JOSHUA GREEN ALLEN. (high-pitched voice) Cap’n Ass-Master’s office!

MARISOL ALLEN. Nice, Daddy.

JGA. Sorry, I thought you were your mother.

MA. You know, your phone tells you who’s calling, if you just—

JGA. I can barely hear you, sweetheart. Are you under a bridge? Oh my god you’re under a bridge doing drugs with some guy I work with. I don’t know if I should be mad or proud or what.

MA. Daddy.

JGA. Just tell me it’s not Richie Malvo. That dude is filthy. He has a mustache. I think he plays golf? Say it’s not him. Just lie to me, baby.

MA. Dad. I’m in class.

JGA. You’re at school?

MA. Yeah. Remember, you dropped me off a couple hours ago?

JGA. What, this morning? Then shouldn’t I be at work?

MA. You’re not?

JGA. I just woke up in the backseat of some car. Honey, I think I was maybe kidnapped?

MA. Do you see a big pile of dirty laundry and empty bottles of vanilla extract on the floor?

JGA. Why, yes! Yes, I do!

MA. That’s your car. I need you to get up and go into your office and get on the internet and help me out.

JGA. I can hack into something for you, no problem.

MA. I’m taking this history test and I have no idea, Daddy. I have zero idea.

JGA. You’re taking a test right now?

MA. Shh! Yeah.

JGA. Miss Mills is gonna boot your ass right into detention!

MA. This is Mrs. Beschizza. And she’s not even here right now. She said she had to go smoke and cry.

JGA. Mrs. What? Who’s the one with the big … you know? The supple..? I’m cupping my hands over my boobs here.

MA. (sighs) Miss Mills.

JGA. Yeah, why can’t you get in trouble in her class? I could have a really nice, long parent-teacher conference with her about your learning disabilities and, you know, your attitude problems and whatnot. Maybe some salsa dancing. Just see where the night takes us.

MA. You help me with this test and I promise I’ll be a total b-hole in Miss Mills’ class for the next month.

JGA. Yes! OK. Ask away. We don’t need the internet. You don’t know this—nobody knows this—but your father is basically a history genius. Napoleon. The cotton gin. OK? 900 BC. King, uh … Martin. Martin Luther. King. JFK, blown away. Whatever you need.

MA. OK, Mr. Genius, listen. Under the Articles of Confederation, who had final authority on all matters?

JGA. What the fuck are you talking about right now.

MA. Forget it.

JGA. Hang on, hold it! The Articles of the what now?

MA. Confederation.

JGA. Confederation, right, yeah. Cinchy. That’s Napoleon. Napoleon X, I, V.

MA. Father. This is American History.

JGA. Sweetheart, the story of America is the story of the whole world.

MA. I know you don’t want me to go to college because you don’t want to pay for it, but sabotaging my educa—

JGA. OK, sheesh, hold the phone, there’s a guy walking by outside here, let me roll down the— (yelling) Hey, buddy! Yeah! You know who wrote the Articles of Confederacy?

MA. Daddy, it’s who had the final—never mind.

JGA. Actually I am serious! Fine, keep on walking, fucko! Sleep easy tonight knowing you ruined a cute girl’s one and only chance at college!

MA. Dad.

JGA. Sorry, honey, it’s an uncaring world your mother brought you into.

MA. It’s OK. I should probably hit the road anyway.

JGA. Sure thing, angel. And even if you do fail that dumb test, I think you still learned a valuable lesson today.

MA. Yeah. I’m going to call Mom now.

JGA. Good girl. (kissy noise) Later, skater.

—click—