Location: Heading north on Highway 401. Sixty miles from Toronto.

Date: Sunday July 14th 2002

Time: 16.21 PM

We're inside the Taurus. Currently, Roe is steering, Li'l Proto is working the pedals, and Wade is on the phone to Ms Contraceptive.

Wade: They did what?

...

Absent-mindedly, he tickles the baby under the chin.

Wade: It's a good job we put some other baby in that room. Otherwise this little tyke would have been lunch.

Roe: Should you be touching the baby, now you've got AIDS? And syphilis.

Wade: Damnit, stop that. It's not my fault. And you two have got syphilis, too.

Roe: A little more gas, LP.

Li'l Proto: *sigh* ... thank f*** this thing's a f***ing automatic.

Wade: Hey, Ms C - whose baby was it you got us to put in that room?

...

Wade: Yeah, you're right. It doesn't matter. Seeya.

Wade hangs up, and puts the cellphone back in Li'l Proto's bag.

Baby: Waaah!

Wade: Um, I think he wants feeding. I've never dealt with a live baby. What do two-day-old babies eat?

Li'l Proto: I think I have some f***ing M&M's in my f***ing bag.

So they try to feed the baby M&M's.

Roe: This is so not working.

Wade: We can't look after a kid. We don't even know what babies eat.

Li'l Proto: Shall we just f***ing throw it out of the motherf***ing window?

Roe: NO. That could be my kid!

Wade: Or mine.

Roe: He looks like me.

Wade: He's small and black. Of course he looks like you. He looks like me, too.

Baby: Waaah!

Li'l Proto: Jesus Christ. Maybe it'll f***ing eat toast.

Roe looks at Toaster.

Wade: Anyone got any bread?

Roe: No.

Li'l Proto: We could f***ing buy some goddamn f***ing bread, from that f***ing roadside store.

Pulling over, they buy some bread.

Wade: Kick ass. I really want some toast.

Popping some bread in Toaster, they make toast.

If Toaster had a mind somewhere inside those bread-warming coils, it'd be pleased. To toast is it's raison d'etre. It toasts, therefore it is. But it just warms the bread.

Roe (munching): Yum. This toast is great. It's black (like SPX), and burnt (not the CEO). Just how I like it.

Wade (chewing): Toast rules.

Li'l Proto (crunching): Let's try the kid with some of this toast s***.

Again, no dice. Two-day-old babies do not eat toast. Screwing up its puny fists, the baby bawls, hungry.

Li'l Proto: Motherf***er! What else COULD babies eat?

Roe: I'll call Ms C.

So he does. A few minutes later, he hangs up.

Roe: Milk!

Wade: Milk?! That's so crazy, it might just work.

Li'l Proto: Back to the store, f***s.

Roe goes and gets some milk, a bottle, and some baby formula.

Wade: What's that stuff?

Roe: Baby formula. It's what babies eat, I guess. That's what Ms C said.

Li'l Proto (tasting it): Yeeurgh. That s*** is f***ing awful.

But Baby Contraceptive enjoys it. Calming down, he goes to sleep.

Roe: He's pretty good-tempered, considering he's the kid of an evil scheming slut, and one of two militant black midgets.

Wade: We should get going. Another two hundred miles should do it. Then we'll be totally safe.

Roe: Yeah, those two are probably still in the arena, fighting.

Wanna bet?

Li'l Proto: You two f***ers drive. I want some more f***ing toast.

Act Three

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws