donna: Hey, skunk-tamers.
You wanna play Sega Genesis with your dad?
mike: Woman . . .
donna: Come on!
The boys wanna play Sega with their daddy.
wind: Yeah, Dad!
Sega!
mike: Okay, get me a beer.
wind: You’re the best, Dad!
wind gives a beer to his dad. (Not before sneaking a sip.)
(to audience) Do you have Sega Genesis?
It’s our thirty-two-bit status symbol.
Our oasis by the beach.
Our adopted mother.
(to the game console) Hey, Big Mama Sega Genesis!
You ready to go?
big mama sega genesis: How you doin, baby?
You wanna play Sonic the Hedgehog?
mike: Hockey.
big mama sega genesis: I was talkin to the child.
Child, you wanna play hockey?
Anything for you, baby.
wind scores.
donna: Nice one!
Gettim!
wind: Yes!
Nice one, eh, Dad?
Pretty sweet goal.
mike: Don’t rub it in.
donna: No, rub it in!
Teach him a lesson!
wind scores again.
mike: Cheap goal.
Game cheats.
big mama sega genesis: Cheat?
If cheatin means makin it easier for my babies while hindering their opposition then I’m guilty.
wind scores again.
donna: Mike, don’t.
wind: (to audience) My father moves like a wolf.
He grabs Big Mama Sega Genesis and throws her across the room.
And Big Mama Sega Genesis says:
big mama sega genesis screams as she flies at the wall:
big mama sega genesis: sega!
wind: . . . and lands: splash!
Right in Angelina’s dish when she’s drinking.
angelina: Sex and violence!
Sex and violence!
mike: I’m going out.
Get the kids to bed.
donna: Mike, it’s just a game.
We’re having a nice time.
mike: Thought you wanted to be a mother.
Now’s your fuckin chance.
mike leaves; donna follows him to the door.
donna: Mike—
That’s not—
You can’t just—
I wanna go too!
Mike!
. . . Time for bed, kids.
huff: That’s my mom’s sweater.
donna: Your dad was gonna throw it out so I kept it.
wind: My mom’s a lot prettier than you.
donna: Time for bed, kids.
wind climbs onto the chair.
wind: (to audience) Little kids are cruel.
We know when you’re beat.
Me and my little brother can torment you like a horde of blackflies.
(to donna) Donna, can we watch a movie?
Donna, can we have ice cream?
Donna, can we go to McDonald’s?
Donna, Charles is trying to light a cat on fire.
donna: Jesus Christ, Charles.
Let that cat alone.
wind: (to audience) She’s waiting at the door.
Watching for my father to come home.
All she wants in the world is for me and my brother to go to sleep.
huff: Donna!
Donna!
Donna!
Donna!
Donna!
Donna!
Donna!
donna: Stop it!
Awus!
I’ll make you a deal.
If you’re good, and you go to bed, I’ll give you candy for breakfast.
That’s right, candy in your Frosted Flakes.
Just please go to sleep.
donna closes the bedroom door and goes into the bathroom. She runs the shower and takes her clothes off. She lathers. She sings.
She hears someone come in.
Jus’quaw!
I’m in the shower.
They don’t leave.
I’m in the shower, I said!
She peaks out from behind the shower curtain.
Charles, get out!
Stop looking at me.
Stop it!
Get out, I said!
You fucking little pervert, Charles!
She looks down at his penis.
Put that dick away.
Stop it.
Stop doing that.
Charles.
Stop looking at me.
Fucking stop it!
Get out!
Get out!
Get out!
charles doesn’t leave. donna ducks behind the shower curtain when he comes.
Clean that up!
He leaves.
Get back here and clean that up!
No, no.
Go.
Get out.
Get out.
You fucking little pervert, Charles.
donna gets out, wraps herself in a towel. The door opens again.
You’re supposed to be in bed.
Get in bed or no candy for breakfast.
huff: There’s a monster in my room.
donna looks under the bathroom sink and hands huff a bottle of Lysol.
Here!
Now go to sleep.
wind: A full bottle of Lysol?
You’re the best, Donna!
trickster takes the microphone.
trickster: Thank you for listening to Shit Creek Radio, your voice for when you’re up Shit Creek and you don’t have a paddle.
Shit Creek News has learned a fireman died responding to the blaze at the White Pines Motel.
It was confirmed Stevie Windsor was also a diabetic.
This could have contributed to this tragic incident.
