Author: dstinton

(LUCAS and JOSH, mid-thirties, enter the Brant Street Café. They sit side-by-side at the counter.)

LUCAS
Wait till you try the chicken noodle soup here. It’s the best I have ever tasted.

JOSH
I think I’m going to have a grilled cheese.

LUCAS
I’ll tell you what, man: you go your way, I’ll go mine.

(pause)

JOSH
You seem agitated.

LUCAS
I’m not judging you. There comes a time in everyone’s life when they decide what kind of person they are. I don’t claim to understand your choice, nor will I judge you for it.

(pause)

JOSH
Thank you.

LUCAS
I don’t know what series of events led to your choice of a grilled cheese. I haven’t walked that road. All I know is what’s right for me, and it is the chicken noodle soup.

(pause)

JOSH
Should I get the chicken noodle soup?

LUCAS
Don’t patronize me.

JOSH
Listen, what is your problem?

LUCAS
I’m thirty-five years old. I was in the shower this morning, staring at the tiles, and it hit me: I am never going to publish that novel. I am never going to present my parents with a grandchild. I am never going to make partner. Every day that goes by is another staple stamped into my life, and it’s becoming clearer and clearer the shape of who I really am.

JOSH (mildly alarmed)
Whoa. Whoa. What the hell?

LUCAS
No, listen. I’ve reconciled myself to it. I’m not the guy who’s going to live passionately about any of those things I thought I’d live passionately about. But I’ll tell you what’s still in my power: the chicken noodle soup at the Brant Street Café. I’ve had it everywhere in the city, and I am prepared to state unequivocally that it is best here. I am an expert on nothing else. But I have this.

JOSH
Okay. Okay. Take it easy.

(A WAITRESS enters.)

WAITRESS
What can I get for you guys?

JOSH
I’ll have a grilled cheese.

WAITRESS
All righty. And you?

LUCAS (looking clearly and directly into her eyes)
The chicken noodle soup.

WAITRESS
I’m sorry, guy – we’re just out. I can get you a cream of mushroom?

(pause)

LUCAS (bravely)
Yes. Okay.

WAITRESS
It’ll be right out.

(WAITRESS exits.)

(pause)

JOSH
I thought you hated mushrooms.

LUCAS
Don’t try to pen me in, man!

JOSH
All right.

LUCAS
I am going to eat the hell out of that cream of mushroom soup. Try to stop me!

JOSH
I won’t.

LUCAS
I’ll tear your arm off.

(pause)

(The WAITRESS crosses again, and JOSH flags her down.)

JOSH
Miss? I think I’d also like a bowl of cream of mushroom, if that’s all right.

WAITRESS
Sure thing!

(The WAITRESS exits. LUCAS and JOSH sit in silence.)

(The Annual Mad Scientist Convention. DOCTOR ATROCITY is standing at a podium. He is accompanied by a drooling alligator/human hybrid in chains, who glares at the assembled audience of mad scientists. DOCTOR ATROCITY reads off note cards.)

DOCTOR ATROCITY
Therefore, you collective of sniveling puppets! Heed well my coming vengeance! Courtesy of my army of leidyosuccubi, you will soon unleash anguished cries you had no idea you were capable of!
(He flips to the next note card.)
The fortunate among you shall die quickly. And make no mistake – none of you shall die quickly! Thank you.

(The assembled SCIENTISTS applaud heartily as DOCTOR ATROCITY leads his creature offstage. DOCTOR GERYON, MPhD enters.)

DOCTOR GERYON
Thank you, Doctor Atrocity. And now the final speaker at the 178th Annual Mad Scientist Convention, Doctor Dennis Peterman.

(DENNIS takes the stage to a smattering of unenthusiastic applause. He carries an easel with a tablecloth draped over it.)

DENNIS
Thank you. It’s good to see so many familiar faces. Um. Hold on.
(He sets up the easel and adjusts the height of the microphone.)
Sorry. Okay. Ahem. In this era of so-called “convenience” meals, when everyone is “on-the-go,” what we need is a utensil that combines the cradling powers of a spoon with the piercing powers of a fork. Gentlemen, I present to you the most recent diabolical abomination from the labs of Doctor Dennis Peterman, the Spork!

