Two transit workers, Mike and Bobby, both 30s, are drowning in Bushmills and Yuengling. Other than these two, the bar is a cemetery of pint glasses. The Eagles-Cowboys game commands their attention from above the whiskey lineup. The Cowboys have run away with the game, much like the other patrons have run away from the bar.

MIKE (transfixed by the game) I can’t believe they passed up Tony Kornheiser for this guy. He’s awful.

BOBBY (equally transfixed) Who, Dennis Miller? He ain’t that bad.

MIKE No way, just listen to him.

After a brief commercial, Dennis Miller returns to grace us with his color commentary for the game.

DENNIS MILLER (o.s.) …the Eagles have to throw up a Hail Mary, it’s their only chance…and they do…ooohhh! Hail Mary denied…separation of church and state.

BOBBY (beat) Haha, that’s kinda funny.

DENNIS MILLER (o.s.) At this point, Jerry Jones runs the Cowboys like your financial advisor. He knows that the free agent pickups he made this offseason have favorably impacted the derivative that is the success of his team…

Mike looks over at Bobby with a look that is begging for agreement.

DENNIS MILLER cont. (o.s.) But he’s got to worry about what assets he puts into those variables. Those Cowboys buy more snow than Seward did when he bought Alaska from the Russians.

Bobby doesn’t say anything. He’s piss drunk and trying to figure out who the hell Seward is.

DENNIS MILLER (o.s.) But then again, you can’t really judge the Cowboys based on how they play Philly. That Eagles defense provides worse coverage than a Guatemalan HMO.

MIKE (beat) COME ON!!!

BOBBY Haha, ok fine.

JOE:That’s your stock, right there.

JOE:And this (holding up his stub) is a derivative. The horse can win, lose or fall and break it’s leg, but someone, somewhere can still make a buck.

FRANK:And that’s how Dad made all his money?

JOE:Yeah, and how he lost it. Gambled away everything he’d ever worked for and all the money a thousand folks planned to retire on.

FRANK:Should have stuck to cards huh?

JOE:Yeah, but then we’d be down there with those mopes, hustling for tips, putting their grocery money on the back of a horse cause it’s named after a song they danced to once. No-one likes to be told they’ve handed their future over to a bookie, but give it a fancy name, call yourself a stockbroker and it’s always someone else’s fault.

FRANK:The market’s always right, Joe.

JOE:The market’s always right!

An eager bride, HAYLEY, is trying on a pitch perfect dress for the big day. Her mother, LUCE, is having

LUCE I’m really having difficulty coming to terms with your decision to marry this boy Derryk; he seems to be lacking…prospects.

HAYLEY I know what you’re thinking but I love him. Anyway he’s an investment. A derivative.

She goes behind a screen and gets changed into her jeans and jumper.

Derryk arrives outside the shop and gives them both a geeky but heartfelt wave. They wave back.

LUCE A derivative? Well he seems nice and I’m sure he loves you. He just seems a bit out of your league. Is he really the one?

HAYLEY Think of it this way. Sure we’re both broke now. But he happens to be a very talented artist and I’m telling you in ten years I’ll be set up for life.

LUCE Mmm really? And if he doesn’t become successful?

HAYLEY (with a wink) I’ll divorce him.

WOMAN AT BAR You got fired for trading derivatives at work?

MAN AT BAR No, I got fired for demonstrating how they work.

WOMAN That doesn’t sound like something you’d get canned for.

MAN Actually, I was trading grades for blowjobs.

WOMAN (beat) So how does that explain derivatives?

MAN Students who took me up on my offer entered into a contract with a mutually-beneficial payoff at the end of the semester. And here’s the real kicker—the payoff is guaranteed, regardless of everyone’s performance in class.

WOMAN But how’d you get caught?

MAN I forgot to change one student’s grade from a D to an A, and she told the dean. Derivatives are risky. A lot can go wrong.

WOMAN Would you like to come back to my place and look over my portfolio?

NEMO, 28, the silent muscle, sits behind Frank in an XL black wifebeater that strains to contain him. He ices his right hand with a stiff T-bone. Next to him, stacked cardboard boxes read: BURGER’S MEATS. Nearby, a spool of packing twine.

