This Is What Happens Next Read Free

have to talk about polar bears and drinking water and hurricanes and terrorism and the decline of Western civilization, or let’s just cut to the chase: Y’all die. Thank you and good night, I’ll be here all week, tell your friends. No. Forget about the ending, there’s no happy in the ending. You want to be happy. I’m assuming that. So what are you going to do, sit around and wait for your happy ending? You might as well just stay home and watch TV or go shopping. It’s not going to happen. There’s only one way to be happy. And that is to know what you want and use your Will to get it.
    Okay so, apparently there needs to be a story. And apparently that’s become my job. Well that’s easy. Just tell the truth. All you have to do is adjust some facts, alter some names, change a sex, make some substitutions: like hot tub for waterbed, that kind of thing, and add a “once upon a time.” So… Once upon a time there was… Warren. Warren: forty-five, looks it, trim, works at it, gay, comes off mincier than he thinks, a bit of a blamer, but overall not a bad guy. Warren wants something… He wants… He wants to get his stuff back. Bad breakup. Left in a hurry. The ex kept the house. Time has passed. The ex has moved on. Warren’s a little pissed. He’s got some stuff still at the house he wants. His… sneakers, his windbreaker, a book, his tax stuff, a… a CD … a John Denver cd . Sure let’s bring him into the mix. Why not, just because he has bad taste doesn’t mean he’s not a good person. He’s got a weak spot for John Denver, so what. It’s his stuff. It’s your stuff, Warren. You want your stuff back. This is bullshit. You go and get your stuff.
    WARREN ’s phone rings.
    And don’t answer that phone!
    Light shift.
    WARREN
    This is bullshit! This is bullshit! Okay. I call him last week and tell him that I want to come and get my stuff today, Saturday, and he says: “Saturday might not be the best day for me.” Oh really? Well Saturday is the best day for me. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’ve got an apartment. I’ve got a job. I make money. I made the divorce trip to Ikea for carpets and can openers and tea lights and hangers. I’ve got parking. I’ve got a permit. Fifty dollars a month I park on the street no problem. Just outside my place. Around the corner. Past the market. Past the liquor store, the pastry place, the smoke shop, the bookstore and just beside the Italian bistro, it’s very convenient. Have the whole driveway now, have the whole thing. Get a couple of junkers and park them in the yard. I’m fine. I’m so fine I’m thinking about taking a tai chi class. How’s that okay? I’ve even been talking to someone about taking private lessons because I’m better one-on-one. Well he would say I suck at one-on-one but let me rephrase that. I’m better one-on-one with SANE people who don’t have these arbitrary INSANE rules like: “Don’t kiss me like that” or “Always ask me how was my day” or “Come to bed when I say so.” That’s just… Look, I just want my stuff, okay. My my my my sneakers and my my windbreaker; I’m not going out and buying a new windbreaker when I have a perfectly good windbreaker sitting in my closet. HIS closet. Yeah fine. Have the closet. Have the house. Have the pool I paid for. Yeah yeah he dug the hole, well you know what if nobody pays for the pool all you’ve got there is a HOLE in the GROUND . Fill it with water, then you’ve got MUD . But he doesn’t have MUD he has a POOL . Enjoy the pool but I want my windbreaker. And my sneakers, they’re not just sneakers they’re Cole Haan. And that book I was reading, that philosophy book, I’m thinking about taking a class. And my tax stuff. I want my tax stuff. And I don’t want my stuff tomorrow I want my