RICK: I feel sorry for you, you zeros, you nobodies. What’s going to live on after you die? I’ll tell you — nothing, that’s what!
[Exasperated, Rick gives up on hanging himself and jumps down from the chair. He grabs a large bottle of pills, shows it to the others, and starts stuffing pills into his mouth]
NEIL: [sotto voce to Vyvyan] Vyv, Vyv, uh, can you, like, actually kill yourself with laxative pills?
VYVYAN: I don’t know, Neil, but I’m going to stay and find out.
NEIL: I think I’m going up to my room for a bit…
[Runs upstairs, head down. Rick swallows some more pills defiantly at Neil’s back.]
RICK: This house will become a shrine! And punks and skins and Rastas will all gather round and all hold their hands in sorrow for their fallen leader! And all the grown-ups will say, “But why are the kids crying?” And the kids will say, “Haven’t you heard? Rick is dead! The People’s Poet is dead!”
[Vyv starts hanging around looking expectantly at Rick’s bum]
RICK: And then one particularly sensitive and articulate teenager will say, “Why kids, do you understand nothing? How can Rick be dead when we still have his poems?” Then another kid will say… [Rick emits a long, loud fart].