holding an umbrella, floats on over)


RYAN: It’s the point at where the human eye can no longer perceive your existence, so even though you still move into the black hole, Eric, Michael Stevens and I cannot see you, you will be frozen in time to us, and will fade away before our eyes.


MICHAEL STEVENS: Pretty neat, huh?



ERIC: Don’t worry, there’s a chance the black hole will suck you in and deposit you in another dimension!


MICHAEL: Awesome, really?!


MICHAEL STEVENS: Well, it might deposit your corpse somewhere else.


MICHAEL: Goddamnit.


RYAN: Worry not, Bingaman! The universe will not notice much when you perish. In the grand scheme of things, you are just a microscopic modicum of the universe.


MICHAEL: …So I’m unimportant?


ERIC: Michael, are you okay, man?


MICHAEL STEVENS: You’re not unimportant, Michael. Mathematically speaking, it’s impossible for you to be unimportant. Every action you take affects the universe in some way.


RYAN: You may be a small part of the Universe’s fabric, but you are nevertheless a part of it.


MICHAEL: Oh wow…


(Michael arrives at the event horizon and freezes in time)


ERIC: Michael, I heard something downstairs. I’m scared my dad is going to bring Bagel Bites up to us.


(Michael begins to fade away. Cut to Michael swirling into the black hole. He seems calm and rushes into the center of it and ends up floating in blackness as the universe appears to comport to an opening behind him)


MICHAEL: …I’m going to die here…and only a few hundred people will care…


(Ryan reaches his giant hands into the entry hole behind Michael and pokes his head through)


RYAN: You have to come back to us, man, shit’s becoming real with Eric’s dad.


MICHAEL: Hold on.


(Michael looks ahead and sees Delaney floating there)


DELANEY: Want to see this cool drawing I made?


MICHAEL: Not really… (Delaney pulls up her shirt to reveal a black hole drawn on her stomach. Michael swirls around and is sucked into it, while screaming. “Reflection” by Tool, ends. Cut to Ryan and Eric talking to Michael on Eric’s bad. Michael, whose eyes are wide open) AHHH-


(Eric puts his hand on Michael’s mouth to muffled the scream)




RYAN: Eric’s dad is coming.


MICHAEL: (Muffled) Isn’t it like 2am-do you mind?


(Eric takes his hand off Michael’s mouth)


ERIC: Sorry.


MICHAEL: Isn’t it like 2am?


RYAN: It’s 9:45.


MICHAEL: In the morning?


RYAN: At night!


MICHAEL: In 2015?!


ERIC: Jesus, we haven’t even been tripping for an hour, Michael!

MICHAEL: Oh my God…I, I don’t know what happened, but…I just experienced total ego death.


RYAN: Ego death?


ERIC: The loss of boundaries between self and environment.


MICHAEL: I freed myself from this terrestrial skin. And it was scary, but…amazing. An amazing, transcendent experience.


RYAN: Wow. That’s pretty crazy, I can’t say that ever happened to me while I was on acid.


MICHAEL: It’s insanity…I want another hit, I think.


ERIC: We don’t have any more.


RYAN: Also, you shouldn’t take too much LSD all at once.


MICHAEL: Coming from this guy.


RYAN: I’ve learned from my mistakes.


MICHAEL: But you turned out okay despite them.




MICHAEL: Fine, but LSD is not the reason you’re fucked up.


RYAN: It’s part of the reason.


(Judge Sullivan walks in with a tray of bagel bites)



(Ryan, Michael and Eric turn around)


RYAN: Hello, Mr. Sullivan.


MICHAEL: Your honor.


JUDGE SULLIVAN: Bagel Bites? Huh?


ERIC: ‘Course dad, just leave them on the fold-out table.


(Judge Sullivan looks around)


JUDGE SULLIVAN: What fold-out table?


ERIC: The one right-


RYAN: Leave them on the desk.




(Judge Sullivan leaves them on the desk)


RYAN: Thanks, Mr. Sullivan.


JUDGE SULLIVAN: You’re welcome, kids. Don’t make too much noise. Your mother and I will be having sex in our bedrooms later.


(Judge Sullivan winks and heads downstairs)


ERIC: I’m not sure what to make of that.


RYAN: Were you hallucinating a fold-out table?


ERIC: Apparently I have boring hallucinations.


(Ryan sighs and sits in Eric’s computer chair and gets online)


MICHAEL: Want to watch auditory hallucination videos?


ERIC: I want to smell them!

(Michael opens up his laptop and starts typing stuff in. Cut to Ms. Tucker counting cash in their RV)


MS. TUCKER: 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20. Wow, twenty dollars. Did you get twenty ones just to make it seem like more money?


PRESTON: I’m sorry! But the demand for LSD is low right now, what with 4/20 and everything.


MS. TUCKER: Well then we need to create a hallmark holiday for LSD! And then we could expand into the greeting card industry, that’d be cool.


PRESTON: I think that’s a stupid approach. What we need, is to ally with a big pusher.


