INT: Studio.

Frasier: Yeah, and that Benny, is why your marriage is doomed. THANKS FOR THE CALL.

Benny: But Doctor Crane, I called you for help.

Frasier: You want help, shit all over my cock and slit open a football. FUCK OFF.

Benny: But…*click*

Frasier: Cunt. What are you looking at slutlips? (To Roz. Gets up and presses his face up against the glass, yelling “SMEAR MY BLOOD AND BAKE MY SHIT” through it.)

Roz: We’re off the air. What the hell has happened to you, Frasier? You’ve gone insane.

Frasier: I haven’t gone insane, clitshits. I am more cranium than ever. A smothering block of brilliance. I am the wank that you have to thank, you plank. Stick it in your mouth, Alf.

Roz: See you tomorrow.

Frasier: YEAH. Alright Bulldog?

Bulldog: Hey Doc. You heard the Sonics game? What a crock, total BS.

Frasier: Fuck them. I’ve got a ballgame for you. It’s called DEFLATE MY SCROTUM. Now FUCK OFF. I’m shrieking all over my penis and spunking one up for Jesus.

Bulldog: You’re masturbating?

Frasier: No. I’M WRITING A PIECE ON DELUSION. Of course I am fucking masturbating. My penis is already out.

(Bulldog Leaves.) Frasier shakes and sweats, yanking himself to a disasterous orgasm. Fade to a silent end.


About neilstilwell

Abseiling into trouble, a sewer rat staring at the stars. Disgusting. You can assist my search for the one ring by buying a Kindle version of this diary from here. It has some other stuff in it, and a dreadful cover.
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