[at a meeting with the assistant principal, who’s got a big unsightly growth on her face]
Anita: I’m Anita Hoargarth.
Buck Russell: [Staring at it] I’m Buck Melanoma. Moley Russell’s wart. Not her wart. Not her wart! I’m… I’m the wart. She’s my tumor. My… my growth. My… uh, my pimple. I’m Uncle Wart. Just old Buck “Wart” Russell. That’s what they call me, or Melanoma Head. They’ll call me that. “Melanoma Head’s coming.” I’m s… uncle! Maisy Russell’s uncle!
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Buck: Well, well, well, they certainly are scraping the bottom of the barrel for cheerleaders these days. Tia: What are you doing here? Buck: We were just driving by to get some ice cream. Thought you might like to join us. Tia: I said I would be home at 10. It’s not even 9! Buck: Who said anything about that? I thought you might like to join us for some ice cream. Maybe your Bug here can join us. We can talk about burying the hatchet. You know what a hatchet is, don’t you, Bug? Bug: It’s an ax? Buck: Sort of, yeah, yeah. I got one in my car if you’d like to see it. Bug: [getting scared] I’ll pass. Buck: Fair enough. I like to carry it, you never know when you’re going to need it. A situation may come up say for example, someone has been drinking, and about to drive a loved one home… then I’d like to know I have it. Not to kill, no. Just to maim. Take a little off the shoulder. Swish! The elbow. Slash! Shave a little meat off the old kneecap. Fowap! Ooooo! You got both kneecaps? I like to keep mine razor sharp. Sharp enough you can shave with it. Why I’ve been known to circumcise a gnat. You’re not a gnat are you, Bug? Wait a minute, bug, gnat. Is there a little similarity? Whoa, I think there is! Ha ha ha. You understand what I’m talking about? I don’t think you do. I’ll be right back. Heh heh heh heh.
[walks away] Tia: I’m sorry. Bug: Look, I think you’d better split. I don’t exactly want him to go berserk with an ax on me. Tia: He’s all talk.
[Buck pulls out a small hatchet from his car] Buck: Here it is! Come over, come on, I want to show it to you. Maybe later. Okay.
Miles: Where do you live? Buck: In the city. Miles: You have a house? Buck: Apartment. Miles: Own or rent? Buck: Rent. Miles: What do you do for a living? Buck: Lots of things. Miles: Where’s your office? Buck: I don’t have one. Miles: How come? Buck: I don’t need one. Miles: Where’s your wife? Buck: Don’t have one. Miles: How come? Buck: It’s a long story. Miles: You have kids? Buck: No I don’t. Miles: How come? Buck: It’s an even longer story. Miles: Are you my dad’s brother? Buck: What’s your record for consecutive questions asked? Miles: 38. Buck: I’m your dad’s brother alright.
I don’t think I want to know a six-year-old who isn’t a dreamer, or a sillyheart. And I sure don’t want to know one who takes their student career seriously. I don’t have a college degree. I don’t even have a job. But I know a good kid when I see one. Because they’re ALL good kids, until dried-out, brain-dead skags like you drag them down and convince them they’re no good. You so much as scowl at my niece, or any other kid in this school, and I hear about it, and I’m coming looking for you!
Take this quarter, go downtown, and have a rat gnaw that thing off your face! Good day to you, madam.