(With a flourish, DENNIS pulls the tablecloth off the easel, revealing a highly technical blueprint of a spork. DENNIS gazes triumphantly at his audience. The audience is silent. Pause. Eventually, various SCIENTISTS begin speaking from the crowd.)

DOCTOR MALEFICARUM
Can it be used as a weapon?

(DENNIS is taken aback by the question for a moment.)

DENNIS
If you mean a weapon against inconvenience and waste, then definitely! Ha, ha!
(Silence.)
I suppose, if it were made out of metal. By and large, I envision them being made out of plastic. But even so, I believe a more conventional fork would probably serve your purposes better.

DOKTOR KOBOLD
What if it were made out of Asarium?

DENNIS
I’m sorry, “Asarium”?

DOKTOR KOBOLD
The radioactive mineral. It melts people from the inside. I introduced it at last year’s convention, and you all laughed!

DOCTOR RANTOUL
Oh for Pete’s sake, Doktor Kobold, enough with the Asarium.

DOKTOR KOBOLD
You shall pay for your impertinence!

DENNIS
Gentlemen, please. It’s really only designed for eating. In field tests, it has proved very useful. And that’s that. Thank you.

(A brief smattering of applause as DENNIS gathers his things and exits.)

(CUT TO: an office. DOCTOR GERYON sits behind a desk, talking to DENNIS.)

DOCTOR GERYON
I suppose I’m wondering if you really feel you fit in here, Dennis.

DENNIS
Certainly! I mean, I’ll never be the most popular person in the Guild, but I feel I play my part.

DOCTOR GERYON
It’s just that you don’t seem to exhibit the myopia, the megalomania, the idée fixe that are part and parcel of the mad scientist credo. You’re not angry at the world.

DENNIS
Oh.
(pause)
I thought it was “mad” like “crazy.”

DOCTOR GERYON
Well, no, it is. But besides that, you need to have some kind of grudge against society. Do you have any past slight, real or imagined, that you might fetishize?

DENNIS
No. Well. I hate waiting in line for things. Like, real long lines at the post office.

(DOCTOR GERYON grimaces and sighs.)

DOCTOR GERYON
I’ll give you an example: Doctor Rantoul. Let’s face it, he’s not half the scientist you are. But the guy is relentlessly fixated on the time twenty years ago when a handsome museum curator spilled coffee on a Beelzebufo ampinga fossil he was preparing for a diorama. He has spent the last two decades trying to create an army of carnivorous toads. He has not come close to succeeding, but his obsession carries a lot of weight here.

DENNIS
I don’t have anything like that, no.

DOCTOR GERYON
Do you have a slavish sidekick?

DENNIS
Well, there’s Jeanette.

DOCTOR GERYON
Okay, let’s talk about Jeanette.

DENNIS
She’s a grad student. She’s very competent.

DOCTOR GERYON
But is she a vile wretch, willing to unquestioningly carry out your most dangerous and thankless tasks?

DENNIS
Well no. In fact, I’m going to lose her in the fall; she just got hired at M.I.T.

DOCTOR GERYON
I see.
(He absently takes a marble-sized pellet out of the pocket of his lab coat. He rolls it around in his hand during the following.)
I’m going to suggest that you take a little break. Get some distance from the Guild and clear your mind. Ask yourself if you are willing to take on the extra fury to pursue a career in the mad sciences or if a more conventional route might be more rewarding to you. Okay?

DENNIS
Am I being kicked out?

DOCTOR GERYON
Dennis. When we kick people out of the Guild, they know it. I’m suggesting a hiatus.

DENNIS (glumly)
Okay.

(DOCTOR GERYON stands and offers his hand. DENNIS shakes it.)

DOCTOR GERYON
Thank you for your work. And perhaps I’ll hear from you again in a year?

DENNIS
All right. So long, then.

(DOCTOR GERYON casually flips the pellet to the floor, and it explodes in a burst of smoke. When it clears, he has vanished. DENNIS sits, dejected, for several moments. The door opens and DOCTOR GERYON pokes his head back into the room.)

DOCTOR GERYON
It’s nothing personal, Dennis. I want to stress that. Maybe one day you will snap.

DENNIS
Thank you.

DOCTOR GERYON
Farewell.

(DOCTOR GERYON drops another smoke pellet and vanishes again.)

