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Your name is MISTER PEANUTBUTTER. Yes, your first name is actually MISTER. You are a television star of the new era, the host of the program HOLLYWOO STARS AND CELEBRITIES, WHAT DO THEY KNOW? DO THEY KNOW THINGS? LETS FIND OUT! You have a wonderful wife named DIANE, and a best friend named BOJACK HORSEMAN (who recently kissed the former).
You are walking onto the set of the aforementioned television program in preparation for this night's episode. You pass by dozens of your COWORKERS, who you obviously share mutual admiration with. They busily cart costumes and props up and down the halls. You greet a nervous intern who eyes you.
PB: Hey BUDDY!...
...you exlaim, but your BUDDY just walks faster in the opposite direction. How odd!
One of your favorite feelings in the world is walking onto the stage. You see thousands of adoring fans looking up at you, all putting their hope in YOU to give them a show! How wonderful!
When you think this day couldn't get any better, you see your best friend BOJACK HORSEMAN walk onto the stage! Which reminds you...
Your name is BOJACK HORSEMAN. You realize GOD had a field day picking out your surname... but lots of animals like you get a shitty slice. Take for example, ANTMAN. Who the fuck thought they were creative with ANTMAN? But being a horse is how you've made your career. And that brings you back into the present moment, on this dumbass sellout show that PRINCESS CAROLYN talked you into doing. The heavy stage lights feel dizzying until you see your, not friend, erm, acquaintance, MISTER PEANUTBUTTER yell
PESTERCHUM ://
NEW CHAT CLIENT
PB: Hey BOJACK!
Which is returned with a nervous half-smile.
The director signals that you are about to go live, and your heart cheats its rhythm (goddamn murmurs). But nonetheless, you, MISTER PEANUTBUTTER, are ready. Born ready! But, while all these thoughts spin through your head, you realize that the viewers at home have been watching your BLANK FACE for the last three seconds.
PB: Hey, folks! Welcome to the show...
...you awkwardly smile, eyebrows furrowed.
PB: We're glad your here, and with our very special guests! Daniel Radcliffe and Bojack Horseman.
You NERVOUSLY sort through your CUE CARDS, which look quite a bit like GIBBERISH. Shit, you think, what country speaks gibberish? You could've sworn it was the RETRIEVER ISLAND. Fuck, MISTER, focus!
PB: Well folks, lets start off with our first question for DANIEL RADCLIFFE!
Nailed it. You realize that up close he looks a tad greasy.
PB: So, Daniel, our first question is, which HOLLYWOO STAR AND/OR CELEBRITY starred in the film THE GODFATHER?
DANIEL furrows his brows in thought.
PESTERCHUM ://
NEW CHAT CLIENT
DR: Mahlin Brahndoe?
You give the audience a great grin.
PB: Correct!
You turn to the disgruntled horse and wondered what went wrong. He looks so empty. Like someone peeled off his skin and scooped out the insides clean. But you ignore his huskiness (in both senses of the double entendre) and ask him his question.
PESTERCHUM ://
NEW CHAT CLIENT
PB: BOJACK, what is the square root of 57?
Your name is BOJACK HORSEMAN and you can't remember a single goddamn thing about square roots. Is it the thing thats the thing times itself, or the thing thats the thing times the- this is POINTLESS. JEGUS, why did you even go on this show in the first place? You hate Princess Carolyn, you hate Mister Peanutbutter-
Mister Peanutbutter is smiling at you. His ears are perked up, the left one ever so slightly higher than the right. Is he... EXCITED to hear your answer? Does he genuinely give a fuck about you? And for the first time in a few weeks, that feeling that you think is happiness clouds your head and chest. And you remembered why you still do TV again.
Your name is MISTER PEANUTBUTTER and oh boy, is BOJACK HORSEMAN bad at math. He's staring at you like he's trying to read your thoughts. Think Bojack, dammit! But all he is doing is sputtering all over the microphone and refusing to make eye contact.
PESTERCHUM ://
NEW CHAT CLIENT
BJ: At least... 5?
