— starring Neil, Sophia, Neil’s Mom, several half-naked girls from Queens, and introducing Moondog, as Neil’s surfer dude buddy.
FADE IN:
INT. DON CARLOS’ FISH TACOS – REDONDO BEACH – DAY
Neil and Moondog have just finished hanging ten at Redondo and are now chilling at Don Carlos’, the sweetest joint in town for fish tacos. Hot girls in bikinis are constantly walking by. All the girls seem to know Neilochka (his surfer name) and Moondog.
Neil: “I think it is time, Moondog. I’m gonna find me my own place and move out.”
Moondog: “About time, dude. My ear was burning like the hot sand hearing this every week after week… for three years…”
Neil: “Maybe I’ll first go to New York for a few weeks cause I still don’t have any digs. Just feeling as down as GeekDude without his Red Bull. I’m feeling major wipeout over my babe.”
Moondog: “Sure, man. We’re all bummed about you and Sophia. But maybe it’s time to move on. Time to ride the next big wave. Definitely go to New York for a trip.”
Neil: “Yeah, I can go see some of that, what do you call it, art. At that museum from that movie. That museum rocks. They got the stuff from the posters… but they’re real!”
Moondog: “Hell no, forget the old dead white dudes. You need to get over Sophia. You got to start schtupping everything is sight. There’s some pretty hot skirt over there in New York.”
Neil: “Sweet. But can’t I do the same here in LA?”
Neil looks over at a buxom beauty in a tight bikini as she rollerblades by, her breasts a bouncin’!
Moondog: “Dude, surfer dudes like us are a dime a dozen at the SoCal surf and turf. In Gotham City, we’re exotic. They hear your LA accent and your Hollywood style, and they’re already getting wet from the tide. It’s time for you to get on that plane, and shine off your own Big Apple hidden away down there…”
Neil: “And where do I meet this chicks? I don’t have the Benjamins for those Samanthas and Mirandas.”
Moondog: “LOL, dude. NYC is P***y Grand Central. They’re everywhere. East side, west side, all around town! Just look at a map of Manhattan. It’s shaped like a giant breast with the nipple pointing out to Brooklyn.”
Neil: “That’s no nipple. That’s the Brooklyn Bridge.”
Moondog: “I’ve felt up two girls from Brooklyn and there must be something in the water there because Brooklyn nipples could slice a pizza pie. No wonder the Dodgers had to move to LA. They couldn’t concentrate on the game. All those Brooklyn nipples.”
Neil: “Well, I won’t be in Brooklyn. I’ll be in Queens. And I’ll be staying with my mother. That’s not a very good spot for a little romance.”
Moondog: “Hey, I met your mother. She’s cool. The babes won’t even know she’s there. But be strong. This is for you… to live it up… don’t call Sophia… for anything…”
CUT TO:
INT. NEIL’S CHILDHOOD BEDROOM – QUEENS – NIGHT
Neil is making passionate love to Freya Aaronson, the once Orthodox, now Reform, Jewish girl he loved in high school but never looked his way, but is now a an assistant editor at Random House and currently submitting her fiction to the New Yorker Magazine.
Freya: “F**k me, Neilochka! F**k me, Neilochka! F**k me, Neilochka! F**k me harder, Neilochka! Nothing could feel as good as you f**king me, Neilochka… maybe except getting published in the New Yorker! F**k me, Neilochka!”
Neil: “Could you just be a little quieter? My mother is sleeping next door. She has to go to work tomorrow early.”
Freya: “F**k me, Neilochka! F**k me, Neilochka! Wasn’t your mother written about in the New Yorker because she’s been working forever at Farrar, Straus, and Giroux? Would she mind if I left behind a few of my stories, Neilochka? They’re perfect for the New Yorker. F**k me, Neilochka! Your mother is amazing. F**k me, Neilochka!”
INT. NEIL’S CHILDHOOD BEDROOM – QUEENS – THE NEXT NIGHT
Neil is in bed, being ridden by Yvonne, the flirtatious black girl from the local stationary store, a brainy grad student at Fordham. The bed is pounding against the wall.
Yvonne: (as she rides him) “Oh my god, dinner was amazing, Neilochka. So good. And my friends consider me a foodie! I can’t believe your mother’s secret ingredient for her brisket is… ketchup. I never would have guessed. How long does she cook the brisket for? It was so tender. So soft.”
Neil: “Can we talk about this later? A conversation about soft, tender meat is not something a man wants to hear when…”
Yvonne: “Do you think she would mind if we went for seconds of the brisket? I can’t stop thinking about it! That brisket was so good. I need to get the recipe. Will she be serving this brisket for Passover?”
Neil: “Passover was last week.”
Yvonne: “Too bad. Try to come fast so we can go have some more brisket.”
