Sirens

So you dating someone at the hospital?

Which hospital?

You dating people at more than one hospital?

I'm dating multiple people at multiple hospitals!

How do you do that?

I spend a long time in hospital, man!

- Do you all know about each other? - Of course, I'm promiscuous not dishonest.

Eh eh, you boys need to clean up those mailboxes,

there are over flowing with detritus. It's slovenly.

Hank, there's a Jet Magazine in your slot.

With skinny Oprah on the cover.

She ain't been skinny since '09.

I don't get Jet Magazine.

I don't get Skinny Oprah, I like her plump.

Go on, clean them out now!

It'd be great if you could do it soon.

The whole thing's really kicking off Stats' counting disorder.

64, 65, 66, 67...

There are 67 pieces of mail in your slot, Henry.

Okay, damn. Damn, girl.

Look, look, look, look.

So that's... that's done.

Hey, you happy?

Okay, yeah, that's good. Thank you, Henry.

Mm-hmm.

Well, look at this.

This is fancy.

Personal and hand-lettered, Henry St. Clare.

Hmm, calligraphy.

Yeah.

- Someone's getting married. - Who?

Oh, someone who doesn't have my current home address

or cell number.

Someone who cheated on me with that busboy.

Someone who I could care absolutely less about.

- Jeff the chef, holy shit. - Mm-hmm.

Is he marrying the busboy?

No, he's marrying Alejandro.

Oh, my God, he's marrying your brother?

No.

Your cousin? That's so...

Oh, my.

Brian could you get me a hand in the supply closet please?

I kinda want to be here

to offer Hank some emotional support.

Brian, supply closet, now.

If it's any consolation, I think that your eyes

are way more soulful than Alejandro's.

And your mailbox is clean, so there's that.

Look, I know this sucks right now,

but this to shall pass.

- Deuce. - What?

- Can I call you "son"? - No.

Well, I'm doing it anyway

'cause this is a father-son type talk.

Son, this guy ale-what's-his-face

may look like you,

but whoever the hell he is he ain't got what you got.

Which is?

Your freedom.

You can date all the boys in Boystown if you want.

You'd be exhausted, but you could do it.

This is your touching, important

father-son type message?

God damn it, I'm new to this shit.

And I'm not finished yet.

This just goes to show how great you are,

that this chef asshole is marrying a guy

who's the spitting image of you.

I mean, you are such a prize

that he went and found himself

a God damn Hank St. Clare clone.

- How was that? - Not bad.

You know what, Cash? You're right.

You can call me "Pops".

Jeff is marrying the discount version of me.

- Mm-hmm. - Or big papi.

And do you remember how pretentious Jeff could be?

Oh, with his French fusion cuisine

and God damn Asian opera bullshit.

You just know Jeff and his little fake-ass Hank husband

gonna be one of those annoying couples

that adopts, like, six kids from different countries,

names 'em shit like Bryce and Tristan.

In Kenya the father figure is called "Baba".

Big Baba.

Try it on.

I did, don't fit.

Hey.

Guess who I just got a wedding invitation from.

Oh, uh, let me guess.

Uh, your college roommate who you just had to set up

with my best friend, Hank, who then cheated on him,

broke his heart, and basically ruined last summer?

- You got an invite too? - No, Hank did.

Shit! That is what I was afraid of.

I mean, he's basically marrying Hank,

if Hank had a prettier name.

- I know. - Is he okay?

I mean if the wedding is this weekend.

How tacky is that?

Damn tacky, son.

And look at this invitation.

Really, bitch, calligraphy?

Shit ain't even got proper margins.

- Look at that. - Uh, soso.

It could go either way.

Hey, do me a favor.

If we ever break up for real some day,

and you meet my dead ringer and marry him,

will you invite me to the wedding. I want to see what I look like in a tux.

There is no way I'd waste 50 bucks

on a steak dinner for you.

I'll order the chicken.

I don't even understand

why gay guys want to get married.

I mean, we had a sweet deal in the old days.

Dance, drink, screw.

Shop, eat, screw someone else.

Drink, dance, go see Madonna.

Screw some backup dancer for Madonna.

No kids, no rings, no divorce.

It was perfect.

Other than the Madonna stuff, it sounds pretty good.

On top of which, I won this battle.

Bitch is marrying a brother look just like me.

Who the hell misses who here?

- Am I right? - (All) Yeah.

You are gorgeous.

And unlike your partner over here,

a great dancer.

And a free man.

- You're a real catch, Hank. - Yeah.

- You know what, you right. - Mm-hmm

I'm the goddamn catch of the county,

and I'm taking this fine black ass

to my favorite pickup joint.

Gay bar down the street.

Yep, called the hospital.

Donnie, the cute Puerto Rican doctor,

gets off at 11:00.

And I'm gonna make him my patient tonight.

Ooh.

- Or vice versa. - Nice.

And you guys are coming back from that wedding

with a full report on Alejandro,

who I'm betting will be a very sissified,

prissy version of moi.

Ooh.

Au revoir.

Hey, you cannot go to that wedding.

He's hurting inside.

I know, I gotta stay and keep watch,

but that's why you've gotta go

and report back that this Alejandro character

is a shitty dancer, five-feet tall,

and basically a chick with a dick.

Fine.

Hey, Theresa, if you need a plus one for the wedding,

I'd be happy to join you.

- Whatever. - Boom.

That okay with you?

Yeah, of course.

Are you guys dating?

Both: No!

Brian loves weddings.

I study them.

- Seen all the movies. - Every one.

My only problem with four weddings and a funeral

was that it wasn't called five weddings and no funeral.

Plus I know how to do the foxtrot.

Well, this is gonna be a hip gay wedding.

You know, they're not gonna be dancing

to roll out the barrel, so...

Actually, that's a polka.

But I know how to do that too.

So we are covered.

I have surprisingly strong calves.

- I can dance all night. - Cool.

I'll be your dance insurance.

- Ooh. -

No, honestly, he makes you sign something.

- I will. - It's really intimidating.

- A waiver? - Just for just both our safety.

So, how was last night?

- Fantastic. - Good.

Doctor had a Puerto Rican flag tattoo on his ass.

Way we would go, I had expect to wake up

to find Puerto Rico just off the coast of New Jersey.

- - Well, I'm glad you're doing well.

Never been better, man.

Never been better.

What the name of the guy Jeff's marrying again?

- Oh, Alejandro. - Alejandro.

Alejandro.

Saturday, you and me, bro.

Two seats on the glass, Blackhawks Bruins.

Yeah, way better than going to a dumb wedding.

Is that the same day as the wedding?

Oh, I had no idea.