Lights up on DAD. SON enters.
DAD: Gosh, you really razzed my berries sneaking up on me like that. Whatcha you doing burning the midnight oil?
SON: Hey dad I had a question I wanted to ask you.
DAD: Shoot straight, slick.
SON: Dad, please call me Jimmy.
DAD: Sure thing, fats.
SON: … I need to know how sex works.
DAD: Ah, the old “Two-Straw Malt? Well. You know how you get bamzoogled when you think about the post-war boom?
SON: No.
DAD: It’s the same feeling when you see a doll you’re interested in. Your Johnny Rapid gets ready to agitate the gravel and if she’s ready to rock your jailhouse, you make like snakes and rattle!
SON: English, dad.
DAD: Sure, let me put it another way. When you jangle your Glistening Gerry and put an ad out in her good news, you’re gonna feel like the Big Band is bouncing and the clarinet-man is driving deep tones on his licorice stick.
SON: Do you mean…an erection?
DAD: I think we both know what I mean, fat boy.
SON: Um, ok, so then what happens?
DAD: Then you unhinge your jmmy pole and race your screamer in the downtown derby!
SON: My jimmy pole?
DAD: *Leans in* Your little G.I. bill.
SON: Come again.
DAD: *leans closer* Your Jack and Johnny.
SON: *silence*
DAD: Fine. *whispers* Your khaki wacky swing stick.
SON: What do I do….with my….khaki wacky swing stick…?
DAD; Well unless you’re a moldy fig, you’ll take that paper shaker and boogie woogie her malt-machine, birdbrain!
SON: But what do I do with her vagina?!
DAD: I think we both you know what you do, greaser.
SON: No! No we don’t!
DAD: Well here’s an antiquated medical textbook. You can study in your room.
SON: Dad, you crossed out all the pictures and replaced them with Coca-Cola Ads!
DAD: Cool it, cornball! Another squeak out of you, and I’ll beat you with my belt!
SON: Is that a euphemism?
DAD: No. Now go to your room and never ask me about this again.
Blackout. End of scene.
— CJS ’16
