Chapter 1
"...And what's the deal, with all these dirty immigrants?" This slip of of the tongue was the last the audience could withstand. Every last one of them had all doubled over in a torrent of laughter, Jerry Seinfeld had done it once again. "I mean come on! They come into the greatest country on Earth, they rape our women, they steal our jobs. What's up with that?" The crowd was his captive, each one a victim of his hypnotic spell. Only black people were immune to his god-like hilarity. Nobody, not even George W. Bush, encapsulated the American spirit like he did.
But something was different this time. Seinfeld was a celebrity, a famous comedian, and a convicted criminal. Jerry was performing at a low-profile joint, real steezy place. He was not the famous Jerry Seinfeld of yesterday, but instead the boldly mustachioed, up-and-comer Jerry Senfield! That's right, Jerry and the gang escaped from Alcatraz. It was like in Shawshank but it was way cooler and also it actually happened. It was so cool the human brain couldn't even comprehend it, so don't even try to imagine it or you might die.
The fuzz was looking for them and their photos were everywhere, so they needed clever disguise. Jerry Seinfeld became Jerry Senfield, and began sporting uncouth facial hair that made him look like a discount Steve Harvey. Kramer became Krammer, you know, like the kind of person that shoves stuff places, or studies hard for a test the night before. He combed his hair. Elaine Benes became Elaine Benis. The others made fun of her because Benis sounded like penis, and it totally does, but she doesn't believe them. She wore reflective sunglasses and a black leather jacket. She also had a Hulk Hogan mustache and a 50 pound chain around her neck. George didn't disguise himself at all because he said that's what the cops would expect so if he didn't have a disguise it would be as if he had the most elaborate one of all.
The crew was waiting outside the club for Jerry's show to end. It was a brisk evening. George was taking swigs from a bottle of Listerine, and Kramer was smoking a cigarillo. Elaine gave George her inquisitive scowl and spoke. "Are you drinking mouthwash?!" She emphasized the word, 'mouthwash.' George was clearly caught off guard by the question. He gave a quick look in all directions, like one does on the train when a stranger speaks to them, and they're not sure if they're actually speaking to somebody else, but George looked a little quicker than that. "Yeah, so what?" He retorted. Kramer interjected, "Oh that's no mouthwash you two, it's an 'oral antiseptic'."
"You can't just drink mouthwash!" exclaimed Elaine, perhaps a little louder than she should've. Elaine was yet to learn her place in the world as a woman. "Oral antiseptic," repeated Kramer, puffing smoke. "What are you my mother?" said George in a tone that was almost suspicious of Elaine. George both resented and feared his mother, like any Jewish boy should. "It's got alcohol in it," he continued. Elaine made a face like she was going to say something, but didn't and then made a contemplative face, and then shrugged acceptingly. "You better be careful George." Said Kramer. "Breath as minty fresh as you're making yours can be dangerous!" He shouted, as a shook slightly and exhaled some smoke. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." Said George, dismissively.
A couple of brown people sitting in a car in the parking lot distance were partaking in a marijuana session. They weren't quite high, and the smoke wasn't quite strong enough to impede their vision in any meaningful way of things outside the car. As they sat, one of them focused in on the gang against the wall they were leaning. "Isn't that George Costanza?" asked the one in the passenger seat. The driver turned his head and squinted towards them. He paused, then spoke slowly, "Yeah. You know what? I think it is?" The passenger, the one in the seat next to the driver, asked, "Should we call the cops?"
George turned away from Elaine and walked in front of Kramer, towards the entrance to the club. "Where are you going?" Asked Elaine, nagging as usual. "To the restroom, this Listerine goes right through me." About two minutes passed, and then the pair left outside the club heard police sirens in the distance. "I wonder what that could be?" Inquired Kramer. "Probably a sale at the Krispy Kreme," cackled Elaine. She meant the donut chain, not the rapper. Her jokes were never that funny.
George meandered through a hallway towards the men's room. He heard hard laughter through the walls, and the jealousy he felt for Jerry caused his penis to shrivel slightly, like it would after exiting a swimming pool. The bathroom was large, all the urinals were in a row with no dividers, like at a baseball stadium, but more dark and lifeless because George was the only one inside. He made his way to the very end of line of urinals and took his stance.
Jerry had cracked his last joke of the evening, thanked the crowd for coming out, and made his exit. He made his way for the backdoor, the door George just entered, and where the rest of his friends were waiting for him. It was a calm and quiet walk, but as he opened the door, he was taken aback. A row of police cruisers had shot into the parking lot and stopped in a semi-circle surrounding the gang. They exited their vehicles, one after the other, and pulled their guns on Jerry, Kramer, and Elaine. "Put your hands where I can see them!" One of the officers barked. The gang complied.
Just as George had undone the zipper to his pants and whipped out his member, a figure burst through the door. George wanted to look but it would be weird in the position he was in, especially since he was the only other person in the room. The figure bypassed all the available pee stations and took his place on the one right next to George. Costanza caught a glimpse of his face out of the corner of his eye and turned immediately. "Oh my god!" Said George. "You're Bill Murray!" Just then, his pee started to flow like a waterfall of golden dew from the top of a forest canopy careening off a leaf to a lower level. "Always good to meet a fan." Bill Murray said affably. George couldn't believe it, he was taking a wee with the one and only Bill Murray! And he was affable, despite rumors George had heard that he was kind of a dick. "How did I even know it was him?" George thought. "I knew the instant I saw him." George was staring over at the now urinating Bill Murray, and then it struck him! He was wearing his Ghostbusters outfit!
Bill Murray looked over at George with a disinterested smile, and saw his starstruck grin and gleam of wonder in his eyes. He paused and thought, and then he spoke. "Are you George Costanza?" George's smile quickly turned to a frown and he realized that not only was he staring longingly at another man who was peeing with him simultaneously, but also his disguise idea was remarkably shitty. He looked away quickly and awkwardly, similarly to how he did with Elaine earlier. "No." He said. His voice cracked like a 13 year old. Just then something happened. The discharge of breath George managed with his response to Bill Murray assaulted Bill's nostrils, it was disgustingly minty fresh, and Bill Murray recoiled at the unwelcome shift in aroma. At the exact same time, George was struck with the uncontrollable twitch that you sometimes have when you're peeing in a sort of cold room. They involuntarily jerked toward each other, and their urine streams pulled behind. Bill Murray shouted, "Don't cross the streams! Nooooooo!"
There was a flash.