INT. NEIL’S CHILDHOOD BEDROOM – QUEENS – THE NEXT NIGHT
Neil is in bed with the petite Emily Ning, a divorced mommyblogger. She lives on the third floor of the same building as Neil’s mother. She works in PR for a Hong Kong-based bank downtown. She is an ardent blogger and loves reading Citizen of the Month. She is giving oral sex to Neil.
Emily: “Do you like how that feels? Do you like that? Am I making you dizzy? You didn’t expect me to know how to do that, did you? How about if I use BOTH hands on your?”
THE CAMERA PULLS BACK
to show that Emily not only giving oral sex, but is also throwing punches in the boxing ring on Neil’s Wii-connected TV, and talking to her opponent, another mommyblogger, via cell phone.
Emily: (into phone) “You didn’t expect to go right, left, did you? You’re going down!”
Emily continues on with her oral sex, looking bored, then leans over to her laptop and sends a quick message to her opponent via Twitter.
Emily: “Knockout, sucker!!”
INT. NEIL’S CHILDHOOD BEDROOM – QUEENS – THE NEXT NIGHT
Neil’s head is between the thighs of Anna Castro, his long-time friend from elementary school, who he has liked ever since they danced the Tarantella together at the fourth grade dance festival. Anna is lying in the bed, her legs apart, waiting impatiently for Neil to take some action. Now, Neil is on the phone, looking frantic:
Neil: (into phone) “I know what I said, Sophia. I said I wouldn’t call you. But I’m telling you… it’s not in the right place with her. I can’t find the spot. Yes, I have my glasses on. Isn’t it in the same place on every woman?… You don’t have to be sarcastic! I didn’t complain when you called me with that stupid computer problem about Photoshop Elements… Yes, she’s nice… It’s none of your business… OK, her name is Anna. .. Yes, the one from the fourth grade dance festival. .. No, I didn’t step on her feet… Yes… yes… Yes, I’m taking the damn cholesterol medicine… Listen, I didn’t call you to chat…”
Neil’s mother opens then door to Neil’s room, carrying a tray of Oreo cookies and low-fat milk.
Neil’s Mother: “Would anyone like a snack?”
Anna quickly jumps out of bed.
Anna: “Thank God. Yes!”
Neil’s Mother: “I’m watching “Dancing with the Stars” on Tivo, Anna. Would you like to join me?”
Anna: “Absolutely!”
Anna exits with Neil’s mother.
CUT TO:
INT. DON CARLOS’ FISH TACOS – REDONDO BEACH – TWO WEEKS LATER – DAY
Neil and Moondog are chilling at Don Carlos’, chowing on fish tacos and drinking Coronas. Moondog is shaking his head in disbelief.
Moondog: “Dude… never tell this story to… anyone.”
The End
Wow,I’m speechless. But, you had me at “Oreo cookies”.
Ah, the distractibility of boinking a blogger who is writing a post in her head and thinking of clever comebacks. The food sounds good here–I’d move in with your mom too. Who wants fish tacos when there’s brisket and Oreos?
It’s like Woody Allen meets Judd Apatow.
What Avitable said :-). I laughed out loud.
Neil, Neil, Neil. What are we going to do with you?
Very funny though. Very funny.
The local pizzeria sometimes forgets to slice the people. That’s why I find it’s always handy to have a Brooklyn girl around.
Hang tough while you’re hanging ten out there Neilochka.
*sighs*
life without sure builds great fantasies of being with someone, but yours are kinda sad. 🙁
funny… but… *huggles and smooches*
I’ve always described you as taller Woody Allen and this just seals it. Brooklyn nipple! Ha.
HAH! Nicely crafted. : )
I’ve never heard a surfer use the word “shtupping” and I’ve known a lot of surfers.
Ahem.
Otherwise this story was totally believable. I laughed, I cried, I might have even had a little accident.
I loved it.
Ha. Scarlet Hip took my comment. So, when are you heading to NY? Seriously.
Neilochka,
Did it ever occur to you that Sophia may purposely train you to perform poorly on other women? That she, in a warped way that simulates love, may just give you the WRONG directions?
Helpful as always,
Jane
Jane — I had a feeling women would do that!
I can’t decide who made me laugh harder, Freya or Anna.
Brilliant post, Neil.
Wait, you have a *NY* accent, not a surfer accent. So by that theory, you should be more exotic to a CA surfer girl, not an east coast girl.
Miss Syl — sigh. if only life was like a blog post.
hehehe… that was too funny!
(do you really know Moondog or was it just a weird conincidence on a name?)
And so, of course, you tell the story to the whole blogosphere. Your therapist will have a field day with this.
You cracked me up at, “They hear your LA accent…” Dude. I’ve heard you on the radio, that is no LA accent.