Officials have declared the fire arson.
A criminal investigation is officially underway.
Whoever did this will officially be getting their ass kicked pretty hard.
Trickster.
In the weather, it’s going to be another cold and windy day.
wind wakes up.
wind: (to audience) You may be able to tell by the gas huffing and the arson but me and my brother are products of the reserve school system.
Yay!
Yay!
Yay!
Every morning the children pour into the school brimming with optimism and a love of learning.
wind animates the children with beer bottles as puppets.
huff: Know what?
I love teacher.
She’s so nice.
wind: Really?
I think she’s a dyke bitch.
huff: No way!
trisha: Know what?
I saw your sister at my house last night.
She had sex with all three of my brothers.
debbie: No way!
pierre: Know what?
The statistical rate of suicide for First Nations living on the reserve is highest in the world.
Yes way!
wind: (to audience) Hey, look over there at Tommy.
He thinks he’s so much better because he’s white.
Fuckin white kid.
I fuckin hate white kids.
Look at him with his white shoes and his white Trapper Keeper and his white lunch.
I heard he has Sega and Super Nintendo.
trisha: Hey, Tommy!
wind plays tommy like he has D
own syndrome.
tommy: Henh . . .
wind: (to audience) Fuckin white kid.
I fuckin hate white kids.
Now I’m no racist . . .
wind smiles. He hears the teacher coming . . .
You have to be a special kind of person to teach in the reserve school system.
You have to basically be a saint.
Or have some weird control issues and a terrible resumé.
On the first day she said to call her “Ms. R.”
But we gave her a spirit name.
May I present, from Milton, Ontario: Miss Ratface.
miss ratface: Good morning, boys and girls.
I have a very exciting lesson planned for you all today.
huff hugs miss ratface.
Oh hugs.
Yes, hugs are nice.
It’s appropriate to hug someone you care about.
There.
Okay, that’s enough hugging.
That’s enough—
Stop hugging me.
wind: Miss Ratface, how come you don’t have any kids?
miss ratface: If everyone could just divert your attention to the board.
wind: I mean: Can you not have kids?
miss ratface: That’s not a very appropriate question to be asking a woman of a certain age—
wind: Are you one of those Lebanese?
miss ratface: I believe the word you are looking for is “lesbian.”
wind: I knew it!
You’re a lesbian.
Miss Ratface is a lesbian!
huff: Miss Ratface is a lesbian.
wind: Lesbian!
huff: Lesbian!
trisha: Lesbian
pierre: L’esbian!
tommy: Henh . . .
miss ratface: You!
Did you read from the book last night?
No.
Of course not.
We knew you wouldn’t have.
Didn’t we, everybody?
Didn’t we, Tommy?
Didn’t we know this boy wouldn’t have his homework done?
tommy: Henh . . .
miss ratface: Let me ask you something: Are you stupid?
I don’t think so but it’s hard to tell.
If you haven’t done the homework then how could you possibly have anything to add to the conversation?
Anything you say is irrelevant.
Do you know what that word means?
That’s right, bud.
It means you don’t matter.
Would you like to put that word on the board for us so we can all remember it?
No, of course not.
You can’t spell it.
Because somebody’s parents didn’t stress education . . .
huff: Leave my brother alone, you dyke bitch.
miss ratface: Excuse me?
Would you like to repeat that?
huff: I said, leave my brother alone, dyke bitch crusty cunt scab-sucker.
miss ratface: You!
Up to the front of the class.
This little boy isn’t getting enough attention at home.
So we’re all going to help him with that.
Who knows “The Care Bear Stare?”
Ready, Care Bears?
Stare!
The class stares at huff.
huff poops his pants.
Oh my goodness.
Did you . . . defecate?
huff: No.
. . . I pooped my pants.
miss ratface: Take your little brother to the office.
Now!
wind takes huff into the hall.
huff: I don’t want to go back to class.
wind: Why, cuz you shit yourself?
How come you always gotta shit your pants?
Why can’t you be normal and break stuff?
Or cut your arms?
Why you always gotta shit yourself?
(to audience) We walk home in the cold and the smell follows us the entire way there.
smell: Hey, guys.
You know, when you drowned me in a vat of tomatoes, I kinda thought that you didn’t want to be my friend.
I didn’t think you’d invite me over again so soon.
It’s almost like you want me to tell everyone all about you.
wind: Fuck off, Smell.
(to audience) In the basement my little brother knows the drill.