BURGER, 45, a meatball in brown pants, donning a brown fedora and an old blood-stained apron that says “Fuck the Cook,� lumbers down the stairs with a large Burger’s Meats cardboard box. As he descends:

BURGER You are a derivative, Frank. You don’t know what that is. I know you don’t know cause I see you not readin’ the Business Weeks I get you.

Frank fidgets, moans.

BURGER It’s like: If someone needs a shakedown, I call you. If Christopher goes crazy, you take him to the titty bar. If Mikey comes up short on whatever the fuck, you go knock off the Starbucks.

Burger arrives in front of the table, speaks directly to Frank.

BURGER It’s a risky business. You reduce the risk for me. That is the whole fuckin’ raison d’keepin’ you around.

Burger throws the box down on the table in front of Frank and it rolls toward Frank and bumps into him gently. Burger removes his apron and hangs it up on a hook on the wall.

BURGER I’d rather you be stocks or bonds like; somethin’ I can count on. That’s why I got you subscriptions to the Business Weeks. But you don’t wanna be an asset to me. You wanna be a liability.

Burger rolls the table away from Frank him so that nothing stands between Burger and Frank. Burger pulls a meat cleaver out of the box. Frank moans and shakes his head.

BURGER Where is my money, Frank? I want you to think real hard before you start lyin’ to me. Cause you got more to lose than just your life.

Frank quiets.

Burger turns around, puts down the cleaver and pulls a stuffed rhino out of the box and throws it in Frank’s lap. Burger then pulls out some women’s underwear and smells them.

BURGER Lavender. Very nice.

He throws them at Frank. Frank stares in horror at his child’s rhino and wife’s underwear. Burger nods to the Thug. The Thug approaches and cuts the twine from Frank’s mouth. There is silence.

FRANK I didn’t take the money.

BURGER Wrong answer.

FRANK I swear.

BURGER Your word is no good, Frank.

FRANK Burger, it wasn’t me, I fuckin’ swear.

BURGER That your final answer?

FRANK I swear to God, Burger! On my dead mother!! On my WIFE!!! PLEASE!

Burger is silent, staring at Frank. Decisively, he picks up the cleaver, turns around, grabs his apron off the wall and pushes his way through a set of double doors at the other end of the room. Frank watches the doors flip-flap closed, staring at them. There are muffled voices in the other room, vague chopping sounds and low grunts. Several silent moments later, Burger, mouth agape, chest heaving, storms back in, apron and cleaver dripping with fresh blood. As Burger approaches Frank, Frank can see Burger is holding a HAND. There is a WEDDING RING on it. Frank screams in agony, recognizing it.

FRANK (sobbing) AAAAAH!! Oh God! Oh fuck! YOU FUCKING MONSTER! YOU FUCK!

Burger slaps Frank brutally with his wife’s disembodied hand.

BURGER I’m a fuck? I’m a fuck? (Punctuating each word with crushing forehands and backhands) THIS. IS. WHAT. YOU. GET. WHEN. YOU. STEAL. FROM. ME.

He throws her hand on the floor, now a twisted wreck of broken fingers. Frank rocks gently, sobbing softly. Burger leans against the table, catching his breath.

BURGER There are four kinds of derivatives, Frank. Forwards, which is the direction we can move in now. Options, which you’re running out of. Futures, a couple of which you can decide now. And finally: swaps. As in: You give me my money and, in exchange, you get the rest of your wife.

JENKINS Your pointless pontifications on pricing parameters and rates of change and rates of change of rates of change are boring me, Max. Buy low, sell high. It’s simple, Max. Even a genius like you can see that, no?

MAX But, Mr. Jenkins, we can’t just —

JENKINS Come now, Max. It’s like the man once said. There is only one holistic system of systems, one vast and immane, interwoven, interacting, multi-variate, multi-national dominion of dollars. It is the international system of currency that determines the totality of life on this planet! The world is a college of corporations, inexorably determined by the by-laws of business. That is the natural order of things today! Am I getting through –

Max’s chair crashes to the ground as he jumps up. He grabs Jenkins’ arm in mid-swing. Plucks the cigar from his hand.

