Raquel:

I met this Hindu guy. He lives in Wyoming.

Kivinski:

If you marry him you’ll have to go to India and have *Izaza* performed over you.

Raquel:

What the hell is that?

Kivinski:

A strange marriage rite. It usually involves incense and fertile cattle.

Raquel:

Hm.

Kivinski:

The temple priest slaughters the animal following three days of non-stop chanting. Then the newlyweds partake of its quivering flesh.

Raquel:

Sounds like fun.

Kivinski:

Actually, I just made *Izaza* up. Hindus are vegetarians.

(Truth #2: Trolls are probably not real – though, much like God, you can never really know for sure.)

<Raquel gets disconnected>

Kivinski:

Where did you go? Did I scare you? Hope not, cause this conversation has been quite nice. I was sleepy before. Now I'm wide awake and bushy-tailed, much like a plastic lawn fawn.

Raquel:

For some reason, I got disconnected.

Kivinski:

Weird. Could be trolls... By the way, did I mention I was visited by Christmas Elves this year?

Raquel:

No.

Kivinski:

Oh. That's because I wasn't. And you were probably just disconnected due to some glitch...

Raquel:

You're getting delirious.

Kivinski:

...I sincerely doubt you were disconnected by trolls.

Raquel:

Well, I could have been. You never know.

(Truth #3: The actor Steve Buscemi makes some people horny.)

Kivinski:

Would you marry Steve Buscemi if he walked through the door right now? If he swept you off your feet and transported you--without moving--to some Tahitian Island?

Raquel:

No, cause he's married and has a kid.

Kivinski:

Oh...what if he didn't? <alternate universe scenario>

Raquel:

If he wasn't married and didn't have a kid, I wouldn't -- unless we got to know each other first. Plus he's in his early 40's, so I don't know. And he smokes.

Kivinski:

Okay...Steve Buscemi walks in. You trade life stories for sixteen straight hours. He sweeps you off your feet and transports you--without moving--to some Tahitian Island (but not before quitting smoking first).

Raquel:

Yes, Steve Buscemi makes me horny.

Kivinski:

You like intense, weasely men, don't you?

(Truth #4: Same as Truth #1.)

Kivinski:

You know, "kitty cats" are "kittu jvkwankrodmjr" in Croatian.

Raquel:

Hm.

(Truth #5: Looking Scottish doesn’t necessarily imply that one resembles a kilted Mel Gibson.)

Raquel:

I think U look a little Scottish.

Kivinski:

Is it my Braveheart-esque pecs?

Raquel:

SURE.

Kivinski:

Okay, then. What seems so Scot-like about me? <eating haggis>

Raquel:

What is haggis?

Kivinski:

The Scottish national dish...a collection of guts stuffed into (and then baked in) a stomach.

Raquel:

I don’t think you look Scottish anymore.

(Truth #6: The sun rises at the same time in both Ohio and Tennessee.)

Raquel:

Oh god it's 5:40!

Kivinski:

Indeed. The sunrise is pretty.

Raquel:

It hasn't risen here yet

Raquel:

...or there either, dorko.

Dorko:

Ha ha! You caught me. (May I call you dorkette?)

Raquel:

I like dorka myself.

Dorko:

Well, Senora Dorka ... do you want me to let you go?

Dorka:

If you want to chat still, it's ok. I just won't be that attentive.

Dorko:

No. I don't want to keep you from sleep ... And if you're not attentive I'll probably just go off on some mad tangent about elephants. Let’s call it a night and do this whole thing again tomorrow.

<exeunt Dorko and Dorka>

<closing credits roll as theme music plays>