Oh.

Oh, baby.

Baby, no.

What... what's this?

I... wha... I...

THE FUCK!?!!?

MARRIED?!?!

I'm not happy. David Copperfield is not happy.

 

Look at me, Claudia. You did this to me.

Okay, okay. I'm calming down. Claudia. This has gone on long enough. I get it. You've made your point.

You didn't like it when I held your head under the sheets and made you play "The Lollipop Illusion." I understand. You didn't like that I kept threatening to cut your annoying supermodel friends in half with a four-foot stage blade. Right. And you got mad when I broke your hand for trying to figure out how I made your panties disappear. It's cool.

First off, I don't know how those panties ended up on Ebay. I have roadies and handlers. And they're perverts.

But this is an old argument. We've been through all this.

Isn't it enough that we love each other? Doesn't that mean something?

I want you to look into my eyes. But I know that scares you a little. So just look into one of my eyes:

 

What do you want from me, Claudia? I've changed. I've renounced the Vegas crack whores and random audience members that I tried to use to take your place. I mean, damn, it's been 24 hours! I think this renouncing is really going to take.

This is cruel, is what it is. And you're not just trying to fool me. You're trying to deceive the world with this fake happiness of yours.

Do you really think you can keep up this illusion?

Well, let me tell you something, Claudia. I know a thing or two about illusions. I know three things, even. Maybe more than that. And I know when something is magic and something is mere sleight of hand.

And this guy you're marrying? He's a hand guy. Total handjob.

And let me tell you something else.

COME BACK CLAUDIA! OH GOD, PLEASE WOMAN, NO! MY HEART! YOU'RE RIPPING IT OH GOD AGGUUHHHH!

(Ahem.)

This has been a bad week, Claudia. I'm sorry. First that David Blaine squidfucker stands on a building for 35 hours and jumps off. I've lived in New York. That's not fucking magic. Bums do that every day there. They just don't end up on TV with their greasy swarthy selves acting like it's some sort of trick. You think I'm impressed with that, you building-standing little fuck?

But I digress, Claudia. For you.

You see? I can think about someone other than myself. I can be a stand-up man. I can digress. I'll give you lots of cunnilingus.

Just come back, baby. Things will be different. Call off this wedding thing. Don't make me go all The Graduate on your asses. Because you know I will. You won't know what's happening. You'll just hear weird music and a bunch of glitter will drop down and two girls in see-through gowns will be pirouetting down the aisles. The priest will disappear, a platform will come down, and there I'll be, in my rough-and-tumble khakis and baby-blue shirt combo, ready to answer the question, "Does anyone here have cause that these two should not be wed?"

I will have an answer for that.

And do you know how I'll answer that, Claudia?

With my cock.

Yes.

My cock.

(Ahem.)

It's now or never, baby. Don't throw your life away just to prove a point.

You know you love me. You know you're not going to spend your life with Vince Vaugh's ugly brother.

Come back, Claudia. OH GOD, COME BACK!

Or I will make your lives a full-on illusion of Hell. I made the goddamned Statue of Liberty disappear. I survived a Tornado of Fire. You think I can't put some flaming poo on your doorstep and ring a doorbell, or crank call you 50 times a week?

Don't fuck with me, Claudia.

You're making the biggest mistake of your life.

Come back.

You wouldn't like me angry, Claudia.

Me and my cock will see you at the wedding if you don't turn back now.