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“Known primarily for her work in television on All My Children and Live! with Regis Philbin, this actress also appeared in the 1996 drama Marvin’s Room.”
“It’s Kelly Ripa,” Dirk says, as he reaches over to nab a few pieces of Dave’s popcorn. He chews noisily as he talks. “Are you going to read all of these out loud?”
“I can’t think of a better way to prepare myself for a sausage festival than testing my mental aptitude with film trivia.”
Dirk licks the grease and salt off his fingers, one by one. “It’s Sausage Party, not a sausage festival.”
“You sure about that?” Dave gives him a look over the top of his shades, which he’s inexplicably wearing within the theater. Dirk has had the decency to take his own shades off. “If you’re doing the finger-licking-good thing on purpose, I’d guess you were aiming for both.”
“Maybe I just taste good.” Dirk sticks his index finger back into his mouth and tongues it lewdly.
“Yeah, either you or the Flavacol.” Dave helps himself to a large handful of popcorn, crams it into his mouth, and wipes his hand on his jeans.
“Is that the next step in our relationship?” Dirk asks, as he takes more popcorn for himself. “That’s how you know shit is really serious. We’re making theater popcorn at home, and you’re licking seasoning salt off my naked body.”
Dave makes a face. “You want high blood pressure, my man? That’s a one-way ticket.”
“No way. Every website on the whole world wide web is constantly informing me that coconut oil can cure cancer and give me five hour energy erections, or something.”
“Pssshhh.” Dave glances behind his shoulder, to check their surroundings. “Dude, thank fuck nobody else is in this theater, though.”
“Would you be less impressed with my nonstop innuendo if we had company?”
Dave shrugs. “I’unno, man. I think there’s a difference between the innuendo they paid to see on screen, versus a live performance.”
“A live action Sausage Party.” Dirk takes a box of Junior Mints out from between his thighs and shakes several into his palm. Some of them are already melted to the waxed cardboard from his body heat. Damn. “We could take it on tour. Make it to Broadway, even.”
“See, nah.”
“Nah?”
Dave catches a whiff of Dirk’s breath, which is now minty with dark chocolate. “Nah. If you’re on Broadway, it’s obviously taking the lead in Equus.”
“Or maybe I’m the one on a lead.” Dirk picks up a piece of popcorn and holds it to Dave’s mouth. “Did you ever think of that?”
Dave eats the popcorn, his lips brushing against Dirk’s fingers as he takes it. “Now I’m thinking about DanRad.”
“DanRad.”
“The way cooler counterpart to Dan Rather.”
“Dan Rather could have become cooler if he had killed his darlings.”
“Fucker, that was Dane DeHaan.”
Dirk eats a large handful of Junior Mints in one go, and talks with his mouth full. “You think he’d have Radcliffe-isms?”
“Like Ratherisms, but…?”
“But more magical. Because they’re from the boy who fuckin’ lived.”
“I’ll be a dude who’s fuckin’ living if this movie ever starts.” Dave turns around again to look at the projector, high above and behind them. “What the shit.”
Dirk points at the screen with the corner of his box of candy. “Far prior to his role in Sausage Party, Michael Cera rose to fame for playing this character in Arrested Development.”
“George Michael,” Dave says, without looking at the screen. “Dude, all I want is the coming attractions.”
“You’re attractive when you’re coming,” Dirk says, grabbing more popcorn.
Dave sits forward again and smirks at him, sidelong. “I’d jizz myself this very second if you could convince those chucklefucks back there to hurry it the fuck up.”
“Maybe they’re waiting to sell more tickets,” Dirk muses. “This is like, the film to see this summer.”
“Not Captain America?”
Dirk lifts his hand and tilts it back and forth in a so-so motion. The Junior Mints slide around in the box, loudly. “Eh. I was only in it for Vision.”
“You would be.”
Dirk turns around to investigate the projector’s status. “Have you been to this theater before, dude?”
“No, but John told me like ten thousand times that I needed to check it out, ever since they built it.”
Dirk narrows his eyes and chews the inside of his cheek, thoughtfully. “Are you sure it’s not like. Self-serve?”
