fucking psycho!
You're a rebel?
Do you actually think you're a rebel?
You're not a rebel, you're a fucking psychotic!
-You say tomato, I say tomato...
Hold it! "Eskimo"!
It's one word...
I love it!
I usually go for the whole sentence myself,
but this is perfecto!
Eskimo, you know...
It's so... mysterious.
Es-ki-mo.
-Come on!
-JD, you're not listening to me!
-Nag, nag, nag, nag, nag!
-The knife is filthy!
-What do you think I'm gonna do with it?
Take out her tonsils?
-Excuse me, I think I know Heather
a little bit better than you do.
If she was going to slip her wrists,
the knife would be spotless.
-Here! Now can you see your fucking reflection in the thing?
-Tomorrow someone else is just going to move into her place.
That person could be me...
Ha! There's only one of us
who knows how to do Heathers handwriting!
And if you think I'm gonna write
another suicide note you're wrong!
-You don't get it, do you?
Society nodds its head on any horror the american
teenager can think of, to bring upon herself.
Nobody's gonna care about exact handwriting! Look!
Life sucks!
It's perfecto.
I've got a meaningful marked-up Moby Dick,
what else does a suicide need?
Now, if you'll excuse me...
-No!
Open the door!
-Eskimo!
Heather Duke underlined a lot of things
in this copy of Moby Dick,
but I believe the word "Eskimo" underlined all by itself,
is the key to understanding Heather's pain.
On the surface, Heather Duke was
the vivacious young lady we all knew her to be,
but her soul was in Antartica!
Freezing with the knowledge of the way
fellow teenagers can be cruel,
the way that parents can be unresponsive.
And as she writes so elequently in her suicide note,
the way that life can suck!
We'll all miss Sherwoods little eskimo.
Lets just hope she's rubbing noses with Jesus!
-Is this turning out weak, or what?
It was at least 70 more people at my funeral.
-Heather?
-God, Veronica.
My afterlife is SO boring.
If I have to sing Kumbaya one more time...
-What are you doing here?
-I made your favorite. Spaghetti.
Lots of oregano.
Dinner!
-Veronica! Dinner!
-Dear Diary, last entry.
No one can stop JD.
Not the FBI, the CIA, or the PTA.
He once told me the extreme always makes an impression.
Well, now it's my turn.
Lets see how this son of a bitch reacts
to a suicide he didn't perform himself!
-Can't believe you did it!
I was teasing.
I loved you!
Sure, I was coming up here to kill you...
First I was gonna try and get you back
with my amazing petition.
It's a shame you can't see
what our fellow students really signed.
Listen.
"We, students at Westerburg High, will die.
Today our burning bodies will be
the ultimate protest to a society that degrades us.
Fuck you all!"
It's not very subtle, but neither is
blowing up a whole school, now is it?
Talk about your suicide pacts, eh?
When our school blows up tomorrow,
it's gonna be the kind of thing to affect a whole generation!
It'll be the Woodstock of the eighties!
Damn it, Veronica!
We could have toasted some marshmallows together!
-What does she want, a written invitation?
Veronica! Dinner!
-Shit.
-Veronica!
I... Oh...
I should have let you take that job at the mall.
It was just that... I was afraid
you coming home late at night,
and I...
-Hey mom! Why so tensed?
-Hey pap, I need some help with my homework!
-Not right now tiger, I'm a little busy.
-Veronica!
JD told me you comitted suicide last night!
-Where is he? Where is JD?
-We have to talk.
Whether to kill himself or not is
the most important desisions a teenager can make.
-Get a job!
-Rodney, where's everybody going?
-It's friday.
-Shit, another pep rally.
-These things can get pretty artifical,
but at least you get out of class.
-Rodney, what's underneath the gym?
-The boiler room...
-May I see your hall pass?
-I knew that loose was too noose.
I mean, noose too loose.
Damn you!
-Like father, like son.
A serious-as-fuck bomb in the