Wednesday: [hooking up an electric chair] Pugsley, sit in the chair. Pugsley: Why? Wednesday: So we can play a game. Pugsley: What game? Wednesday: [strapping him in] It's called, 'Is There a God?'
Catalog
Paul Rudnick
Paul M. Rudnick (born December 29, 1957) is an American playwright, novelist, screenwriter and essayist. His plays have been produced both on and off Broadway and around the world, and Ben Brantley, when reviewing Rudnick’s The Most Fabulous Story Ever Told in The New York Times, wrote that, “Line by line, Mr. Rudnick may be the funniest writer for the stage in the United States today.” 2Early life Rudnick was born and raised in Piscataway, New Jersey, where his mother Selma was a publicist and his father Norman was a physicist. Rudnick attended Yale College before moving to New York City, where he wrote book jacket copy and worked as an assistant to his friend, the costume designer William Ivey Long. Rudnick began writing for magazines, including Esquire, Vogue, Vanity Fair and Spy. 2Plays and novels Rudnick’s first play was Poor Little Lambs, a comedy about a female Yale student’s attempt to join the Whiffenpoofs, an all-male singing group. The play’s cast included the young Kevin Bacon, Bronson Pinchot and Blanche Baker. Rudnick then wrote two novels: Social Disease, a satiric tale of New York nightlife in the vein of Evelyn Waugh’s Vile Bodies, and I’ll Take It, which was a tribute to Rudnick’s mother and aunts and their passionate love of shopping. The Chicago Tribune called the book “absolutely hysterical” and The Boston Globe termed it “Flat out hilarious. Sort of what I imagine P. G. Wodehouse would have written after spending some time in Bloomingdale's.” In the late 1980s Rudnick moved into the top floor of a Greenwich Village brownstone which had once been the 1920s home of the actor John Barrymor
[upon seeing that Fester is actually Gordon] I knew it! You are a fake!
Wednesday: Pass the salt. Morticia: And what do we say? Wednesday: [sternly] Now.
Don't be a baby. I know what I'm doing.
Nobody gets out of the Bermuda Triangle, not even for a vacation. Everyone knows that.
Morticia: My baby is ill, and my husband is dying. Oh Mama, what shall I do? Grandma: Well, you have a black dress.
[to Gomez] I'm just like any modern woman trying to have it all. Loving husband, a family. It's just, I wish I had more time to seek out the dark forces and join their hellish crusade.
[to Debbie] You have enslaved him. You have placed Fester under some strange sexual spell. I respect that. But please, may we see him?
[to Fester] You'll meet someone. Someone very special. Someone who won't press charges.
Joel: Cara mia. Wednesday: Mon cher.
[about Pubert] Gomez: He has my father's eyes. Morticia: Gomez, take those out of his mouth.
Wednesday: We don't hug. Becky: Oh, they're just shy. Pugsley: We're not shy. Wednesday: We're contagious.
Uncle Fester: Dementia! What a beautiful name! Dementia: It means 'insanity.' Uncle Fester: My name is Fester. It means 'to rot.'
Morticia: Wednesday's at that very special age when a girl has only one thing on her mind. Ellen: Boys? Wednesday: Homicide.
Young Girl: And then Mommy kissed Daddy, and the angel told the stork, and the stork flew down from heaven, and left a diamond under a leaf in the cabbage patch, and the diamond turned into a baby! Pugsley: Our parents are having a baby, too. Wednesday: They had sex.
[Pugsley hits a bird during archery practice] Becky: It's an American Bald Eagle! Gary: But, aren't they extinct? Wednesday: They are now.
Gomez: Children, why do you hate the baby? Pugsley: We don't hate him. We just wanna play with him. Wednesday: Especially his head.
Joel: I'll never forget you. Wednesday: You won't? Joel: You're too weird.
I'm not perky.
You have taken the land which is rightfully ours. Years from now, my people will be forced to live in mobile homes on reservations; your people will wear cardigans and drink highballs. We will sell our bracelets by the roadside; you will play golf and enjoy hot hors d'oeuvres. My people will have…