He scrapes shit out of his tighty-whities using cold toilet water.
huff cleans his underwear.
huff: I like skipping school.
Remember the time Mom let us skip school and took us to the beach?
wind: No.
Don’t remember.
huff: Really?
It was just last year?
wind: Nope.
Don’t remember.
huff: How come you never want to talk about her?
wind: Because she’s dead.
There’s no point.
huff: But when you don’t talk about her that kind of makes her . . .
What’s the word teacher said?
Irrelevant.
And she’s not irrelevant.
Not to me.
wind: Will you stop being such a little bitch all the time?
Let those dry.
You wanna play the pass out game?
huff: Awesome!
Can I go first?
wind: Yeah.
huff: Awesome!
wind: (to audience) Ever played the pass out game?
It’s where someone chokes you till you pass out.
What you do—if you want to try this at home—is grab your friend by the throat, palms inward, and squeeze on his windpipe until the light goes out in his eyes.
(to huff) Ready, little brother?
huff: Ready for blast-off!
wind squeezes huff’s windpipe shut until he falls asleep. huff is transported to his wildest dreams.
television host: Good’ay and welcome to You Little Bitch.
We’re here today with the little boy with a magical power to give you the feeling of laughter just by blowing.
When did you discover you had this incredible talent?
huff: My mom was all sad one day and I only meant to blow the hair off her face.
She got real happy.
television host: Amazing!
And you knew something incredible was happening.
Where’s your mom now?
huff sees a woman in the audience!
huff: Right there!
In the front row.
television host: Right here?
Hi, Tracey, how are you?
The television host sits on her lap.
Oh no, that’s not Tracey.
That’s Donna.
She’s just wearing your mom’s sweater.
Don’t you remember?
Your mom’s dead.
In fact, it’s probably about time you woke up.
Don’t you think, “you little bitch?”
huff wakes up.
huff: Awesome!
wind: Okay, little brother.
My turn.
Ready for blast-off.
Squeeze . . .
You gotta really squeeze tight.
Come on.
You gotta squeeze as tight as you can.
huff: My hands are too small.
wind: (to audience) If your partner’s hands are too small or if you’re by yourself you can still play the pass out game.
You just need a belt.
Like so . . .
wind
takes his belt off. He fits it around his neck.
Okay, little brother, pull.
He does. Then:
huff: Abort!
Abort!
Charles is coming.
wind: Oh fuck.
Charles.
charles enters.
charles: They never found his head, you know?
Martin.
The hamster.
They never found his head.
charles removes the hamster’s head from his pocket to show the boys.
I’ll tell you know.
About the fire.
I’ll tell Dad.
wind: (to charles) No, you won’t.
C’mon, Charles.
That’s not fair.
You were there too.
charles: I’m not a retard.
I don’t have FAS.
wind: No, of course not.
That’s just something we say.
For fun.
charles: I’m not gonna tell.
Know why?
huff: Why?
charles: I’m not gonna tell cuz you’re gonna suck my dick.
wind: Okay, fine, Charles.
We’ll suck your dick.
Just please don’t tell about the fire.
huff: I don’t want to.
wind: We have to.
charles: Yeah.
Have to.
Get on your knees.
charles inserts his penis into wind’s mouth.
Good.
Good.
Good.
Switch.
charles inserts his penis into huff’s mouth.
Good.
Do it better.
Good.
Good.
Take your pants off.
huff: Please don’t make me.
wind: Just do it.
It only hurt the first time.
charles: Take your pants off!
charles fucks huff. He takes his time.
wind: (to audience) Charles pulls his pants up and leaves.
My little brother has a rug burn on his forehead.
(to huff) Hey, little brother, you wanna play Sega Genesis?
huff: Broke.
wind: Oh yeah.
You wanna go shoplifting?
huff: No thank you.
wind: Hey, little brother, I’m feeling kinda down.
I sure could use your sacred gift from Creator.
huff blows: whoosh. No effect.
huff: Any Lysol left?
Didn’t think so.
mike: Boys—get in here!
Five, four, three—
wind: (to audience) My dad is pretty mad.
You should probably go.
mike: —two, one.
look at this!
mike grabs wind by the hair.
the bed is ruined!
the couch is ruined!
your dog sprayed tomatoes everywhere!
wind: (to audience) Donna storms in with a white heel with red speckled on the toe and starts whoopin my ass with it.
Huff & Stitch Page 3
