Can't Hardly Wait Page #2

- Wait. How come he gets to be Boba Fett?

- Really, it doesn't matter.

All right, fine. You're Boba Fett,

you're Grand Moff Tarkin.

- I don't wanna be Grand Moff Tarkin.

- All right. You know what? Fine.

You're both Kiss dolls.

You set up here.

Now, I will lead Mike

and one of his random jock friends...

behind the pool house to here...

and here...

where you two will be waiting.

You jump down on them,

rendering them unconscious...

with the chloroform

that we mixed in chem lab.

Then we strip off

said jocks' clothes...

and take Polaroids of them

in a lurid, naked embrace.

Geez, do you think

there'll be any girls there?

Are you kidding me?

People may even be having sex tonight.

Yo, I gotta have sex tonight.

I mean, peep this.

They say in here...

92%%% of honeys at UCLA

are sexually active.

92`%` of women in Los Angeles

at UCLA walking around goin'...

"Class or sex?

What shall I do?"

92`/`, yo!

You know what that means, don't you?

That means I gots a 92`%` chance

of embarrassing myself.

I roll up on that shortie, like,

"What's up, yo?"

She be like, "You don't know 20 ways

to make me call you Big Papa."

- 'Cause I don't, yo.

- Rest in peace.

What's up, man?

- Who be the lucky honey?

- Yo, I ain't decided yet, right.

But I figure all the b*tches

in the class gonna be at this party.

You know, I gots to give 'em all

an equal opportunity to Special K.

It took me all day,

but I narrowed it down...

to a list of ten

very lucky finalists.

- You know what I'm sayin'?

- Well, what's up, man?

- You wanna see? Check this out.

- Yeah.

Observe.

The love kit.

Oh, damn, man.

Our boy's a fag, yo.

- Who's a fag?

- Yo, both of y'all.

That is a fragrance

of love-scented candle, b*tch. Damn.

Yo, you actually think

you're gonna hit this party...

packin' a pleasure chest

and some girl's just gonna give it up?

Watch me, G.

Wait.

I have the letter.

You're not gonna give her

the letter.

Why wouldn't I give her the letter?

Preston, because you haven't had

the chance to revise it...

for the four billionth time.

All great writers revise. What...

Dear Amanda...

Now that you're finally single...

I can finally give you

this sappy love letter...

that I never had the guts to give you

during all four years of high school.

- Listen to this.

- What?

This is Barry Manilow.

Yeah, I know.

Why do we have a radio station on

that plays Barry Manilow?

- Just listen to the words, Denise.

- Oh, Mandy

Amanda. Mandy. Aman...

Mandy's short for Amanda.

That's it. That's my sign.

I hate to interrupt this alternate

universe you've wandered into here...

but, like, I hear that song's

about his dog.

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