Four guys in a bar: Tom, Dick, Harry and Lars; A waitress
Tom: A convention on patent and copyright law? Yecch. Who the hell cares, right? I mean, who the hell cares? But when they said all expenses paid and a hotel on the beach I said, I’m in.
Harry: Me, too.
Lars: You see me here, don’t you?
Tom: And all I have to do is sit through a couple of boring presentations. (Makes a jerking off motion as he says this.) No problem.
Dick: Yeah, I’m with you on that.
Harry: You know, that thing you did there…
Tom: What thing?
Harry: I invented that.
Dick: What this? (Makes the jerking off motion.)
Tom: I think Onan invented that.
Harry: (Laughing) No, no. But the gesture, you know? The gesture to indicate that you’re just going through the motions. That you’re insincere. Tying it in that way. That was mine.
Dick: No kidding.
Tom: Well, it just goes to show you. You never know who you might meet. Here we are, four casual strangers. Normal enough guys, probably. Who knows what kinds of achievements we have among us?
Dick: You know what I invented?
Harry: No, what?
Dick: Friends with benefits.
Tom: You mean…friends with a girl who’s not your girlfriend, plus…
Dick: Uh huh.
Harry: That was brilliant man. Let me buy you a drink.
Tom: This is such an honor.
Dick: Awww, it’s not that big a deal.
(A new round delivered and toasts to Dick.)
Waitress: Happy Hour’s almost up. You want me to put in for another round?
Tom: Hell, yes.
Dick: Two more rounds.
Harry: Make it three.
(Lars holds up four fingers and the waitress nods and leaves.)
Waitress: Four it is boys.
Tom: I invented that, you know.
Harry: What? Waitresses?
Tom: No, Happy Hour. That was mine.
Dick: I don’t believe you. How old are you? Thirty? Thirty-five?
Tom: Thirty-three. And I’m telling you I invented happy hour.
Harry: So you’re saying that—let’s be generous here and say you started drinking at sixteen somewhere—so that before seventeen years ago there was no happy hour?
Tom: (Defensive) That’s right.
Harry: That nobody used the term “Happy Hour.”
(Waitress has arrived and begun setting sixteen drinks on the table in front of the characters.)
Tom: (Angry) Eat me, you don’t believe me, Mr. (Makes the jerking off sign,)
Harry: So what did they have instead, eh? What did they have instead of happy hour?
Waitress: (Keeping the peace) Silly, they had Miller Time. Everybody knows that. (Waitress winks at Tom and moves away.)
(Harry sits back, stunned. Dick nods thoughtfully.)
Dick: Damn it if she isn’t right. Tom, I apologize for doubting you.
Harry: Me, too. Damn, that’s right. I should have remembered.
Tom: (Gloating in success and feeling magnanimous) Hey, it’s not your fault. She’s a liquor professional. She’s supposed to know these things.
Harry: Nevertheless, I am contrite.
Dick: I invented contrition.
(Everyone looks at Dick with suspicion, but he sips his drink and ignores them. By this point they are getting a little bit tight.)
Harry: Then thank you for giving me something to be.
Dick: My pleasure.
Harry: Speaking of pleasure, I invented adultery.
Dick: Get out of here.
Tom: It’s in the ten commandments for Christ’s sake. You couldn’t have invented it.
Harry: All I know is, I slept with my wife’s best friend and, based on her reaction, no one in the world had ever done a thing like that before.
Dick: Hah! He’s making a joke. That’s a good one.
Tom: You had me going there, big guy.
Harry: Seriously though, I did invent satellite radio.
Dick: You must be rich, man.
Harry: No, I had a fatal flaw. I actually put the radio in the satellite. I thought it would be cool for astronauts to be able to check out ball games and Limbaugh, whatever. Limited application, that was my problem. Never trust astronauts to keep your business afloat. There just aren’t enough of them.
Tom: I invented Oil of Ole. There used to be this product, Oil of En Garde, but I figured matadors were sexier to women that fencers, so I came up with Oil of Ole. Looked a lot like sperm. Would have made a fortune, but some cosmetics group had a product with a different spelling—O-L-A-Y instead of O-L-E—and they got all shirty about it. Never made a dime.
Dick: My Cock-a-Cola never saw the light of day. Lawyers man. They’ll take you for everything.
Harry: Sorry about that, man.
Tom: You invented lawyers?
Dick: I invented cell phones.
Tom: I invented cells.
Harry: Dry cells or wet cells?
Tom: Wet cells.
Harry: Okay then, cause dry cells was me.
Tom: And I invented the internet, not that bastard Gore.
Dick: I invented e-mail.
Harry: Rabbit stew.
Tom: In-line skates.
Harry: Post it notes.
Dick: I love those things.
Harry: Electric guitars.
Tom: Power lawnmowers.
Harry: Paper cuts.
Tom: I invented the dictionary.
Dick: The encyclopedia was mine.
Harry: Coloring books.
Tom: (Deep breath) I invented the cowboy and the lariat, but oddly enough, not the rodeo. I invented blues so down it burns your soul and rock so loud it busts your head and folk so true it breaks your heart. I invented hopscotch, Milk of Magnesia, and the MX missile. I invented weightlessness, light beer and heavy petting. (Standing and shouting) I invented the innocence of children, the duplicity of women, and the gullibility of man; the Renaissance, the Industrial Age and the Age of Enlightenment are mere spores cast from the giant fern that is my creativity; I invented misery, company, love, itching, Mississippi, both Mason-Dixon and Maginot lines, film criticism, Indian eroticism, hard boiled detective fiction and the German shorthaired pointer dog. (Big Pause) Ladies and gentlemen, I invented Diane Sawyer’s private parts.
(Spontaneous applause as Tom takes a few bows and returns to his seat.)
(A man enters and sets a briefcase in front of Lars. He opens the case revealing it is full of cash. He clips the case closed, hands it to Lars, and exits.
Dick: What’s all the money for?
Harry: Royalties for what?
Lars: I invented lying.