INTERIOR: BILL JACKS's house. ZIPPY is chirping wildly. BILL putters around living room, trying to tidy the clutter. There is a rumbling sound from outside. BILL cocks his head quizically. Suddenly the wall is demolished.
KOOL-AID MAN: OH YEAH!!!
BILL: Jesus, Mary and Joseph, are you kidding me?
KOOL-AID MAN: OH YEAH!!!
BILL: What in the name of Jehosaphat are you doing in my home?
KOOL-AID MAN: Kool-Aid's here, bringing you fun.
[BILL glowers]
KOOL-AID MAN: Bill is thirsty.
BILL: I most assuredly am not thirsty. Twenty-six years on the force, I can tell when my tongue is parched.
KOOL-AID MAN: The end of the pitcher is near.
BILL: The end of what, my bulbous, glass friend? The end of you, if you don't clean up this mess. Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ! My genitals are exposed to the entire neighborhood. A man works, a man serves the community, doesn't a man have a right to four walls and some privacy?
KOOL-AID MAN: OH YEAH!!!!
BILL: I don't trust you, you fluid-filled freak. You may have cozied up to the Yosts, but fortunately they have a friend like me watching out for them. I got my eye on you.
KOOL-AID MAN: I got my eye on YOU!
BILL: No, I got my eye on YOU!
KOOL-AID MAN: I got my spout on YOU!
BILL: [muttering and sputtering to self] The whole block has their eye on me with this hole you put in my wall -- unprovoked I might add. Are you going to repair it?
KOOL-AID MAN: I don't know Butchie instead.
BILL: [to self, or perhaps to ZIPPY] Good Lord, if I must speak to an animated pitcher of fruit juice, surely it could communicate in straight forward English. [to KOOL-AID MAN] Some of the wetbacks slinking across the border make more sense than you!
KOOL-AID MAN: Bill Jacks should get back in the game. With the help of refreshing Kool-Aid.
BILL: When I want your advice, which assuredly will be never, I will let you know.
KOOL-AID MAN: See God, Bill. [gets big, wide, happy, ear-to-ear Kool-Aid smile]
END SCENE