MS. TUCKER: Like who?


PRESTON: Ashton.




(Cut to Michael in DEAP the following Thursday. Mr. Johnson is reading something on his computer)






MR. JOHNSON: Apparently Canada surpassed the United States in terms of middle class wealth.


MICHAEL: …That wasn’t already the case?


MR. JOHNSON: It is now, apparently. The American Dream is officially dead.


MICHAEL: It had a good run…and although that run was mostly fueled by war spending, it was nevertheless a run.


MR. JOHNSON: It’s the Canadian Dream now. Socialized medicine, high tax rates on the rich and early schooling subsidies paid off for them. And I imagine they’ve already apologized eight times for surpassing us.


(Michael chuckles)


MICHAEL: I heard that in Canada, they say “sorry” so much that it can no longer be considered an admission of guilt in a court of law.


MR. JOHNSON: You don’t know the half of it. Check out this clip from Canadian Court TV.


(Mr. Johnson turns the computer towards Michael and plays a clip of a Canadian Magistrate at the bench)


OFF-SCREEN VOICE: (Canadian accent) Ooh, gee, I’m real sorry for that, triple-homicide there. But I would like to make it clear that isn’t an admission of guilt, ya know?


CANADIAN MAGISTRATE: Shut up, entire cast of Degrassi.


(Zoom out to show the entire cast of Degrassi is on trial)


STEFAN BROGREN: But we’re so sorry!


CANADIAN MAGISTRATE: Your show was pretty good, but you’ve disappointed me too many times! Three too many times actually! What with the, triple-homicide there. Sorry, but I’m sentencing you all to Canadian prison. Sorry about that.


(Mr. Johnson turns the screen back to him and Michael laughs)


MICHAEL: Oh my God, I did not hear about that case.


MR. JOHNSON: Me neither.


MICHAEL: What we need, to bring back our economy, is war spending on a formidable opponent, like Russia. You heard we have troops training near the Ukrainian border now, right?


MR. JOHNSON: I did hear about that. And Putin finally admitted that his troops overtook Crimea.


MICHAEL: Just because he said it, I’m almost inclined to not believe him.


MR. JOHNSON: Maybe that’s his strategy.


MICHAEL: But now he’s saying the troops in parts of Ukraine, that are overtaking these buildings, are not Russian.


MR. JOHNSON: They could just be die-hard Russian fans. With Vladimir Putin tour jackets.


MICHAEL: I don’t know, he doesn’t give us a whole lot of reason to trust him. If he’s going to take over Ukraine one building at a time, that’s going to take forever. What policy changes would he institute in each building? No faces, and we have a water cooler now?


MR. JOHNSON: He could have a fake referendum again.


MICHAEL: Would he even bother faking it this time? He straight-up told us he took over Crimea, why not just have a photo-op of him putting purple ink on a dead Ukrainian’s finger?


MR. JOHNSON: Because we might actually do something about it.


MICHAEL: We can’t even take federal land from a guy who’s been stealing it for two decades in our own country, why would we stop Putin?


MR. JOHNSON: Yeah, I don’t know. They both ride horses. But only one of them thinks black people should have stuck to their gig of picking cotton instead of branching out into freedom.


MICHAEL: Yeah, what the hell was that?! A guy who is using federal land he’s not paying for has the audacity to call black welfare recipients mooches?!


MR. JOHNSON: Don’t worry, he believes in providing services to black people, as long as they work for it. For days and days, for no pay.


MICHAEL: Goddamn, did Republicans run away from that asshole.


MR. JOHNSON: No kidding. You’d almost need a fugitive Republican act in place to make sure they all could be accounted for and sold to other whack-jobs whose racist views are not yet known. (Michael laughs as the bell rings) See you next week, Michael.


MICHAEL: See you, Mr. Johnson. (Michael grabs his back pack and walks out of the room and runs into Ryan) Oh, hey.


RYAN: Hey. What are you doing Friday night?


MICHAEL: Oh, I’m going to this big airsoft event in Mystic Stonington, Connecticut. I was going to tell you about it-


RYAN: That sounds awesome, would it be just us?


MICHAEL: Uh, no. It’s gonna be You, Eric and I.


RYAN: Oh…okay.


MICHAEL: …Why do you seem, disappointed?


RYAN: I’m not. It sounds fun.


MICHAEL: You’re looking down and your mouth is open like you have something to say.


RYAN: …I don’t…it’s just-I don’t.


MICHAEL: Holy shit. What is it?


RYAN: …Nothing.


MICHAEL: Ryan, I swear to God.


RYAN: Eric’s place on Friday?


MICHAEL: Yeah, but tell me what’s up.


RYAN: Nothing, dude.


(Ryan starts walking away and Michael follows him)



RYAN: Nothing’s wrong!

MICHAEL: I didn’t ask if anything was wrong!

RYAN: Leave me alone!

(As they go down the hall and bicker, their audio fades out as the screen fades to black)



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