SCREEN BLACK:

JACK (V.O.)

People were always asking me, did I

know Tyler Durden.

FADE IN:

INT. SOCIAL ROOM - TOP FLOOR OF HIGH RISE -- NIGHT

TYLER has one arm around Jack's shoulder; the other hand

holds a HANDGUN with the barrel lodged in JACK'S MOUTH.

Tyler is sitting in Jack's lap.

They are both sweating and disheveled, both around 30; Tyler

is blond, handsome; and Jack, brunette, is appealing in a

dry sort of way. Tyler looks at his watch.

TYLER:

One minute.

(looking out window)

This is the beginning. We're at

ground zero. Maybe you should say a

few words, to mark the occasion.

JACK:

... i... ann....iinn.. ff....nnyin...

JACK (V.O.)

With a gun barrel between your teeth,

you only speak in vowels.

Jack tongues the barrel to the side of his mouth.

JACK:

(still distorted)

I can't think of anything.

JACK (V.O.)

With my tongue, I can feel the

rifling in the barrel. For a second,

I totally forgot about Tyler's whole

controlled demolition thing and I

wondered how clean this gun is.

Tyler checks his watch.

TYLER:

It's getting exciting now.

JACK (V.O.)

That old saying, how you always hurt

the one you love, well, it works both

way.

Jack turns so that he can see down -- 31 STORIES.

JACK (V.O.)

We have front row seats for this

Theater of Mass Destruction. The

Demolitions Committee of Project

Mayhem wrapped the foundation columns

of ten buildings with blasting

gelatin. In two minutes, primary

charges will blow base charges, and

those buildings will be reduced to

smoldering rubble. I know this

because Tyler knows this.

TYLER:

Look what we've accomplised.

(checks watch)

Thirty seconds.

JACK (V.O.)

Somehow, I realize all of this -- the

gun, the bombs, the revolution -- is

really about Marla Singer.

PULL BACK from Jack's face. It's pressed against TWO LARGE

BREASTS that belong to...BOB, 45, a moose of a man. Jack is

engulfed by Bob in an intense embrace. Bob weeps openly.

JACK (V.O.)

Bob had bitch tits.

PULL BACK to wide on...

INT. CHURCH MEETING ROOM - NIGHT

Men are paired off, hugging, talking in emotional tones.

Near the door, a SIGN on a stand: "REMAINING MEN TOGETHER."

JACK (V.O.)

This was a support group for men with

testicular cancer. The big moosie

slobbering all over me was Bob.

BOB:

We're still men.

JACK:

Yes. We're men. Men is what we are.

JACK (V.O.)

Six months ago, Bob's testicles were

removed. Then hormone therapy. He

developed bitch tits because his

testosterone was too high and his

body upped the estrogen. That was

where my head fit -- into his huge,

sweating tits that hung enormous, the

way we think of God's as big.

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