First: Billy Sims is an asshole:
And second:he crashes a first birthday party.
SCENE: A faux-hemian first birthday party in American suburbia.
Wife: Did you get the camera?
Husband: Yes, I have the camera. (huffs)
Wife: Okay, now get the cake. His cake.
Husband: I know, I know. The gluten-free soy rice meal whatever cake with the sugar-free icing. What the hell is it made of, actually?
Wife: I don't know. But he has allergies.
Husband: My life is a void unfilled by the shadows I confuse for people.
Wife: What, honey?
Husband: Nothing. Seriously, do we have to go to all this trouble? He's one. We could slaughter a hog in front of him and he wouldn't remember it.
Wife: He's forming important memories right now.
Husband: Of shitty cake.
Wife: GET THE GODDAMN CAKE!
Husband: Anger will only scar him emotionally, you know.
He gets the cake. The baby, drooling and farting happily, stares at his parents, wondering if they are going to feed him, or eat him, or tickle him. These are the three thoughts a one year old is capable of processing relative to others, and he is thinking them.
Wife: Okay, ready? We have to sing softly, just in case we hurt his ears...
Husband: A bolt gun would be kind. Right behind the ear, please.
Husband: Nothing, honey. Happy---
BILLY SIMS BURSTS IN THROUGH DOOR.
BS: I can't hear you! BOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMEEEERRRRR!!!!!!!
BS: What you teachin' this child? HE'S GOT TO LEARN!!! BOOOOMER!!! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMER!!!
Wife: Who are you? Why are you yelling at my baby?
BS: THIS IS MY PARTY AND I WILL YELL TO ATTRACT ATTENTION TO MYSELF IF I LIKE!!! Gimme my cake!
Billy Sims takes the cake, eats it.
Husband: You probably actually don't want to eat tha---
Sims eats a huge slice of the cake and lets it fall from his mouth like a Great Dane slowly spitting out a carrot from its mighty jowls.
BS: WHAT THE FUCK KINDA CAKE IS THIS?
Husband: It's shitty cake.
Wife: IT IS NOT! It is a blended flourless rice and spelt soy cake with sugar-free icing! He has allergies.
BS: He doesn't have allergies, you're just bored and paranoid. What you do have is a problem on your hands, because Billy Sims has a sensitivity to sugar alcohols. You've ruined my damn day, woman. He turns to the child. BOOMER!!!! I SAID MOTHERFUCKING BOOMER, CHILD!!!!
Baby: Is now convinced Sims is going to eat him. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!
Translation: TICKLE NOT KILL!!!!!
Husband: I really want you to leave before I call the police.
Husband's inner thoughts: Thank you, lord. Thank you for the most interesting thing that has happened to me in my adult life. Thank you, thank you sweet lord.
Wife: Stop yelling at my baby!
BS: Allergies, my ass. This ain't cake. That have Sorbitol in it?
Wife: In the frosting, yes.
BS: Then Billy's gonna have to drop a Boomer sooner rather than later in your toilet before he leaves, because his intestines run a triple option of run, shoot, and scoot on him when he ingests even a trace amount of sugar alcohols.
Wife: Down the hall and to the left. If you don't leave afterwards, I'm calling the police.
BS: Call 'em! BILLY'S STILL TOO FAST!!! THIS IS MY PARTY AND DON'T YOU FORGET IT. You might wanna turn on a ceiling fan on or two, by the way.
Billy Sims looks at the baby.
Baby: TICKLE NOT KILL!!!!