Dave swipes up grease from the inside rim of his popcorn bucket and licks it off his finger. “What?”
“Like.” Dirk glances to the side of the theater, and the dimly glowing lights that guide the way to the doors. “Who would be running it, if not us?”
“Maybe the Mayor hired someone.”
“The Mayor helps those who help themselves.”
“We’re at a theater, not a damn circus.” Dave folds down the seat next to him and tries to set the popcorn bucket on it. The seat rises back up; the weight of the bucket is not nearly enough to keep it horizontal. He tries to wedge it in, but it seems more likely that it’s going to topple out. He gives up and puts it back in his lap.
“Should I keep my P.T. Barnum quotes to myself, then?”
“Smartass.” Dave pauses, doubtful. “Wait, did we both fuck up?”
“Hm?”
“I don’t think that’s Barnum.”
“You’re right.” Dirk eats a few more mints. “It’s Abraham Lincoln.”
“Mark Twain.”
“Jesus.”
“It might actually be Jesus, though.”
Dirk shrugs.
“You know what?”
“What?”
“Abraham Lincoln, man?” Dave puts the popcorn bucket into Dirk’s lap. “That dude had a lot to say about the internet.”
Dirk balances his candy box on top of it. “Today I Learned.”
Dave looks over at the bucket. “Do you think it’s weird for the trolls that they’re serving popcorn in buckets?”
“Maybe there’s something inherently sexual about them for all species.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Only because so many mediocre comedy films think it’s clever to stick dicks in them.”
Dave frowns. “Salt and dongs are a no-go.”
“Weird phallic snack foods might beg to differ.”
“Let’s not bring tinned meat into this.”
“Do you realize what movie you’re here to see?”
“I’m starting to think we’re not ever gonna see it.” Dave reads the next trivia slide. “This actor known for his iconic voice performed a dramatic reading of Fifty Shades of Grey.”
“Gilbert Gottfried.” Dirk shakes the remaining few Junior Mints into his mouth and speaks while chewing. “Who wrote these questions?”
“I’unno. Movie people.”
“I think we’re the only movie people, man. There’s a limited population on post-flood Earth, and I know everybody who’s here.”
Dave looks at his popcorn bucket, which is still two-thirds full. "Dude, this popcorn just kicked my ass.”
“You’re the one who filled it.”
“I’m gonna, like. Eat it for breakfast.”
Dirk fights with the waxed cardboard and flattens the box, rolls it and bends it, and shoves it in his back pocket as he stands. “I’m gonna see if there’s a projectionist up there or if we’re in trivia purgatory.”
Dave makes an effort to eat one more piece of popcorn. “You want me to come with you?”
“If you want. Should only take a second, though.”
“Aight, I’m gonna keep learning factoids about celebrities, then.”
“Factoids aren't just fun facts, actually. Not originally, at least.” He idly pushes on his previously-occupied seat with his fingertips, then allows it to rapidly rush to fold itself back up in the absence of his weight. “It's when a statement is passed off as fact but it's unverified, or may even be unverifiable.”
“Like I said. Gonna learn some factoids.” Dave gestures to the screen and wags his eyebrows. “I'll verify 'em. That's what IMDb is for.”
Dirk's laugh leaves him as a short, amused huff out through his nostrils. He walks briskly out of the theater, and in the silence of the empty auditorium, Dave can hear his shoes hitting the low-pile carpet as he makes his exit. A moment later, there’s a crinkle of plastic as the empty candy box descends into a trash bag.
Dave lifts his feet up to rest them on the back of the seat in front of him. The trivia slide changes and he reads it aloud to himself.
“This actor has a rare distinction of being in two movies that opened on the same day in the U.S.: The Longest Yard and Madagascar.” He crosses one foot over his other and picks at his popcorn. “Who is Chris Rock, Alex.”
The rest of the wait is uneventful. For a moment he considers digging his phone out of his pocket to fuck around with it, but decides that his fingers are too greasy to be worth it, and sticks with fidgeting in his seat. He glances around; the theater is decorated mostly with blues and greens, and for the first time it dawns on him that Jake and John probably had something to do with its construction rather than merely recommending its existence in general.
