Sex and Death 101

Who the hell's Roderick Blank?

That would be me.

You ever see a guy walking down the street

looking so happy and content you wanna find the nearest brick

and turn his face into hamburger meat?

I'm sorry. That April morning, I was that guy.

I couldn't help it.

I had what I thought at the time to be it all:

excellent job, excellent soon-to-be wife,

excellent life.

If only I hadn't let Trixie open that last e-mail.

What would you say if I broke out into song right now?

You know how this good mood thing of yours is killing me, Rod.

And yet... you persist.

Stop.

Stop! Or we're never gonna get through these e-mails.

Oh. Here's a beauty from Lester.

"'Re: Bachelor Party Stripper Crisis."

Have I told you how grateful I am that I'm a lesbian?

Delete! Delete! My God.

Men like Lester are the reason Death Nell was invented.

I was a man above temptation.

Other woman had lost all appeal.

One in particular.

They called her Death Nell,

even though, technically, she hadn't killed anyone.

Different hairstyles, different outfits,

different spray-painted messages.

The same comatose result.

It was all we could talk about that spring.

Five dates leading to subversive seduction

and ending in endless slumber.

She was the worst thing to happen to men,

and the best thing to happen to media

in quite some time.

Needless to say, I had picked the perfect moment

to be getting out of the game.

For every guy or gal, there comes a time

when you say, it’s time.

Meet Fiona Wormwood, my wife-to-be.

Stop staring, perv.

It's funny, looking back.

She was not the sweetest girl in the world.

Just, I-I like-okay.

But when it comes to the person you're spending

the rest of your life with, you want a bit of a sting.

There.

Your married friends call you up for a barbecue.

- They tell you... - It's time.

Your parents tell you...

Son, it's time.

The whole damn universe tells you.

Don't make me the villain.

I told your sister

exactly how many pounds she had to drop

to fit into that bridesmaid's dress.

Enough. Let's talk about orchids. Orchids.

Yep. It was time.

Okay, if you can tear yourself back to work...

Thank you. I've downloaded the Big Mac.

I mean The Matador! I don't know.

It looks like two all-beef patties, special sauce,

lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun to me.

Boss.

Hey, that's very special sauce-

As for the "excellent job" part of my life,

I like to tell reporters,

"It's always been my dream to work

in a fast-food restaurant."

I was being cute.

Our place was different. You know... classy.

The plan was simple.

Swallow up the food names, sleek the uniforms,

Starbuck the decor.

Welcome to Swallows.

One Swallow Cornucopia to go!

Have a startling and unique day.

You, too.

Please, Trixie, tell me that was the last goddamn e-mail.

No, there's one more.

Hold on.

Doesn't say who it's from.

I don't know.

I'm getting, like, a virus vibe here.

Okay! It's your life.

Oh, that's weird.

It's a list of names.

Must be more wedding bullshit.

Well, they're all women's names.

Number one-does the name Patricia Francini ring a bell?

Patricia Francini?

Whoa, I haven't heard that name in...

Patty and I were co-captains of my high school debate team,

her main claim to fame being that,

in classic backseat drive-in fashion,

she took my virginity.

Clan of the Cave Bear was the movie.

Drive-in's now a Staples.

What did you say this list was?

I didn't, unless Allison Bradbury

is the second girl you ever had sex with.

- Whoa. - No way.

Are you saying this is a list of everyone you ever had sex with?

Who's number three?

Well, that would be Debbie Roberts.

No, wait. She was four.

Who was the spooky drunk girl at the 4-H fair?

I had to drive her home, 'cause her brother was, uh-

Daisy Milos Ross?

Yes! Crazy Daisy!

Milos-what? Ross?

Who sent this?

Is this some...

pre-bachelor party trick,

of all the girls I've loved before?

But who would know about Daisy Milos Ross?

Damn, Roderick, this is an insane amount of pussy.

Well, thanks.

I don't know if I'd call 29 women insane.

I guess some guys might be impressed by the big two-nine,

but I racked up most of those numbers as an undergrad.

Uh, Sparky?

There's more than 29 wild oats on this list, a lot more.

Trix. T. Now, it's not like I'm one of those silly guys

that keeps track of how many, uh-

All right. Fine.

Every guy is one of those silly guys-

Stop! The ever-delightful Fiona Wormwood,

soon to be Fiona Blank, is indeed numero 29.

But, dude, the list keeps going.

Closing out at...

a hundred and one.

That's impossible.

Wait. April Fool's Day today, isn't it?

That was yesterday. Today's the second.

Hmm...

One of the guys.

Zack, Chico, Lester- no, Lester.

Especially Lester.

What better way to mess with me

than by sending me the names of

all the women I've had sex with?

Teasing me with an obviously made-up roster.

72 more tantalizing female names to, uh-

Symbolize all the fine trim you'll be sacrificing

once you get married.

Exactly. Yes.

- Hmm. - Thank you.

Mm-hmm.

You sure you don't have a Carlotta Valdes shacked up somewhere?

I mean, according to the list, she's next up.

Carlotta Valdes.

Followed by Cynthia Rose.

Followed by-

Well, whoever did this sure put in the hours.

Print it.

Sayonara!

So, now you know.

The last goddamn e-mail.

The list.

Every woman I ever, followed by every woman I-

You're not still staring at that list.

No comment.

Oh, did I remember to warn you

that you're gonna be kidnapped from work for your bachelor party?

Whoa!

Hey, Roderick. How are you doing?

- Ready to party, Rod? - Oh, no, no.

No one said anything about this going down at my house.

- Lester. - What?

This is my house.

Fiona gave us permission.

Oh, you're insane.

- Interesting e-mail today. - Mmm!

Worry not. I found a new stripper.

Oh, no. Not the stripper crisis.

The, uh, kooky one. The list.

- What list? - The list of-

What are you talking about?

- Names. - Well, our fair lady's here, gentlemen!

Turn that up!

Rule six.

No ham radio operating.

- Get it? Breasts? - Aww...

No ham radio operating.

Rule seven. No checking the oil.

- Checking the oil? - Get it?

Vagina!

No checking the oil.

- And I loved the touch of adding to the list - Rule eight...

the names of women I've yet to have sex with.

- No cotton candy. - What do you mean, man? What list?

Oh. Yeah. "What list?"

Hey! You two jokers in the back!

Show Precious some respect!

This is a bachelor party.

It ain't fun and games.

Who wants to play musical lap dances?

Aw! Too bad!

Goodbye!