You grimace as the audience squirms at his radiating awkwardness.
PB: No, BOJACK, that is very wrong.
BJ: Are you going to tell me the correct answer, then?
PB: What do I look like, your goddamn math teacher?
Your name is TODD CHAVEZ and you are bizarrely immersed in a B-PLOT of this story. You are currently engaged in a BATTLE OF WITS with a coworker, some RANDOM MOUSE. Your prize? A glorious pen bestowed onto you by one J. D. SALINGER. Oh, glory! Finally a chance to put your wacky TODDjinks to good use. You have immersed yourself into the decadence of the HAIR AND MAKEUP DEPARTMENT where you are currently costuming a new, more refined TODD. But this isn't important right now. You need to focus on the light homoeroticism and dramatic tension of the A-PLOT.
PESTERCHUM ://
NEW CHAT CLIENT
BJ: At least I didn't fail math, dipshit.
You look into BOJACK's eyes and can tell he's shaken. His jaw is clenched and his knuckles have turned white.
PB: Oh, you want to get INTO THINGS, don't you?
You have been waiting to get INTO THINGS for quite a bit. Just looking at him you felt a rattling in your jaw and static in your brain.
You knew. You knew everything. DIANE told you about Malibu, the drive, the kiss, the stale air after. Were you growling? You thought you outgrew that. Whatever. We're getting INTO THINGS right now.
PB: Into things, into things, INTO THINGS. BOJACK wants to get INTO THINGS!
You approach his LECTERN and rest your arms over the ledge. Your face is INCHES away from HIS. GOD, at this close, you just want to
PB: I know. DIANE told me EVERYTHING. You kissed her. You kissed my WIFE!
The audience GASPS.
Your name is BOJACK HORSEMAN and your chest cavity is aching. You're used to the feeling of rejection, but it doesn't get any easier. You turn to look at the crowd, and every single one of their faces are CONTORTED in HORROR. For what? People can't even TECHNICALLY touch each other due to our ionic cells. That doesn't mean it doesn't piss you off, though.
BJ: Mr. Peanutbutter, I- I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry.
PB: You're SORRY? You sabotage my marriage and you're SORRY? That's definitely an equitable response, BOJACK!
BJ: You weren't married when- wh-
PB: That might be worse! You never wanted it to happen!
BJ: Uh, I, okay. Yeah. Look, is there anything I can do, to- to make it better?
PB: BETTER? I don't give a shit about BETTER. I'm not going to neatly wrap your pile of horseshit up in the next five minutes so the audience can go home and feel good about themselves. That sinking feeling in your stomach? That's gonna stay there for a while. You can think about it over the BREAK! We'll be back soon, folks!
Your name is TODD CHAVEZ and you’re watching the cast of HOLLYWOO STARS AND CELEBRITIES: WHAT DO THEY KNOW? DO THEY KNOW THINGS? LETS FIND OUT! pour out of the main stage area into the backstage. Your friend MISTER PEANUTBUTTER looks irritated, and your, uh, roommate BOJACK HORSEMAN won’t stop looking at him. You haven’t been paying attention to a single thing happening onstage. Shit, TODD, you’ve done it again.
PESTERCHUM ://
NEW CHAT CLIENT
TC: BOJACK, what’s going on? You look… worse than usual.
BOJACK sighs.
BJ: Nothing.
Now you, TODD CHAVEZ, are no scientist-esthetician but you KNOW that when you ask people what's GOING ON and they reply NOTHING that usually does NOT MEAN nothing. BOJACK is also prone to lying.
TC: MISTER PEANUTBUTTER? Dost thy know the goings-on?
PB: It’s complicated, Todd.
Your name is WANDA PIERCE and you’ll be damned if you’re not the best exec on NETWORK TELEVISION. You’ve been monitoring the ratings of the show for the past half an hour and being in a coma for thirty years doesn’t mean you don’t know that the viewers love drama. Of course, you have no idea that your boyfriend essentially CHEATED on you and just confessed to doing so in front of MILLIONS, but that piece of information is a mere tidbit for later. You see a distressed MISTER PEANUTBUTTER wandering into the HAIR AND MAKEUP department.
