[All three men have thick Southern accents]

[SFX: CREAKING of rocking chairs on a porch. Birds, clip-clopping of wagons passing, quiet country life.]

TR (ROGER): Fellas, this is nigh on a perfect day for porch-settin'.

CT (HENRY): That it is, Roger, that it is. A perfect day for settin' on the porch.

TR: Mm-hmm. Though I hear the mercury's fixin' to head north tomorrow.

CT: That so?

TR: So I hear.

FN (CARL): Well, you know what they say. One day you're cuttin' the paste, and the next, poor Sue's got her head in a pepper tub.

TR: [Small, tight noise, then clearing throat quietly]

[SFX: QUIET PAUSE, MORE ROCKING AS THEY THINK.]

TR: Wife's gettin' set for blackberry season.

CT: I expect that's why the mercantile's out of canning jars.

FN: It's like they say: two bronze sticks don't make eleven.

[A pause as Roger struggles to let it go, but he finally can't help himself.]

TR: ... "They" who?

FN: Huh?

TR: I just... Sorry, but dammit, Carl, who says that? Nobody! Nobody says that. You just made that up. And it makes no sense!

FN: It's an old saying! My grandfather used it frequently.

TR: That is a darned lie! It's a... it's a pile of rubbish.

CT: [reflexively] A hatful o' hogwash.

FN: A gecko club flush with horse buttons.

TR: CARL! You just did it again! What is a gecko club?

FN: It's a club for geckos. Where geckos go. To party.

CT: Sorry Carl, but I gotta go with Roger on this one. You clearly just invented those phrases. What in tarnation is a horse button?

FN: Henry, a horse is a horse.

CT: Of course.

FN: Of course! And you know what a button is.

CT: [unsure] I... I thought I did.

FN: Well, just stick 'em together, Henry.

CT: Horse...button.... Okay. Okay! I think I get it.

TR: NO, YOU DON'T!!! You can't get it, because there's nothing to get! Sayings are sayings for a reason, Carl! They got meanings and... and history, for Pete's sake!

FN: Oh, now you just stuff that granny in a fake rock, Roger. "For Pete's sake," huh? Well, what does that mean? Who is Pete?! What's his last name? Is he married?! Does he have a hunting license? See, I don't know the guy! Why should I do anything for him? It's like they say: that spoonful of chicken may be sweet, but it don't do sign language.

TR: Carl. We are not savages here. We do not just make up folksy sayings. Maybe in Burkittsville, but NOT here.

CT: Now hold on, Roger. I'm startin' to see Carl's point. I believe what he's doing is introducing colorful new bits of country nonsense to decorate our banter. You're a good man, Roger, but you've held this porch in your iron grip of silences and same phrases for long enough! And as I believe Carl's grandpappy might have said: a cat won't buy itself roses.

FN: Why yes, he did say that, ever since he was knee-high to a toaster strudel.

TR: Okay, that's it!! I'm gonna get up... and get some lemonade... and when I come back out, this little rebellion better be gone from my porch.

[SFX: Roger stomps across porch, opens screen door, slams it behind him]

CT: That's a darned shame.

FN: Well, you know what they say...

[somehow, together, as if they both know this]

FN / CT: When you go diggin' in Eleven Trout Fountain, best be certain you've packed a laser sword.

FN: Can't dress for a donut, Henry.

CT: Ain't it the truth.

FN: It really ain't.