GREG: You are absolutely right Valdoff but…
JOHN: Excuse me…
GREG: Shh. You see Valdoff…
JOHN: Wait.
GREG: What?
JOHN: He's the… you're the alien?
VALDOFF: Who dis?
GREG: Um… Valdoff I'd like you to meet…
JOHN: You're not an alien!
VALDOFF: Fuck you. Who is dis?
GREG: This is John. He's a friend of mine.
JOHN: [Chuckling.] Greg, I hate to tell you this…
VALDOFF: What's he doing here?
GREG: Really, he's okay…
JOHN: What in the hell is going on here?
VALDOFF: What's it to ya Earthling?
JOHN: [A pause.] What?
GREG: John…
JOHN: What did you say?
GREG: John please.
JOHN: You expect me to… You think I'm going to fall for this?
VALDOFF: Dis is why I tell you never to bring anyone Greg…
JOHN: Bullshit!
GREG: John! I'm sorry Valdoff.
VALDOFF: Keep him quiet. I will inspect dis.
[VALDOFF proceeds to investigate the cigars: unwrapping, smelling, clipping the end…]
JOHN: [Laughing.] Boy. I tell ya. To actually think… You have really got something here man. I mean… Valdoff.
GREG: Shh.
JOHN: Have you got him fooled or what? I almost have to commend you there buddy. You got balls.
VALDOFF: Ramon Alones… Gigantes! It's good.
GREG: Thank you.
VALDOFF: All real good.
JOHN: You know, your act could use some work. I mean, can't you invest in some green antenna? Huh? Hell, an E.T. mask at least? Phone home. Phone home.
GREG: John, please. Don't upset Valdoff.
JOHN: Oh for Christ's sake.
VALDOFF: I am to have no more… no wooden matches.
GREG: Matches? Here you are Valdoff. (He hands Valdoff some matches.)
VALDOFF: Gracias senor.
JOHN: All right, Greg? Hello? Greg! Come back to Earth now. This is not – Valdoff.
GREG: Yes it is John.
JOHN: Greg! Hey! Does this look like an alien to you? This is some schmuck Mexican in a leather jacket taking you for a motherfuckin' ride!
VALDOFF: Gracias for the jacket by the way.
GREG: My pleasure.
JOHN: That is the limit. Greg! This is a human. [JOHN grabs VALDOFF and shakes him.] A human being. A Homo sapien. A dude screwing with your mind!
VALDOFF: Pardon! If you touch me once more I will be forced to vaporize you.
JOHN: [A beat.] That's not even funny. It's sick. This is sick is what it is. If you're gonna do it for Christ's sake, don't insult my intelligence. If you're not going to put on a show—invest in some special effects—at least say something I haven't heard before!
VALDOFF: Greg. About these cigars.
GREG: Yes Valdoff?
VALDOFF: Malo. Dey are very bad.
GREG: They are?
VALDOFF: Dry. Very dry.
GREG: I'm so sorry I…
VALDOFF: Pinche cigar. No sirve para nada. [To GREG:] Que basura. Dey are unsmokeable.
[VALDOFF throws down his cigar and snuffs it with his foot.]
GREG: Please accept my apologies Valdoff, like I said they haven't been in a humidor…
VALDOFF: Losiento. Greg. I'm sorry. But you force me now to destroy the Earth.
GREG: No Valdoff please! [GREG drops to his knees.] Give me another chance, I swear it won't happen again!
VALDOFF: A deal is… a deal.
GREG: No Valdoff, no!
JOHN: I – have – had – just – about – enough! For God's sake Greg get out of the dirt. Nobody's destroying any Earth alright?! [A beat.] No, what am I saying? You're right Valdoff—We gave you some shitty cigars… Looks like to me you have every right to blow up the planet! "Shitty Cigars? Destroy the Earth." That's my motto. Please, by all means, warp speed!—fly back to your mothership in the barrio, push that button, fire those photon torpedoes, destroy the Death Star, and may the force be with you! Do it, please! Because I have had just about ENOUGH!
VALDOFF: [A pause.] All right. [VALDOFF turns and begins to exit.]
JOHN: Stop. [JOHN has pulled out his gun. VALDOFF stops and turns around.]
GREG: Whoa. John I don't think…
JOHN: It's okay. It's alright. We're gonna get to the bottom of this… Man these things are heavy. I never realized…
GREG: The safety isn't on there John so…
JOHN: I know it isn't.
GREG: Valdoff, I'm sorry this turned into such a…
VALDOFF: A weapon?
JOHN: What?