PESTERCHUM ://
NEW CHAT CLIENT
WP: PEANUTBUTTER! You’re killing it out there!
PB: Really? Thanks.
He’s not thankful at all. His eyes are big and watery. No shock of course, idiot! He’s a dog!
WP: Look, I don’t know what you’re up to, but the audiences are loving it. Keep going and we’re going to get you out of here in a wheelbarrow full of cash.
PB: I don’t know if I can do that, WANDA.
WP: I’m not giving you the option to do it or not. Get out there and give them a goddamn show.
Your name is MISTER PEANUTBUTTER and you’re wandering up to the stage curtain. You don’t like the idea of broadcasting your conflict with BOJACK in front of everyone. You’re sure he loves it. But we’re WELL PAST THAT. You’re going to resolve things, all right.
PESTERCHUM ://
NEW CHAT CLIENT
PB: Welcome back, folks! We missed you dearly. Now. Before the break, me and BOJACK were having a little heart-to-heart. The big question on everyone’s minds: Will I forgive him? The answer is…
You look into the audience and you love the way you have them captured. They’re all desperate for an answer. You feel ALIVE.
PB: Yes!
The crowd cheers.
Your name is BOJACK HORSEMAN and you can’t tell if you feel relieved or horrified. Of course he forgave you, you little shit. Even he can’t see how horrible you are.
This idiot DANIEL chimes in.
DR: You know what might be a good idea? If BOJACK kissed DIANE, you kissed BOJACK! That would make it even!
The audience cheers.
Your name is WANDA PIERCE and you’ve just been told to cue the kiss cam. You don’t really question it; your limbs are already making the movements to press the right buttons. Look at you! Corporate robot! Red hearts are raining from the ceiling. You zero into the screen. BOJACK?
Your name is MISTER PEANUTBUTTER and you think BOJACK tastes nice. His smell of gasoline, scotch, cigarettes, maybe a whiff of vanilla? permeates onto his tongue. You don’t think you’ve kissed a man before. Or a horse, for that matter. But you’re not thinking about the fact that millions are watching; you’re thinking about him. He accepted the fact that you’re making out about seven seconds ago and his hand is gently holding the back of your neck. BOJACK’s never been gentle before.
Your name is B… blah blah blah. You get the idea. You’re BOJACK. Mister Peanutbutter is kissing you and he’s GOOD at it. You never thought MISTER PEANUTBUTTER could be SEXY like that. Wait. No. He’s a man… are men SEXY?
You think about your kissing experience man-wise. There were those few times with Herb, and that guy when you were blackout drunk (PRINCESS CAROLYN had to tell you about it). Those were different than kissing a girl, but not in a way you had thought about much. Those memories were boarded up. Fuck, it was the EIGHTIES. Being gay then was a death sentence. Now, you’re making out with a man on network television.
MISTER PEANUTBUTTER leans back a few inches and pulls you with him. His mouth tastes like sour candies and a little bit like menthols (from DIANE). It makes your stomach drop, like when FUCKING TODD made you go on that rollercoaster in Santa Monica.
Finally you two pull away and you feel a little winded. Your lungs have really been suffering as you pull into your late forties. You need to get away. Why is everyone looking at you? Why are the lights so bright?
Your name is MISTER PEANUTBUTTER and BOJACK looks like he just woke up with a hangover. Were you really that bad at kissing? Fuck, now he’s running away. He was on HORSIN’ AROUND for years! Doesn’t he know the CARDINAL RULE of network television?
CARDINAL RULE OF NETWORK TELEVISION:
Don’t run away
Your name is TODD CHAVEZ and BOJACK is making record time. You don’t know why he’s running, but he’s becoming a regular FORREST GUMP. Run, BOJACK, run!
