Welcome to Scriptageddon Thursday, where we at It Is *Dancing*!!!! - the only blog brave enough to give you the furtive right-wing man-on-man action you know you want - explore the context behind recent baffling ejaculations.

Today, we offer the following brief dialogue as a gentle clarification of what could possibly have motivated Bill O’Reilly to declare, in response to this commercial, “I just want mayonnaise. I don’t want two guys kissing.”

The scene is the happening, if obscure, ‘Chockfull O’Meat’, an Irish delicatessen in historic Greenwich Village. A balding, splotchy man - PAPA BEAR - enters, affecting a sneer at the soft buzzing of a compact fluorescent bulb.

He makes his unpleasant way through a fairly short line of twenty-somethings, and finally arrives at the counter, where a CLERK with a strong Hibernian brogue colored with an affected lisp waits for his order.

PAPA BEAR. Some clientele you got here. This is the place with the two-dollar sandwiches, right?
CLERK. That offer ends at 6 PM, sunshine. It’s 1.75 for a 6-inch and 2.50 for twelve.
PAPA BEAR, grumbling. Of course. I guess I’ll have a foot-long.
CLERK. Sure. What’ll it be?
PAPA BEAR. Hmm. I’m thinking meatball and hot sausage.
CLERK, cocking eyebrow. O-kay. Is the sandwich all you want, sugar?
PAPA BEAR. What do you got in the way of condiments?
CLERK. All kinds. What do you want?
PAPA BEAR. How’s about a nice fat sweet pickle?
CLERK, coldly. What is this? You gonna ask for some beef on the side, maybe hot rolls?
PAPA BEAR. What? This is outrageous.
CLERK, in a cold whisper. You couldn’t care less that this is the best deli in the village. You’re just here to ogle the pretty young things. I got a reputation to uphold, buddy.
PAPA BEAR. No! They said this was - they said you couldn’t go to the Village and not eat here!
CLERK. Yeah, and they were right. Now, are you going to be buying a sandwich or what?
PAPA BEAR. OK, OK, fine. Large pickle, meatball and hot sausage twelve-inch.
CLERK. That’ll be 3.75.
PAPA BEAR. And slather it with mayo.
CLERK. What?
PAPA BEAR. Up one side of the sausage, down the other. Flopped out a little.
CLERK. What?
PAPA BEAR. You know, so I can lick it off. You’re some kind of liberal, aren’t you? You know how these things work.
CLERK. I warned ye once there’ll be no hawkin’ here! Out with you!
PAPA BEAR. But - but!
CLERK. Out! And get out of my shop!
The CLERK angrily gestures to the door. PAPA BEAR, muttering ‘I just wanted mayonnaise, I don’t want two guys kissing,’ makes his miserable way home, leather pants creaking under his overcoat.