Dirk comes back after a few more minutes, and stays standing at the edge of the row. “Having fun?”
“Dude, you missed a question about Chris Rock.”
“I saw it from upstairs.”
“Oh, right.” Dave looks up at him and taps on the side of the popcorn bucket. “You wanna watch Dogma later? Or like, Osmosis Jones.”
“Feeling burnt out on sausages already?”
“I’m burnt out on popcorn.” Dave shifts his weight backward so that his seat raises and his ass descends uncomfortably between the seat cushion and the back cushion. “And burnt out on sitting in this chair.”
“There’s nobody up there,” Dirk explains. “Not only that, but whoever decided to screen Sausage Party is using my own torrented file of it.”
“Wait, really?”
Dirk nods. “Yeah, dude. Didn’t have shit else to do in the water apocalypse. It’s got a track for subtitles, if you want to see it, but I’ve got the same thing on my computer at home.”
“Huh.”
“So.” Dirk extends his hand in offer, and Dave passes the popcorn bucket to him. “Got a gameplan?”
“We could complete the theater-going experience and sneak out of here to go fuck in a car.” Dave uncrosses his feet and folds his hands behind his head. “You be Jack and I’ll be Rose.”
Dirk tosses a piece of popcorn into his own mouth and grins while chewing. “No way, dude. I’m the one with the TT initials.”
“We’d probably get stuck, anyway.” Dave turns his head to look at Dirk, with his shades digging slightly into his arm. “Up against the steering wheel or whatever. Terezi or somebody would have to rescue us.”
Dirk holds the popcorn bucket against his chest in the crook of his arm, and tucks a stray piece of styled hair behind his ear, where his own glasses aren’t there to hold things in place. His eyes catch the glow of the screen as its light falls on his face from the side. “Name this comedian who starred in Rescue Me, and was also in Demolition Man and those Ice Age movies.”
Dave’s eyebrows lift over the frame of his glasses. “Bill Hicks.”
Dirk winces. “Oof.”
Dave lifts himself out of the seat enough to balance his ass on the edge of it, and crosses his legs again, dangling them into the next row. “I feel like Kim right now.”
“Or Seth.” Dirk watches his back arch to maintain the posture. “Did you know the Bound 2 video is exactly four minutes, thirteen seconds long?”
“Huh.”
“There’s some trivia for you.”
“Maybe we should reconsider the sex appeal of motorcycles when we’re gonna choose our vehicle and location.” Dave tilts his head back to center to stare up and watch dust motes whirl within the projected light. “The numerology has spoken. It’s fate.”
Dirk smiles. “I love the stock footage of those horses, man.”
Dave addresses the high ceiling when he speaks. “I wanna fuck you hard on the sink.”
He sets the popcorn bucket down on the floor. “Like the Titanic sank?”
“I’ll rescue you. Just call me the Carpathia.”
“Gonna hold you to that.” Dirk’s smile widens. “Goes to show that ships don’t have to be unsinkable, just there for you when you’re out to sea.”
At last Dave allows himself to relax and pull his feet back, to sit at ease in the chair. “That’s deep, sir. As deep as the Marianas Trench.”
“Then you can call me Pyrococcus,” Dirk says, finally stepping back into the row to bend down and kiss Dave’s cheek, just beneath the lower rim of his shades. “Or any other extremophile you like.”
Dave snickers. “Whatever you like, firedick.”
“That’s not what it—”
Dave inclines his head to keep his chin lifted as he poses the question, his eyes closed behind his shades. “Which critically-despised director incurred the wrath of an alien empress and released his masterpieces in an inscrutable, unordered sequence?”
“Whoever it is, I’d like to meet him someday.” Dirk leans in and also lets his eyes fall closed. “Seems like he’d be fascinating to talk to.”
“Lucky for you, he’s doing a signing outside this very establishment.” Dave exhales and feels the warmth rebound from Dirk’s skin back to his own. “Gonna have to fight your way through the throngs of greasy dudes clamoring for an autograph.”
Dirk laughs, softly, under his breath. “Sounds like a real sausage festival.”
Dave closes the distance and kisses him.