You, MISTER PEANUTBUTTER, don't have time for introductions! You have decided to break the previously cited CARDINAL RULE OF NETWORK TELEVISION and ran offstage after him. He’s got at least a few hundred feet on you, though. By now he could be speeding away in his car.
At that thought, as if he heard you, you hear his tires squeal as he races out of the parking lot. And by now he could be hitting 80. You hear the chirp of WHATEVER THE FUCK THE NOISE IS WHEN YOU UNLOCK THE CAR IS coming from your left. Luckily, it was close; being a TV STAR has its perks!
Now is not the time for donuts in their literal or metaphorical (?) sense, MISTER! Drive!
You watch the hand of your speedometer pull up into the high 70s. In LA, there’s not a speed limit if you’re rich enough. Unfortunately, this applies to the both of you, so you’re not gaining on him at all.
Your brain comes up with a MEAN IDEA. A sinister idea. Oh he’ll pull over, alright.
Your name is WANDA PIERCE and two of three stars of your show just ran offstage. The third is standing onstage babbling like a buffoon. According to the ALL-GLORIOUS CODE OF NETWORK TELEVISION, this situation is a code GREEN. Wait why would it be- no. You shall not question the CODE or its GLORY. Repent, dammit, repent!
PESTERCHUM ://
NEW CHAT CLIENT
WP: Code Green!
JD: Ah, shit. Isn’t there another H.W.S.A.O.C (please see the TITLE of this SHOW) we could send over until commercial?
Your name is JD SALINGER and you’ve pretty much seen it all when it comes to showbiz. Its been no secret to you that the arts and capitalism are not a match made in heaven (see CATCHER IN THE RYE). You know you’ll be milking that kiss, though. That was NETWORK TELEVISION if you’ve ever seen it. All of HOLLYWOO is buzzing already!
You cue several CONFETTI GUNS slash CASH BOOTHS slash IMPOSING A MINOR THREAT ON A CELEBRITY onstage. They eat that shit up like cookies.
Your name is MISTER PEANUTBUTTER and you weren’t sure if your sinister plan would work or not, but its going along swimmingly. BOJACK’s pulling over on the side of the road.
You may or may not have impersonated a police vehicle to get him to pull over, but its not like that's an offense either. (SEE: SPEED LIMIT).
You’ve now taken up both lanes of MULHOLLAND (suck it, DAVID LYNCH!). You clamber out of your car and approach a stopped BOJACK.
Your name is BOJACK HORSEMAN and you don’t know why you couldn’t make a better escape. He’s closing in on you. Again. But now, there’s no one around to see. Your nerves detangle ever so slightly.
PESTURCHUM ://
NEW CHAT CLIENT
BJ: MISTER… PEANUTBUTTER?
MISTER PEANUTBUTTER sighs.
PB: Hey, BOJACK.
BJ: Oh. Hey.
PB: What happened back there?
BJ: I- I just panicked. It happens sometimes.
PB: When something becomes an inconvenience for you so you abandon any responsibility you might have?
BJ: Yeah.
PB: Do you… wanna talk about it?
BJ: What do you want me to say?
PB: I want you to say that you liked it. And that you want to do it again.
BJ: I… that. Sure. You can put on the record that I said those things.
MISTER PEANUTBUTTER has a smile rapidly eating away at his cheeks.
PB: I can’t if you don’t say it!
GOD, why does he always do this. You’re not used to TALKING ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS. Your FATHER said that was for COMMIES- or was it the JEWS? Either way.
BJ: Fuck, fine! I liked kissing you.
PB: What good does that do me, BOJACK?
BJ: What do you mean?
PB: I- I’m still married… to DIANE.
BJ: GOD, you really give a shit? You’re discovering you have feelings for me and you’re worried about DIANE?
MISTER PEANUTBUTTER frowns.
PB: Yes, actually. I give a shit about someone besides myself.
You get out of your car. ANGRILY. If that’s possible. Just visualize getting out of the car with ANGER!
BJ: You don’t think I give a shit about at least YOU?
Your HEART breaks a little when he hesitates. His ears sink and he breaks eye contact.