VALDOFF: I assume that what you are holding is some type of… weapon?
JOHN: [Giggling, a little hysterical…] Yea. You might call this… actually it's a Fig Newton. On Earth we refer to all our weapons as Fig Newtons.
VALDOFF: Hmm. How does one operate this Fig Newton.
JOHN: Knock it off. [A beat.] Goddamnit knock it off!
GREG: John no! Valdoff let's just forget tonight ever happened and I'll meet you right here tomorrow with some more Cubans, I swear…
VALDOFF: [Stopping GREG.] Pardon! [A beat.] John—do you reveal this Fig Newton in an attempt to stop me from destroying the Earth?
JOHN: Um… I… I don't know.
VALDOFF: Interesante.
JOHN: You're not an alien. All right? You're not. I swear I'll use this. Stop screwing with my friend here and just admit it. Don't fuck with me! Admit it.
VALDOFF: May I hold your Fig Newton?
JOHN: No you can't… And stop calling it that! I was kidding you stupid ass alien! It's not a Fig Newton! It's a gun! A Fig Newton's a cookie.
VALDOFF: A cookie.
JOHN: A cookie! A cookie! A dessert… for God's sake I'm not going to give you the definition of a cookie. What kind of superior life form is this?!
[VALDOFF comes closer to JOHN, examining the gun.]
JOHN: What are you doing?
VALDOFF: I'm observing your cookie.
JOHN: It's a gun! A gun! Not a cookie! It's a… what kind of gun is this Greg?
GREG: What?
[VALDOFF produces some spectacles out of his pocket that do not have any ear clasps; he must hold them up to his eyes with his hand to observe the gun.]
JOHN: What's the brand name—is it a Luger?
GREG: It's a revolver. 38 caliber.
JOHN: That's it! A 38 caliber revolv… [JOHN notices VALDOFF'S glasses.] What are those?
VALDOFF: Dis?
JOHN: Yea, what's that?
VALDOFF: It…helps me see. A… vision enhancer…?
JOHN: I know that. I figured… It's just… why do you hold them?
VALDOFF: Hold them.
JOHN: Yea.
VALDOFF: Hold them? I don't understand.
[Light change. DAD, DICK and SMITTY enter cheerfully.]
DAD: Well I'll be a son of a bitch!
SMITTY: This Martian's never seen an eyeglass frame!
DICK: There's your chance boy.
SMITTY: Give ‘em your pitch.
DICK: Unload those frames.
SMITTY: Sell this stupid alien!
JOHN: What? [To DAD:] You approve of this?
VALDOFF: Approve?
DAD: I must say in y 66 years of life never once did I see an alien.
GREG: Does he approve of what?
[BABE enters in negligee filing her nails. Grumbles from the SALESMEN.]
BABE: Loooser. Loooser!
JOHN: [To GREG:] Hold on…I…
BABE: So whatever happened to John?
GREG: John…?
BABE: Well, last time I heard he was picked up in the Arizona desert wielding a gun playing X-Files with a couple of acid dropping freaks.
DICK: Do you mind?
SMITTY: We're trying to conduct a sale here.
JOHN: Now wait a minute Babe I think…
BABE: You think what?
GREG: Babe? Hello! Earth to John! We're off the golf course now!
VALDOFF: Is…something wrong?
BABE: He don't have no twenty thousand dollars!
DAD: Money, schmoney!
DICK: We're trying to save the Earth here!!
SMITTY: An even trade: frames for the planet.
DAD: The greatest sale ever made!
BABE: P-LEASE!
GREG: John, Babe left you a long time ago…
VALDOFF: I confuse.
GREG : I think you should give me the gun now John…
JOHN: Wait! They have a point Babe, what if he is an alien?
GREG: John listen…
BABE: Yea? What if he isn't? What if he isn't John?
GREG: It's all over now John, put the gun down…
JOHN: [To BABE:] What do you care?! WHAT DO YOU CARE ABOUT IT?!
GREG: I don't care! Neither does she! Nobody cares! It's all up to you here! It's your call man! Now what the hell are you going to do?!
BABE: John.
DAD: John.
GREG: John.
VALDOFF: Juan?
JOHN: [After a beat he puts his gun in his belt.] I'm going to save the Earth.
["Superman Theme" music is heard.]
GREG: What?
BABE: John!
DAD: Atta boy!
JOHN: [To GREG:] Back me up. I'm selling this piece of shit alien.
BABE: [Suddenly struck ill.] John—this is ridiculous--
JOHN: [To VALDOFF:] Welcome to Capitalism space freak.
