It's Boulder, Colorado. Dan Hawkins has locked himself in the master bathroom of his Iroquois longhouse where he sits despondent on his flawless tile. Not even his dog-eared Sun Tzu coloring book can cheer him.
Hawkins: Please, Busey-spirit. I am your brother. The Hawk seeks your counsel. I have nowhere else to go. I promised to win 10 games. Reveal yourself, bring forth your wisdom.
Busey: I am here. There is no "here." The mind is a hand and the ego its pinky.
Hawkins: Master! Thank God.
Busey: God is a dexterous hobo riding the rail line of the infinite. The Devil a Pinkerton detective with a truncheon. Now cover your dick or I'll swat it. DICK GAME ON!
Hawkins: No, no not dick game...
Busey: ON I SAID!
Hawkins: Okay, okay. Take it easy.
Busey: Cease your mewling, otter pup. Your energies?
Hawkins: Perishing. My team is horrendous.
Busey: In my yondering days, I woke up supine in a truck stop bathroom in Sasketchewan after a 96 hour bender, my mouth brimming with saliva from kava and betel nut - my wrists cuffed to a 16 inch exposed sewage pipe; a Palawanese shaman leering over me, extracting sixteen inches of bad entrail full of impacted heroin balloon, his filthy taloned hands covered in my scarlet essence; an ashy Marlboro pointed from the side of his mouth like it was an accusation, its blaze lighting up the scene like a Baroque horror amusement. I reeled in despair and as I looked up at the steel gray of the linoleum shitter stall, I saw the wisdom Ass, Gas, or Cash - No One Rides For Free written in the scrawl of an imbecile. I smiled. Then I knew.
Hawkins: Knew what, Busey-manifestation? Attitude determines your altitude?
Busey: Ditch your corporate team-building slogans, whistle-gibbon. You're bringing a saucer of milk to a mechanical tiger with no endocrine system. THE BOY!
Hawkins: I don't know what that -
Busey: DICK GAME. Swat. 1-0.
Hawkins: Ouch! That blow actually gave me cotton mouth. DICK GAME -
Busey: - NOTOFFINFINITY!
Busey: I got it in there. Dick Game still on. Mind your walnuts, australopithecus.
Hawkins: What do you mean? My son?
Busey: Don't play coy. He flings the swineskin like a wood nymph and his only experience with pocket presence was at the Adult Video Mega Store. He's wacking you off.
Hawkins: But he's my son. My beautiful son. The apple of my eye. I've always told him that FAILING stands for Finding An Important Lesson, Inviting Needed Growth (beams).
Busey: He's a collection of cells. A paramecium's best ambition. A hyena's feast if he crashed a bi-plane in the Sahel. You call him Cody. I call him 3rd And McLong. Neither of us is right. His real name is Tammy.
Hawkins: I don't know. Look -
Busey: Shhhhhh. Look in my burning corneas. Do you see doubt? Or fear?
Hawkins: No, Busey-sensei. Never have I seen weakness on your face.
Busey: Your capillaries are caterpillars and your self doubt a can of insecticide turned upon you. Focus on the illusion of my words. Life is an inane limerick - swat - DICK GAME! Two-zip.
Hawkins: Please stop that. I can taste mercury in my mouth. DICK GAME OFF! MEGA INFINITY
Busey: Now you're awake. Now you're existing. What does your Spirit Force tell you? Let it cleanse you like a brillo pad mango
Hawkins: Practice harder.
Busey: I deny it. I deny you. What must you do?
Hawkins: Bench my son?
Busey: Offer your son to me.
Hawkins: An offering? Sacrifice him with a boning knife on an altar made of femurs?
Hawkins: Offer him in a parcel with a bright ribbon?
Busey: I'm losing patience.
Hawkins: I don't get it! Please help me! You have to help me!
Busey: Bring Tammy to Greeley, Colorado. Cover him in bear grease. Offer him a protractor, a Judy Blume book, and a wolfskin. Set him loose. Six days. I will hunt him with a bolo and a war pony. If he survives, he goes to the next level
Hawkins: Must it be so, Busey-vastness?
Busey: Your sweatlodge has run out of kindling.
Hawkins: It will be so.
Busey: I love these granite countertops.