Benedict Whaddya mean, nothing?
John I DON'T WANT ANYTHING! (still looking frantically in the planner)
Benedict Then why did you get a tray?
John CRAP, I MISSED MY 12:35. (hits himself in the forehead with the planner as a sort of penance) I'm sorry, Stanley. What were you saying about the Simian Rage defense?
Benedict HEY I WANNA KNOW ABOUT THE TRAY! YOU THINK YOU CAN COME IN HERE, GET A TRAY AND NOT BUY ANYTHING? DON'T YOU KNOW WE GO IN THE HOLE ON THAT DEAL?
Marty You tell'em Benedict.
Benedict MARTY HERE JUST WASHED THAT TRAY NOT 30 MINUTES AGO SO THAT IT WOULD BE READY FOR A PAYING CUSTOMER, AND YOU GO DIRTYING IT UP JUST FOR THE HELL OF IT. YOU JUST WANT US TO TAKE THE LOSS AND SHUT UP ABOUT IT. WE'LL NEVER SEE THAT SOAP AGAIN. YOU ARE THE MODEL OF INEFFICIENCY.
John Sorry.
Benedict Fuck you.
John (to Stanley) What were you saying? I mean I've heard of the Black rage defense.
Stanley In the Simian Rage Defense, we claim that being a Simian in a human dominated environment creates so much tension and angst that the slightest provocation could have sent our client over the edge.
John Don't you think that by making these thinly veiled comparisons between gorillas and Blacks that we run the risk of being labeled racist ourselves? Aren't you worried that a jury would see through this facade we are creating?
Stanley Who are you? Roger fucking Ebert? You're being too analytical. Stay on the surface. Don't overestimate the intelligence of the guy on the street. Nobody sees these patterns, certainly not a guy too fucking stupid to get out of jury duty. The race card is a lock.
John I see. So maybe we could suggest that the teacher is a racist because he reacted so quickly when it was a white girl seemingly being attacked. Maybe if she had been another gorilla... (they sit at a table)
Stanley Now you're getting it! Being a lawyer means looking for opportunity. You have to turn adversity into advantage. Suppose there's this 1300 pound Guinness book fat guy, and you're his lawyer. How would you advise him?
John (Pause) I guess I would tell him to approach the National Hockey League about a position as a goalie.
Stanley And a pro hockey salary...
Together BUYS A LOTTA FUCKIN' TWINKIES! (they High Five as best they can in their chairs)
Stanley I see a bright future for you my boy. (Huge ring-everybody checks and answers at once; everyone gets a call simultaneously and spends the rest of the scene thumbing insanely through planners. Ned's lawyers are so distracted that Ned is able to sneak away.)
Lights dim on executives; intensify on Benedict and Marty signifying a shift in focus.
Benedict I am filled with existential dread.
Marty You can say that again.
Benedict (annoyed-not looking at him) Shut up you freak. I was not talking to you.
Marty (sincerely) Oh, hey man, I'm sorry. I did it again, didn't I? It's just that when you start talking, and there's no one else here, I think you are talking to me.
Benedict Don't you ever think out loud? Don't you ever have a thought and want to give it utterance for no other reason than to establish it clearly?
Marty (very long pause as they stare at each other) Are you talking to me?
Benedict YES GODDAMN IT!
Marty Oh. Well, yeah I guess I do that sometimes... but not as completely as you do. Like this morning when I burned my arm on the breadpan, I thought "Oh Shit that really hurts." But I think I only said the "Oh shit" part.
Benedict (utterly frustrated with Marty's inability to relate to him, he finally breaks off the angry stare. Then to himself) God what am I doing here?
Marty I know what you mean.
Benedict SHUT UP!
Marty You said we were talking! What's bugging you anyway?
Benedict What's bugging me? I'll tell you what's bugging me. The absolute absurdity of our existence is what is bugging me. You see that painting? Do you even know who that is?
Marty I think you told me once. But I can't remem...
Benedict It's Thoreau you brainless lemming. He said we should simplify our lives, that the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation, that our lives are filled with too much getting and spending, that our lives are frittered away by detail. Now look at all these assholes, and tell me if he was right.
Marty Um... yes?
Benedict (seething with frustration)You're not supposed to actually answer the question you fucking cretin.
Marty You were looking right at me that time! You were talking right to me!
Benedict IT'S CALLED A RHETORICAL QUESTION YOU... ARRGGHH(bangs his head violently against back wall)
Marty I'm sorry, man. I guess I'm just not that familiar with what's his name.
Benedict (softened slightly by Marty's humility)Well, you should be. Everyone should be. He had an understanding of things that few people possess. Like time for instance. Do you know what he said about time?
Marty (very long pause-he is hesitant to respond-finally, sheepishly) Is that a rhetorical question?
Benedict (becomes enraged, then gradually calms himself down enough to say) He said "Time is but the stream I go fishing in." That is an enlightened perspective.
Marty I love to fish.
Benedict For him, time is fluid like a stream. It is constantly moving and changing and adapting. You can't catch it. (pause) But look at these morons. They've got their planners and their watches and their schedules. It's like they are all standing in the river trying to scoop up a little bit of it and define it and demarcate it. (he looks to Marty to check for comprehension)
Marty (Sensing the need of a response and attempting to mimic Benedict's scorn for the masses he says unconvincingly) I just wish these fuckers would get out of the fucking river.
As Marty returns to work, Benedict (with a steely stare) brains him with a cast iron skillet. Marty falls behind the counter. Benedict puts down the skillet, and picks up a meat cleaver. He crouches down behind the counter, and hacks away at Marty's body. With each strike we see the bloody cleaver rise leaving grisly blood trails on the counter and rear walls. Benedict stands and leaves. No one in the restaurant is aware of any of this.
Blackout