The Sugar Frosted Nutsack by Mark Leyner Page B

yourself: ‘Well, what if we created a “thing,”
    Which has no purpose,
    Which is absolutely conceptual and highly theoretical and which nobody knows how to price?’”
     
    REAL HUSBAND & REAL WIFE
    I’m a severed bard-head!
    I can’t stop reciting what I started!
    This shit ain’t for the fainthearted!
    We ain’t toasted, we Pop-Tarted!
    So dump me in the toilet bowl and flush me!
    Throw me in a garbage truck and crush me!
    A trash compactor or a wine press works OK,
    It’s like all that stupid shit in the Cirque du Soleil!
    Suicide-by-cop sounds fun,
    But you can never find a motherfuckin’ cop
    When you need one!
     
    REAL HUSBAND
    “Going into the forest to gather wild garlic”
    Is a euphemism for those times
    When Ike stares off into space,
    Listening to the voice of a particular
    God who’s speaking to him.
     
    REAL WIFE
    Or when he thinks
    The writhing Goddesses are
    Ogling him and masturbating,
    Or when he thinks he hears
    The distant whine of a
    Drone aircraft circling overhead.
     
    REAL HUSBAND & REAL WIFE
    I’m a severed bard-head!
    I can’t stop reciting what I started!
    This shit ain’t for the fainthearted!
    We ain’t toasted, we Pop-Tarted!
    So dump me in the toilet bowl and flush me!
    Throw me in a garbage truck and crush me!
    A trash compactor or a wine press works OK,
    It’s like all that stupid shit in the Cirque du Soleil!
    Suicide-by-cop sounds fun,
    But you can never find a motherfuckin’ cop
    When you need one!
     
    REAL HUSBAND
    Ike had a dream about La Felina .
    There was something dangling from her snatch.
    At first Ike thought it was a tampon string,
    But as he came closer
    He could see that it was a fortune.
     
    REAL WIFE
    He pulled it out and read it.
    It said, “To propitiate XOXO ,
    So he allows your story to be told
    In a quasi-coherent way,
    You must kill your father, etc.
     
    REAL HUSBAND & REAL WIFE
    I’m a severed bard-head!
    I can’t stop reciting what I started!
    This shit ain’t for the fainthearted!
    We ain’t toasted, we Pop-Tarted!
    So dump me in the toilet bowl and flush me!
    Throw me in a garbage truck and crush me!
    A trash compactor or a wine press works OK,
    It’s like all that stupid shit in the Cirque du Soleil!
    Suicide-by-cop sounds fun,
    But you can never find a motherfuckin’ cop
    When you need one!
     
     
    The REAL HUSBAND and REAL WIFE stop tapping their wedding rings on their cans of Sunkist orange soda, and the tempo slows.
    The sky darkens.
     
     
    REAL WIFE I just want to tell you something. We both knew exactly what we were getting into when we signed on to this whole Sugar Frosted Nutsack thing…
    REAL HUSBAND I realize that.
    REAL WIFE I’m fated to leave you for a blind, drug-​addled bard, and then you have to enucleate your own eyeballs. It’s all foretold in the epic. You have to really do it—I mean, the eye thing.
    REAL HUSBAND I know.
    REAL WIFE No regrets?
    REAL HUSBAND In the Thirteenth Season, when Ike tells The Waitress at the Miss America diner about his intention (and destiny) to commit suicide-by-cop and thus enable his family to collect on his life insurance policy, The Waitress says that “fate is the ultimate preexisting condition.” And I believe that.
     
     
    (The following is sung to the melody of “O Sink Hernieder, Nacht Der Liebe” from Richard Wagner ’s Tristan und Isolde .)
     
     
    REAL WIFE
    At the risk of hoisting myself
    On my own petard,
    I’m leaving you
    For a blind, drug-addled bard.
     
    REAL HUSBAND
    What about Cupid’s Stigmata?
      REAL WIFE
    My heart’s started an Intifada!
     
     
    As she departs, he calls out to her—
     
     
    REAL HUSBAND
    Instead of humiliating myself
    By begging you to come back,
    I’ll devote the rest of my life
    To chanting The Sugar Frosted Nutsack !
     
     
    He takes a melon baller from the picnic basket…
     
     
    REAL HUSBAND
    ’Scuse me while I kiss the sky!
     
     
    …and blinds himself.
     
    We hear the opening bars of the Mister Softee jingle