MAX You foolish old fossil!

As Max rants he shoves the cigar an inch closer to Jenkins’ nose with each outburst.

MAX Don’t you understand? There is no IBM or ITT or AT&T, no DuPont, Dow, Union Carbide or Exxon. There are only equities and commodoties, rates and trends, arbitrage and triage, speculation and hedging, OTCs and ETCs. The future is forwards, the forwards, our future! You think your cozy little world of petro-dollars and electro-dollars and multi-dollars is what George Soros talks about in his board meetings? You stand here and howl about dollars and cents. There are no dollars and cents. Dollars and cents are but a dot on a chart, a moment in time, the input to the next output, the second when the future becomes the present, before it becomes the future again! And with arbitrage, we always live in the future. You’re reading a dysfunctional function. Look deeper. Can’t you see it, Jenkins? The future? — Is knowing the future! The almighty dollar is dead. There are only arbitrage positions and speculation markets, equity swaps and back-to-backs, forward rate agreements and interest rate caps, swaptions and options and futures and turbo warrants. Long-term positions? Profitability? And, for Heaven’s sake — dividends? Yesterday’s news, Jenkins. There are no more straight bets, no more original positions. No, Jenkins. Everything is derivative now.

The cigar is almost touching Jenkins’ nose. He nervously pushes it aside.

JENKINS (uncertain) What does it mean, Max?

MAX Your future has no options, Jenkins. I’m shorting you.

Max stuffs the cigar into Jenkins’ suit pocket. Struts out the door.

JENNY, 34, sits on the couch with her head in her hands. Her sister MONA, 38, returns to the room with two cups of tea and Jenny looks up – her face is pretty but ashen. Her eyes are red. She accepts one of the steaming cups. Silence.

MONA (carefully): Do you know who the father is?

Jenny blows on her tea and looks off, her face a mask. She finally nods.

JENNY: Yeah, this guy Mike. I met him in a bar a few months ago.

MONA: What does he do?

JENNY: I think he said he works with derivatives…

MONA: What’s that?

Jenny sobs – suddenly and loudly. She puts her tea on the coffee table and buries her face in her sister’s shoulder.

JENNY: Oh God, Mona. It doesn’t matter.

PROFESSER MUKERJEE Good morning to you class. Today we will be discussing the meaning of dewivitives and how they can be integrated into the core theowies of the modewn matematics. We can approach the definition as geometwical…

SUSAN stares out the window. The room is hot.

PROFESSOR MUKERJEE Oaw we can appwoach the definition as as a wate of change. We use pawabalas to show…

SUSAN rummages through her bag and finds some candy. She starts arranging them by colors on her desk and absent mindedly sticks a piece in her mouth.

PROFESSOR MUKERJEE starts writing on the board….He writes: DERIVITIVE. “Susan, can you pwease explain this definition fow me and give us an example?”

SUSAN looks up as if out of a fog. UM, ah, yes, I can. A derivitive is a futures contract in which the value is dependant on the performance of an underlying asset. For example, Necco Wafers have been around for many years, and are an established candy. They should keep their value should the candy market fluctuate.

PROF. MUKERJEE No, I asked you to define a dewivative.

SUSAN Ohhhhh…a dewivitive is either a geometrical rate of change or…

INT BATTERY PARK CONDO BEDROOM – NIGHT

CHELSEA HASSLER rolls over naked next to gruff JIM KRUCK. She pulls of the top-sheet, using it like a robe, and fixes her eyeliner at her mirrored armoire. Jim counts money.

JIM So what d’you when you ain’t riding the meat pole?

CHELSEA Oh…finances, derivatives, blah, blah, blah…

JIM Uh…

She spins around in her chair.

CHELSEA Derivates, they’re like…

She notices a USED CONDOM on the ground.

CHELSEA (CONT’D) That little itch on your crotch? It’s fine now, but you wear a condom in case it turns into something worse. Your investment in that condom saves me from the sinking stock of chlamidia.

JIM Does “chlamdidia” stock sell higher than Apple’s?

Chelsea SIGHS.

CHELSEA Please go home.