American Horror Story

Hi-hi.

Norman Mailer lived, two doors down.

I saw him bite Rip Torn's ear off one night.

Seems like a different lifetime.

If you're looking for more action, I can,

show you something on commercial street.

But you should know that by November, even downtown

is so empty and quiet that you could hear a gnat fart.

I like the quiet.

Need my privacy.

How's the ventilation?

These old houses can get pretty stuffy.

You a writer?

Painter?

Hermit?

I know you're not here for the social scene,

whatever's left of it.

I've been here for 50 years.

You know, back in the day, you'd walk downtown,

and you'd see boys getting butt-fucked on front porches

like some kind of perverted Norman Rockwell painting.

It was true homosexual americana.

Now it's mom and dad or dad and dad or mom and mom

and baby stroller gridlock all fucking summer long.

I just left my job at a lab in providence.

What are you, a chemist?

It was an ugly divorce.

I just need some time alone.

Let's cut the bullshit.

A big-city chemist looking for a quiet place

with great ventilation in a town where the things

that are most plentiful for eight months a year

are methheads, choppy seas, and depression?

That sounds like a woman looking to set up

her own little meth lab.

I have a PHD from Harvard.

Meth is well below my pay grade.

Good.

'Cause the sheriff has a nose like a truffle pig

for that junk.

Just lookin' for some quiet.

I'll take it.

Do you know that guy, tex?

He cruises the docks?

Wait, don't tell me. He's from Texas.

Yeah. How'd you know?

Anyway, he taught me this trick

you do right before a guy comes.

- Mm. - You press down on his taint,

you time it just right,

you can get him to come again right away.

But you'll charge me for just the one, right?

Exactly.

You're playing out of your league.

Scram.

Look, can I just borrow ten bucks?

I said scram, methhead.

- Hi. - Hi.

I'm new in town, got a few extra bucks.

You do girls too?

Yep. Here.

Look at that. I'm a gentleman.

Don't touch anything.

So, what do you want?

Kind of do things as a standard

sliding scale kind of deal.

It's, $50 for oral.

Straight-up sex, that's $100,

but I'm currently running a Halloween special.

I'll do anything for 20 bucks.

But Halloween isn't for a week.

It's a, um, seasonal thing.

I just wanna talk.

I'll pay you for your time.

All right.

Tell me about your dreams.

Like, at night?

No. Like, in life.

You ever wanna be a model or play for the yankees?

You really think I could be a model?

No. But you must have something.

Everyone does.

Well, I write a little.

You any good?

I don't know.

I don't think I've ever shown anyone

anything I've written before, but...

Um, yeah, you know, I think I'm pretty good.

Why, you, like, a big-time movie producer or something?

I'm a biochemical engineer.

Spent the past nine years working with the U.S. Military

trying to understand and unlock

the creative parts of the brain.

They wanna make more creative soldiers?

Less.

They don't want them to think for themselves.

But to lock up the creative mind,

we also have to understand how to unlock it.

We have tons of research

from studying highly creative people.

Every one of 'em says the same thing.

They don't know where it comes from.

But I do.

The occipital lobe.

Talented people have denser, more numerous clusters

of neurons in that area.

I don't care if you are bill fucking Shakespeare.

If I whack you hard enough in that part of your head,

you'll never write again.

So I started developing a drug to target that area.

Made the neurons in that part of the brain fire at 10,

50, 1,000 times faster and more frequently

than they usually do.

Wow, um...

Did it work?

We started testing it on primates.

And yeah, it worked...

On some of the apes.

The ones who tested higher on cognitive tests

before we gave them the medicine.

Suddenly, they could play complex notes on a keyboard.

So, um, what happened to the ones it, like, didn't work on?

They became highly aggressive.

Bloodthirsty.

Tore the other apes limb from limb.

I think the medicine has different effects

on creative and noncreative people.

It's almost like the noncreative ones

can tolerate their lack of talent

until they're confronted with it.

Then their mediocrity drives 'em mad.

So...

Wanna try one?

Fuck no!

Maybe you're one of the talented ones.

Um...

Thanks but no, thanks.

Look, can I just get my money?

It's a long winter.

I'll give you $50 for anyone you convince

to come take one of these lil' black beauties.

Maybe I should sing tonight.

Do you think they have any Joan Baez?

Ooh, wow, Joan Baez.

Wait, doesn't, singin' make your cough worse anyway?

Yeah, but...

Good news is, it's October and I've only had bronchitis

five times this year.

That's a... a real victory, Karen.

I always get depressed this time of year.

No, no.

I love it.

All the assholes leave town, and the galleries close, and...

None of the paintings inside them mock me when I walk by.

Do you think you're talented?

Like, like... Like, if you just had,

like, a little bit of help,

you could paint things good enough for those galleries?

No.

No, I'm shit inside and out.

Can I have a hit, please, before I bore myself to tears?

hey.

I'm a singer.

Mickey sent me.

Welcome, welcome to our last

autumn reading octoberfest event.

Some people come out to the cape to see the foliage,

others for a fresh bag of cranberries

or a walk in the dunes.

But the authors we've been lucky enough

to bring here to read their new works

are just as satisfying a draw, if you ask me.

Today I'd like to welcome Belle Noir,

a romance novelist, self-published,

who will be reading from her new book,

"Martha's Cherry Tree,"

a rather racy retelling

of the George and Martha Washington story.

Thank you.

I'm going to read you a section of chapter 17.

Martha suspects George is sleeping

with one of their maids.

And upon searching the maid's bed,

she finds one of George's wooden teeth.

Rather than confront George,

she decides to seduce the maid herself.

"'I cannot tell a lie.

"I cannot tell a lie.'

"Had he whispered those false words

"to innocent little Penelope

"when he drove himself into her?

"Had he lied about loving her?

"lied about her being the only one?

"lied about never lying?

"The only thing that distracted her from these thoughts

"was the soft skin of Penelope's breasts and belly

"as Martha slowly kissed her way down to the hairy warmth

between the young maid's legs."

Who should I make it out to?

The chemist.