Two outlaws sit at a campfire. Southern American accents.
Zeek: Damn Willo, why’d you have to go and punch that man in the nose?
Willo: Oh, that? That cause I’m racist.
Zeek: Racist how?
Willo: He was fat.
Zeek: What you sayin’ is you racist against fat people?
Willo: I get, what’s the damn word…repulsive. That it? I get repulsive?
Zeek: But ain’t you fat?
Zeek: Don’t you get repulsive to your own damn self?
Willo: I do.
Zeek: Why don’t you punch yourself in the nose then?
Willo: I do worse things than that.
Zeek: Like what?
Willo: Oh, I throwed myself off a house rooftop once, drilled a screw through my palm, three in fact, kicked a bull from behind and paid dearly for it when he got to turning around on me, ummm, this one time I drove myself up north to Niagara Falls and throwed myself over the guard rail but somehow survived the fall. Another time I went into one a them sweet shops and didn’t stop eating candy until I went into cardiac arrest. Went into Arby’s and threw myself into one a them fryer pot thingies where they make the fries and oh man, I don’t know, flew over to Japan and tried to be a goddamn sumo wrestler but instead got hospitalized for a year and two months.
Zeek: Ain’t it easier just goin’ on a diet?
Willo: Tried all them diets. (pause.) Cacomorphobia.
Willo: Cacomorphobia. I have a bad case of fearing the fat man.
Zeek: What in the hell are you—
Willo: When I was a boy, Jesse Robberson, this giant man boy used to pin me in corners all around the school grounds and sit on my face til I fainted. He’d snuff me out with the bulk of his ass, just like putting out a cigarette.
Zeek: You foolin me?
Willo: Wish I was.
Zeek: I think you’re full of shit.
Willo: I ain’t.
Zeek: I think you’re making all this up to justify your violent tendencies.
Willo: I’m violent because of fat fear.
Zeek: That don’t make no damn sense. I ain’t never heard a such a thing.
Willo: It do. Look it up if you don’t believe me.
Zeek: You need a therapist is what you need.
Willo: I know, I ain’t right.
Zeek: You need to talk to some damn doctor about it before you find your dumbass in prison.
Willo: Already got a record sheet as long as halfway around the globe.
Zeek: They gonna lock you up and throw away the key.
Willo: Shit, I know it.
Zeek: So go seek help man.
Willo: I can’t.
Zeek: Why can’t ya?
Willo: It’s a pride thing.
Zeek: Man, you are one stupid son of a bitch.
Willo: I have no control over it.
Willo: It comes over me like a reflex.
Zeek: (beat) Hey…I have an idea…what if we went and found that guy who used to bury his ass in your face?
Willo: Jesse Robberson?
Zeek: Let’s go pay him a visit.
Willo: And do what?
Zeek: Maybe you can kick his ass and cure yo self.
Willo: I ain’t got a damn thing to say to that man.
Zeek: But maybe if you beat ’em down you’d feel differently.
ZEEK pulls out his phone.
Now…how you spell…Jesse is easy enough but how you spell his last name?
Willo: What you doin’?
Zeek: Willo, just tell me how to spell his last name for God sake.
Willo: (spells outloud) R-O-B-B-E-R-S-O-N.
Zeek: Right. Hold on, let me just type in the right county. I have this app locator, find anybody at anytime.
Zeek: Here! This the guy?
Willo: (looking at Zeek’s phone) I can’t believe it.
Willo: That can’t be…
Zeek: That’s him, right?
Zeek: He is skinny as all hell.
Willo: I can’t–
Willo: All these years…and now he’s a little guy.
Zeek: Hey, you know what? I think the roles have been reversed. Now you the fat man and he the skinny man.
Willo: I think you’re crazy.
Zeek: Sink or swim buddy boy!
Zeek: That’s what I’m talking ’bout? (Zeek stands up and starts gathering belongings)
Zeek: Right now. We drive over to his house, knock on the door, drag him out and you squat right on his face til he runs outta air. You’d be cured! I’m telling you! You’d be cured!
Willo: I ain’t never thought a this before. Let’s go!