PB: It’s been thirty years, BOJACK. And you’ve never reached out to me. No crossover episode, no hanging out at the bar, you only come over for DIANE. How was I supposed to know about the SHIT YOU GAVE?
Your heart is now FULLY BROKEN. You did this to HERB. You did this to SARAH LYNN. You do this to everyone.
Like one BEATRICE HORSEMAN once coughed out,
PESTERCHUM ://
NEW CHAT CLIENT
BH: You’re BOJACK HORSEMAN. There’s no cure for that.
BJ: I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.
You and PEANUTBUTTER are standing face to face. You can see part of the CITY and it makes you feel sick. But you look back at him and you feel a little better. Is HE the cure for BOJACK DISEASE?
He’s so close. He looks pitiful. The phrase PUPPY EYES comes true. He’s so warm. He’s warm and you’re so fucking cold. GOD, your thoughts feel like papers torn out of a filing cabinet and laying nonchalantly on the hardwood floor. He’s so close and so warm.
PB: Bojack?
There’s no hesitation when you kiss him. Your arms are trying to find a comfortable place around his back. He takes a step forward and slightly pushes you up against the YELLOW TESLA. You don’t want to say its unlike anything you’ve ever done before- because it isn’t. But there are a few small differences:
The kissing isn’t mundane. It’s not just some bridge to the metaphorical SEX CASTLE. It’s something you WANT to do.
You don’t have to be in control of everything. You’re TAKING IT SLOW. That’s not the usual Bojack way. By the way his hands rest on your shoulder and your lips intertwine, you’re not even thinking about a destination.
Your name is MISTER PEANUTBUTTER and this kiss (is it one? Two? What constitutes a kiss when your mouths refuse to be apart?) is weird. You like it, of course. You finally got your crossover episode (as you thought that, BOJACK steps on your toes- he doesn’t know what to do when he’s vulnerable). But this disgusting lurch in your gut emerges and its full of every nasty feeling you have about this situation. And it’ll only grow.
You pull apart from him, finally. He looks wasted. He’s panting.
PESTERCHUM ://
NEW CHAT CLIENT
BJ: Well. What happens now, PEANUTBUTTER?
PB: I don’t know.
BJ: Do you really love… DIANE?
(Did you forget to mention your name is BOJACK HORSEMAN?)
You hate yourself for praying he says NO.
PB: I think so, but I don’t know what kind of love yet.
BJ: So you’re just gonna cheat on her until you figure it out?
PB: Bull-shit! You’re the mistress!
BJ: Okay, but I’m MONICA LEWINSKY. You’re BILL CLINTON. We are not the same!
PB: Can I just kiss you again instead?
That fluttery feeling from earlier sinks from your heart straight to your dick.
BJ: Yeah.
Your name is… wait. Thinking is hard right now. Mis...mister...MISTER PEANUTBUTTER! That’s it. This is your third kiss with BOJACK and they just keep getting better. You really get a better taste of his breath; it feels like taking a first drag out of a Newport. It’s almost like you’re punishing yourself, but you can’t stop.
You don’t really care if you’re gay anymore. Well, you’re more putting it in a metaphorical cabinet for later to ruminate on. You can imagine the conversation: DIANE, honey, you know that asshole who sexually harassed you? I’m dating him now. I know we’re married but too bad!
You don’t need to dig into that right now. What you’re actually digging into is BOJACK’s shoulder with your right hand; you didn’t realize how close you were holding him.
PB: FUCK. Sorry.
You manage to part mouths again.
BJ: You’re fine.
You take BOJACK by the hand and sit down on the side of the road. You love the bright lights of the city; it's something so alive in a world that’s so dead. BOJACK looks like he’s going to throw up.
PB:
You actually don’t say anything. Neither does he. There’s nothing to be said, actually, is there? Everything feels so whole for a situation so terrible.
BOJACK looks at you with the most sullen you’ve ever seen. He takes away the hand you were holding and scratches his head. He kicks the gravel when he stands up, looks around, and walks away.