WOODLY
Correct.
HAROLD
What an hallucination!
(laughs)
Oh, dear, dear, dear, dear. Oh dearie me.
WOODLY
You haven't heard me yet.
HAROLD
You intend to crack my eardrums with your voice? Will I bleed from my every orifice? Who will clean up this awful mess?
WOODLY
We'll find out now, won't we?
PENELOPE
No, we won't. No matter how it begins, it will end in death. Because it always does. Isn't that always how it ends, Harold--in death?
HAROLD
There has to be a threat of some sort, nobility of some sort, file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/K...gut%20-%20Happy%20Birthday%20Wanda-June.htm (130 of 143) [10/16/2004 4:36:53 PM]
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, WANDA JUNE
glamour of some sort, sport of some sort. These elements are lacking.
WOODLY
You're a filthy, rotten bastard.
HAROLD
(pretending to be wounded) Oooooo. That hurt.
WOODLY
You're old--so old.
HAROLD
Now who's being cruel?
WOODLY
A living fossil! Like the cockroaches and the horseshoe crabs.
HAROLD
We do survive, don't we? You're going to have to apologize, of course, for calling me a bastard. That's a matter of form--not allowing you or anybody to call me a bastard. No rush about that. Just remember to apologize sometime soon.
PENELOPE takes the rifle from PAUL.
WOODLY
You're a son of a bitch.
HAROLD
Yes--well--uh--that's another one of those statements which more or less automatically requires an apology. Whenever you feel like it. It's sort of like turning off an alarm clock that's ringing loudly. Your apology turns off the alarm.
PENELOPE
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, WANDA JUNE
(leveling the gun) I'm turning off the alarm. I'm turning off everything.
HAROLD
Ah! The lady is armed.
PENELOPE
I want you to get out of here, Norbert. Harold--I want you to sit down in the chair, and not lift a finger until Norbert is gone.
HAROLD
(to WOODLY)
Whoever has the gun, you see, gets to tell everybody else exactly what to do. It's the American way.
PENELOPE
I mean it!
HAROLD
Then you'd better fix your bayonet, because there aren't any bullets in the gun.
PENELOPE
(to PAUL)
Where's the bullet?
PAUL makes no move to help.
HAROLD
Help your mother find the bullet.
PENELOPE
(to PAUL, pointing to the floor)
There it is. Give it to me. PAUL obeys.
PENELOPE
How do I load?
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, WANDA JUNE
HAROLD
(to PAUL)
Load it for her.
PAUL shakily obeys.
HAROLD
Cock it, too.
PAUL obeys.
HAROLD
Give it to her.
PAUL obeys.
PENELOPE
All right! Am I exceedingly dangerous now?
HAROLD
The National Safety Council would be appalled.
PENELOPE
Then listen to me.
(angrily)
You're both disgusting--with your pride, your pride.
(to WOODLY)
I hate you for coming here--like a federal marshal in a western film. I loved you when you stayed away. But here you are now--high noon in the Superbowl! You fool, you fool.
WOODLY
Everything's going to be beautiful.
PENELOPE
You fake! You're no better than the dumbest general in the Pentagon. (pause)
You're not going to beat Harold. file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/K...gut%20-%20Happy%20Birthday%20Wanda-June.htm (133 of 143) [10/16/2004 4:36:53 PM]
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You're not going to beat anybody. You're not going to stay here, either--yammering and taunting until you're most gloriously killed. Go home!
HAROLD
She's right, Norbert--go home.
WOODLY
I haven't said all I have to say.
PENELOPE
Out!
WOODLY
I haven't told you, Harold, how comical I think you are.
HAROLD
(hit squarely,
absolutely unable to forgive) Comical?
PENELOPE
(to HAROLD)
Sit down or I'll shoot!
HAROLD goes over to her, easily takes the gun away)
HAROLD
Give me that Goddamn thing! Now get out of here, or I might kill you. Who knows?
PENELOPE
(terrified)
You've killed women?
HAROLD
Seventeen of them--eleven by accident. March! Move!
(to PAUL)
You, too!
PENELOPE and PAUL move toward the front door. file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/K...gut%20-%20Happy%20Birthday%20Wanda-June.htm (134 of 143) [10/16/2004 4:36:53 PM]
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, WANDA JUNE
PENELOPE
Norbert--you come, too.
(to HAROLD)
Let him go, Harold. Let him go.
HAROLD
Of course he can go--if he'll just go down on his hands and knees for a moment--and promise me that he does not find me comical in the least degree.
PENELOPE
Do it, Norbert.
WOODLY
Hands and knees, you say?
HAROLD
And terror, if you don't mind.
PENELOPE
Do it!
WOODLY
(to PENELOPE, simply, decisively, unafraid) Goodbye.
HAROLD
(before she can
protest any more)
Goodbye! Goodbye!
He bellies and bullies PENELOPE and PAUL out the front door.
HAROLD
Get the police! No time to lose!
He slams the door, turns to WOODLY.
HAROLD
You're in one hell of a jam. You realize that?
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, WANDA JUNE
WOODLY
I'm high as a kite.
HAROLD
Glands. You're supposed to be happy when you die. Call me comical again.
WOODLY
You're a clown. You're a clown who kills--but you're a clown.
HAROLD
I love you! Have a cigar!
WOODLY
(ignoring the cigar) Evolution has made you a clown-with a cigar. Simple butchers like you are obsolete!
HAROLD
I'm to be left behind--in primordial ooze?
WOODLY
If you're at home in the ooze, and nowhere else.
HAROLD
This is going to become very physical. Are you prepared for that?
WOODLY
You're not such a creature of the ooze that you'd hurt an unarmed man.
HAROLD
I'm an honorable clown?
WOODLY
King Arthur.
HAROLD
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You hope.
WOODLY
In any event, I will not beg for mercy.
HAROLD
No quarter asked.
(taking a sword)
No quarter given.
WOODLY
Don't you laugh even inwardly at the heroic balderdash you spew?
HAROLD
(offering sword)
Cut me open. Find out.
WOODLY
I've struck my blow.
HAROLD
With spittle?
WOODLY
I've poisoned you.
HAROLD
(pointing at WOODLY
in horror)
Lucretia Borgia?
(looking around frantically) Something I drank or touched? (understanding)
You refused a cigar. That's it!
Potassium cyanide in the humidor!
Treacherous lover of peace!
WOODLY
I put a poisoned thought in your head. Even now that poison is seeping into every lobe of your mind. It's saying, "Obsolete, obsolete, obsolete," and, "Clown, file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/K...gut%20-%20Happy%20Birthday%20Wanda-June.htm (137 of 143) [10/16/2004 4:36:53 PM]
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clown, clown."
HAROLD
Poison.
WOODLY
You have a very good mind, or I wouldn't have come back. That mind is now asking itself, cleverly and fairly, "Is Harold Ryan really a clown?" And the answer is, "Yes."
HAROLD
(touching his
forehead experimentally) I--I really must congratulate you. Something is
