[HAMISH, BRAD, and TOM are at a house party.]
HAMISH: You bought her a Mint Julep?
BRAD: Yea.
HAMISH: You bought her a Mint Julep?
TOM: A Mint Julep?
BRAD: I thought I'd buy her something nice.
TOM: What's a Mint Julep?
HAMISH: Okay. But a Mint Julep?
TOM: What's a Mint Julep?
BRAD: It's the first thing that came to my mind.
HAMISH: A Mint Julep is the first thing that came to your mind.
TOM: That's funny.
HAMISH: What did I tell you?
BRAD: What?
HAMISH: What did I tell you?
BRAD: What?!
HAMISH: Coors Light.
BRAD: Coors Light.
TOM: Coors Light?
HAMISH: Coors Light. All girls like Coors Light.
BRAD: But I didn't want to get her a beer.
TOM: All girls like Coors Light?
HAMISH: That's right.
BRAD: I didn't want to get her a Coors Light.
HAMISH: So you get her a Mint Julep?
TOM: Rosetta like Coors Light?
HAMISH: Rosetta will drink whatever I get her. I order goat's milk? She'll drink goats milk.
BRAD: See, now how do you do that?
HAMISH: What?
TOM: Rosetta drinks goat's milk?
HAMMISH: How do I do what?
BRAD: Just get these girls to like hang all over you.
HAMISH: What do you mean?
TOM: Yea, girls hang all over you.
BRAD: I see how they look at you.
TOM: Yea, and you usually look like crap.
HAMISH: What?
TOM: Sorry. That's like, a compliment though.
BRAD: Tom's right. You do usually look like crap. Look at you now.
HAMISH: It's all part of the equation.
BRAD: What? What equation?
HAMISH: You bought Roberta a nice drink. Or what you thought was a nice drink.
BRAD: What?
TOM: The Mint Julep.
HAMISH: Right, the Mint Julep. Whatever. You bought this girl an expensive drink. Right?
BRAD: Yea.
TOM: It was expensive? The Mint Julep was expensive?
BRAD: Hell yea it was expensive!
HAMISH: And what did she do?
BRAD: Well, she laughed.
HAMISH: She laughed. Did she drink it?
BRAD: A little bit. I don't think she liked it.
HAMISH: Did she appreciate it?
BRAD: What?
HAMISH: Did she appreciate the fact that you took your hard earned money and bought her a very expensive drink?
BRAD: Well…
HAMISH: Well nothin'. Did she say thank you?
BRAD: I can't remember. She laughed. She thought it was funny.
HAMISH: Funny. She laughed at you.
TOM: She laughed at you?
BRAD: Fuck you Tom, she didn't laugh AT me.
HAMISH: You said she laughed.
TOM: She laughed at your drink.
HAMISH: That's right, you said she laughed. Was she laughing with you? Or at you?
BRAD: I don't know. I didn't really think about it.
TOM: You should have bought her a Coors Light.
BRAD: Fuck you Tom! You haven't bought anybody a drink! I don't see you buyin' any girls a drink. Ever! What the hell do you know?
HAMISH: Case in point! Tom? Tom, did you buy Rosetta a drink last month?
TOM: No.
HAMISH: Did you fuck Rosetta?
TOM: Yes.
HAMISH: Ah-ha!
BRAD: Bullshit.
HAMISH: Tom is not contributing to the alcoholism of the female sex, however he is getting laid on a regular basis.
BRAD: Once a month? I wouldn't call that…
HAMISH: Yet, you, my friend raise the Mint Julep inventory a couple hundred percent, but your penis still remains very dry. What goes Brad?
BRAD: Tom is just tight. He's drinking my beer right now and I'm not going to fuck him.
HAMISH: But! See, women like men who are tight with a buck. They say they like a man who buys them diamonds, but deep down Darwinism takes over, and lurking under each and every party girl is the churning hormones of a woman searching for the proper mate. The ultimate cave dweller to raise her offspring, to take care of her, to buy her a fitting cave, to fight off the threatening dinosaurs of a poor economy. The radar is set, and suddenly they become pulled like a magnet to Tom here. Conservative, tight, balances his checkbook during a party. Unassuming, but loaded. How much in debt are you for going to college my man.
TOM: None.
