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Cort at Home Part 3: Couch Surfing


Cort Marshall

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We cut to an old CRT TV glowing in a dark room.

 

TV: And that concludes the 45th annual Arizona National Dog Show! Remember to tune in next year for more old men in suits closely inspecting inbred dog’s buttholes for points.

 

The camera pulls back, revealing a room haphazardly stuffed with American iconography, military memorabilia, and lethal-looking THINGS like what appears to be a Street Sweeper shotgun sitting in a large ice cream tub. In the middle of the room sits Cort Marshall, who sighs and changes the channel.

 

TV: Today in politics, Ted Cruz has been found chanting in an unknown language at the foot of the giant butter cow. Friends and family assure ABC news that this behaviour is completely normal.

 

Cort: NEXT.

 

The channel switches to a rerun of Star Trek, the Next Generation…

 

Cort: FINALLY some good f*cking television!

 

The scene changes and we see two women awkwardly fighting in an electrified stripper pole arena. Cort’s face quickly falls.

 

Cort: Oh god, it’s season one!

 

He sit up turns the TV off in retribution, then falls back into the pillow-like couch.

 

Cort: My friends have retirement pensions, my coworkers have championships… all I got is season one TNG…

 

Suddenly, his phone rings. He reaches across to pick it up—an old rotary job, on the table next to the couch.

 

Cort: ‘Yello, Marshall estate. If this is the feds, NO, I do not still have the uranium.

 

Indistinct chatter from the other end of the line.

 

Cort: Oh, mom, hi. --- No, I haven’t visited you yet. --- Yes, that makes me a bad son. Listen, I JUST got back yesterday, I—Yes, I’m still wrestling. --- No, I didn’t win. I got on the most matches list but…

 

He kneads the bridge of his nose.

 

Cort: Yes. Yes I would like some macaroni and cheese. Thank you. I’ll come over tomorrow, all right? All right.

 

He hangs up, knocking his wallet off the arm of the couch in the process. Picking it up, he sees the edge of the ticket inside.

 

Cort: Oh, right, forgot to check that. Might as well!

 

He whips his keys out and starts scratching the ticket, raising his eyebrows as he’s halfway done.

 

Cort: They always lead you on in the first half.

 

He continues scratching, and…

 

Cort squints.

 

Cort: No, that can’t be right.

 

He grabs a pair of reading glasses. His eyes grow wide.

 

Cort: HOE.

LEE.

SH*T.

 

He whips the glasses across the room and picks up the phone again, quick as a flash.

 

Cort: MOMMA, I’VE GOT SOME GOOD NEWS!

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