Chip: (Putter putter putter.)
Dr. von Rockenstein: (Putter putter putter!)
Chip/Doc: I WANT THE CATNIP BAG!
Chip: I always get my way, and you know it!
Doc: But what YOU don’t seem to understand, is that every bit of my passive energy is saved for CATNIP ACQUISITION!
Chip: (Full Nelson!)
Doc: (Rapid bunny-feet kicks to FACE!)
Chip: WHY AREN’T YOU BACKING DOWN!
Doc: It’s CATNIP, son!
Chip: (Frantic, yet unspired, flailing about.)
Doc: (Three nice, solid SMACKS to Chip’s face!)
Chip: I am MALE, and also INSANE, and do you ACTUALLY want to deal with me! Am I REALLY worth ALL THAT!
Doc: …No. You know what? No. Fuck you.
Chip: That’s RIGHT, bitch!
Chip: (Frantically molests bag of catnip as if in one-night stand of ersatz passion.)
Doc: (Sadly walks over, witnesses carrion that was once her True Great Love, the ironically-named “50-pound” burlap bag o’ catnip.)
Doc: (Looks at bag lovingly, but it has been ravaged by Chip, and the relationship is over.)
Doc: (Lies down, gazes longingly at virtual past laying on bathroom floor.)
Chip: (Trots back over.)
Chip: HA! That’s…right.
Chip: ‘s cool, Baby. You know how it is, rockin’ and rollin’, and what not.
Doc: How DARE you try to tired pop culture me out of my grief.
Chip: I know! I know. You um…wanna go get something to eat?
Doc: I guess I could eat.
Chip/Doc: (Move sadly towards kitchen, not looking, not touching.)
Chip: (Munch munch munch.)
Chip: Half done, wanna trade?
Doc: (Sad, yearning smile.)
Doc: (Finally feeling full weight of situation, turns away, walks slowly into bedroom.)
Chip: (Sits in kitchen, disinterested in food. Ponders what he has done.)