HAMISH: See? Inherently in a woman's hormones, they know that Tom may be a bit slow, BUT he will provide!
BRAD: Yea well, what about you? That's who we're talking about here, you're in debt for college.
HAMISH: That's right.
BRAD: You don't balance your checkbook.
HAMISH: True.
BRAD: So what's up with you?
TOM: Coors Light.
BRAD: Shut up Tom.
HAMISH: It's very simple my boy.
BRAD: What?
HAMISH: Women like it when you treat them like shit.
BRAD: Like shit?
HAMISH: Like shit.
BRAD: I don't agree. Not all the time.
HAMISH: Woman asks if I buy ‘em a drink? I get them tap water in a warm glass.
BRAD: Bullshit.
HAMISH: I'm nice to the ladies sometimes, I know, but the fact of the matter is: You tried to get into Roberta's pants by being nice and buying her a Mint Julep. That shit fails. They know you want them and they WILL disappear. You woo them with flowers, take them out to dinner? They will, and I guarantee this, they will kick you to the curb. And now you made it worse: she's telling everyone in the known universe what a weirdo goon you are for buying her a damned nice Mint Julep. It's sad, but true. Now the hard to get thing?- that don't work either. They could give a crap But, you tell her to fuck off tonight for no good reason? She'll be following you around like a lost puppy. "He doesn't want me? Men have to WANT me! Why is he mad at me? What did I do? Does he hate me? How could he hate me? No one can HATE ME! I'M PERFECT!"
TOM: Women don't like to think a man hates them?
HAMISH: That's right Tommy!
TOM: It's like when we were in grade school and you pulled on the pigtails of the girl you liked. Like Christy Corbett. I sat behind this girl with pigtails, her name was Christy Corbett and she always would ignore me? So one day I pulled on her pigtails really hard and she hit me and then we played a lot after that. Pen fights, water fights, paperclip fights, sometimes we'd just fight. I'd hit her really hard. And she'd hit me. We'd wrestle. I'd pop a boner. I didn't really know what it was at the time. Neither did she. Is it like that?
HAMISH: Yea. Yea, man it's like that.
BRAD: What the fuck are you talking about Tommy?
HAMISH: I think the point Tom is trying to make is—You are too nice. Was your father tough with your sister?
BRAD: Was he!
HAMISH: See? That's all they know. And daughters love their dads. Would do anything for them. My dad practically kept my sister in cage. And she loves him. That's all they grew up with: Tough men. That's it! Be a tough father figure.
TOM: Hey look, it's Michelle.
BRAD: I don't like Michelle.
TOM: I like her. She's got big calves. Like Hilary Clinton.
BRAD: Why don't you go have a paperclip fight with her?
HAMISH: Fine. You don't like Michelle. But you know who else doesn't like Michelle?
BRAD: Roberta? Really.
HAMISH: That's right. I'll give you a dollar if you just go up to Michelle and put your tongue down her throat. I guarantee Roberta will be talking to you TONIGHT.
BRAD: Really? But she's not here yet.
HAMISH: Don't worry about it. I saw her out in her car with Rosetta.
TOM: You think so?
HAMISH: Like shit my man, like stink on shit.
[BRAD downs his drink and exits. Rebecca enters.]
TOM: Hey, there's Rebecca.
HAMISH: Yea. You like her? She's in plays right? The theater crowd ain't my thing.
TOM: She's cute. Doesn't talk much.
HAMISH: Well, you know what to do.
TOM: No. What do I do?
HAMISH: I don't know. I don't know this chick. You do.
TOM: You think she's cute?
HAMISH: Sure. Why don't you give her a little love.
TOM: I can't.
HAMISH: Then go pull on her pigtails.
TOM: Not now, I just want to drink Brad's beer.
HAMISH: You want me to talk to her?
TOM: No.
HAMISH: Why not? You don't think I can?
TOM: Sure, but.
HAMISH: Countdown's on man, if you don't I will… five, four, three, two,
TOM: Shut-up!
[They push and shove each other a little bit.]
REBECCA: Hi Tom. Hi Hamish.
[They freeze.]
HAMISH: Hi.
[Tom throws his beer in her face. Rebecca stands stunned.]
TOM: Hi Rebecca!
[Rebecca runs out. A beat.]
