[Setting: Scott and Bruce are in a bedroom in the middle of the night. Bruce is up drinking out of a pitcher. Scott rolls over after hearing Bruce burp and turns on the light.]
Scott: Gordon, what are you doing up, hon? It's after two o' clock in the morning.
Bruce: It's that salty bloody ham!
Scott: The ham we had at dinner?
Bruce: Yes! Was there another ham?
Scott: You didn't like it...
Bruce: No, I didn't like the ham, dear; it was a little bit salty, thanks.
Scott: Well, you certainly wolfed enough of it down.
Bruce: I didn't wolf it down. A man works all day, he expects a normal ham meal, not Goddamn bastard brine!
Scott: I don't know what could have gone wrong...
Bruce: Well *something* did!
Scott: I didn't do anything different... I went down to Deatrix and picked myself up a choice 6 pound Virginia ham.
Bruce: Did you drop it in *salt* on the way home, perhaps?
Scott: No, I basted it with a mustard glaze, then I put maraschino cherry and pineapple spears in it and popped it in a 350 degree oven for....2 hours.
Bruce: A man my age shouldn't be up *all* night looking for Gatorade streams in the backyard!
Scott: Let's be fair to the ham, dear. Ham is a salty food. It's not like porridge, or toast, or a pear.
Bruce: I know that *ham* isn't porridge, or toast, or a pear. Jesus Christ! What do I expect from you? You come from a long line of horrible cooks. Your old lady's a horrible cook!
[Scott looks shocked.]
Bruce: Oh, admit it! Everything with her is so bland, I could puke! She would boil a Pop-Tart, where as you--you would salt fish from the Dead Sea!
Scott: Oh, go on.
[Bruce goes and looks in the mirror. He pulls his pajamas back a little and indicates his left side.]
Bruce: You know what's gonna happen to me? I'm gonna get a big pussy boil right on my neck! Is that what you want in bed with you? A big pus boil shooting salt over your good bed linens.
[Bruce goes back over to the bed.]
Bruce: Christ! I work hard all day, I expect a normal ham meal, not, not--Voodoo pork!
[Bruce sits down.]
Bruce: You know what this reminds me of, don't you?
Scott: I hate to guess.
Bruce: The mushroom pork incident.
Scott: Oh! When will you ever let me live that one down?
Bruce: Who but you would screw up something as simple as a pork chop? Smother it in mushroom sauce. Every--
Scott: It was gravy!
Bruce: It was horrid!
Scott: And besides that was a long time ago. [Dreamy] That was when we lived in the blue house, remember?
Bruce: I see a pattern developing. [Gets up] I'm banishing pork!
Bruce: I've made a decision to banish park. It's not coming in through that *door*; it's not coming in through that *window*; your rock star son isn't bringing it home in his fag hair.
Scott: You watch your--
Bruce: As of today, we are a pork-free household. *I* have spoken!
[Bruce gets in bed.]
Scott: Well, I guess there's no point in me making you ham sandwiches for your lunch tomorrow.
Bruce: No honey, no point whatsoever.
Scott: Fine, you'll jsut have to eat in the cafeteria then. See how you like that, it's *ham* Tuesday.
Scott: Well you seem to know so much about cooking, Gordon, why don't you *do* all the cooking around here?
Bruce: Why don't you shut up around here?
Scott: No, no, no, no, no. We'll knock a hole in the ceiling, drag the BBQ in, tattoo an apron to your chest, you can cook to your heart's content.
Bruce: Shut up!
Scott: It just gets my goat! You wake me up in the middle of a lovely dream about Berry Gordy taking me to the Grammys--
Bruce: Shut up!
Scott: --to harangue me about some stupid ham.
Bruce: I think it was a little salty.
Scott: I don't think it's fair, Gordon. I do everything in my power to be a good wife to you. I fold sheets and pillow cases, I shoo the kids out of that precious garden of yours.
Bruce: Shut up!
Scott: I do everything in my power short of greeting you at the door in Saran wrap.
Bruce: Oh shut up about that stuff!
Scott: And for what? For *nothing*! For once in our marriage I would just like to have the last--
Bruce: SHUT UP!
[Scott rolls over and lies down. Bruce just sits there for a few seconds, staring into space.]
Bruce: I am tired; I am salty; I require *silence*.
[Bruce sighs and then looks at Scott. He pats Scott's waist.]
Bruce: Ahh, you old soldier.
[Bruce starts to rub Scott's arm. Scott takes his hand.]
Bruce: Uh, listen, mother...is there any more of that nice dessert left?
Scott: [so quietly you can barely hear it.] Jello 1 2 3?
Bruce: What's that?
Scott: The Jello 1 2 3?
Bruce: Yeah, I think I'm gonna go get myself a little bit of that.
[Bruce gets up and puts his robe on.]
Scott: Well there's a little bit left in the fridge, but be on your guard, it's beside the ham. Might have been some salt transfer.
[Bruce burps and walks out.]
[Scott picks up the telephone and calls someone.]
Scott: Hello Barbara? It's Fran calling. Sorry to wake you so late, dear, but I was just wondering if you knew how to cook a whole pig. You tried what? Swedish meatballs tartare? How'd it go over with the family, dear? I see. Well if you need a place to stay...