DENNIS (softly, to himself)
I’ll show them. I’ll show them all.
(He dials his cell phone.)
Hello, Jeanette? It’s Dennis. Oh, it went… Well, it went terribly, if you must know. That is why I have an assignment for you. I would like you to come to the Hyatt and let the air out of every car in the parking lot… No, I’m not kidding. They’ll pay. Every last one of them… I suppose you’re right. Okay. I’ll sleep on it… Thank you, Jeanette. You’re the best.

(DENNIS hangs up and slouches in his chair.)

(A hospital room. GLEN and ADAM, mid-thirties, are in neighboring beds. They are wearing hospital gowns. GLEN is awake, reading a magazine. ADAM is asleep. After a few moments, ADAM wakes up and groans.)

GLEN
Well good morning!

ADAM (groggy)
Glen. Hey.

GLEN
The operation was a success.

ADAM
Oh, that’s great. How are you feeling?

GLEN
Great! How are you doing?

(pause)

ADAM
I’m really out of it.

GLEN
That sounds about right.
(pause)
Hey, Adam, I know I can never convey to you how much I appreciate this –

ADAM
Oh, no, seriously. There’s no need to mention it.

GLEN
Well, no, I think there is. You gave me a kidney. That’s huge.

ADAM
I was a match. What kind of friend would I be if I said no?

GLEN
No, Adam. It was above and beyond.

(pause)

ADAM
Well, you’re welcome.

(A moment passes. The two men have been rendered bashful by the level of warmth and intimacy. Finally, simultaneously, they reach between the beds and do a manly fist-bump.)

GLEN
Awesome.

ADAM
You’re looking really well.

GLEN
Yeah! I feel great.

ADAM
When will they know if your body accepts the kidney?

GLEN
I guess a kidney from a live donor starts working pretty much immediately, and it gets fully functional in three to five days. So, I guess three to five days after I have it implanted.

(pause)

ADAM
Sorry?

GLEN
Once they put the kidney in me, three to five days later it should be fully functioning, if all goes well.

ADAM
They didn’t put it in you yet?

GLEN
No, I thought it would be best to wait until I need it.

(pause)

ADAM
When will you need it?

GLEN
Who knows? But I feel great knowing it’s there. I feel prepared. Again, thank you.

(GLEN picks up a jar from the floor and sets it on the bedside table. In it, a kidney is suspended in cloudy liquid.)

ADAM
I thought you needed it right away!

GLEN
No!
(GLEN knocks on wood.)

ADAM
You son of a bitch! I thought it was a matter of life or death! You’re just keeping it aside in case you need it someday?

GLEN
What the hell, man? If you offer me half of your Twix bar, you’re not going to be pissed off if I don’t eat it right away.

(pause)

ADAM
No.

GLEN
I mean, we’re friends! We’ve known each other for fourteen years! I’ve been lying here, bored out of my skull for hours, just so I could be here in person when you regained consciousness. And I fucking hate hospitals, dude.

(pause)

ADAM
Thank you.

GLEN
Look, you’re welcome. You don’t have to thank me. It’s the least I could do.
(pause)
I’m gonna go get a Twix bar. You want anything?

(pause)

ADAM
Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

GLEN
Sure thing. And Adam. Don’t even think about going for your wallet. It’s on me.

(GLEN exits. ADAM lies in bed, silent. He glances over at the jar with the kidney in it. Idly, he reaches out and flicks it with his finger. He turns over and begins to drift back to sleep.)

(GRUFF 70s COP and DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP are chasing down a suspect on foot.)

GRUFF 70s COP (panting)
We won’t catch him unless we split up. You go down the alley, past the pet rock store. I’ll head toward the Naugahyde factory. We’ll meet at the payphone on Plaid Street and Paisley Way.

DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP
The what-phone?

GRUFF 70s COP
Payphone! You put a dime in it, you make a call!

DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP
Like a land-line?

GRUFF 70s COP
What the hell are you talking about, “land-line”?

DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP
I mean – whoops!

(DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP has suddenly fallen out of the shot. GRUFF 70s COP turns around.)

GRUFF 70s COP
What now?

DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP
My shoe flew off! These 70s loafers are useless to me! I need a pair of Reebok Pumps!

GRUFF 70s COP
What-bok whats?

DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP
You know, Reebok Pumps! The sneakers with the built-in air pump, for support, protection, and a custom fit!

GRUFF 70s COP
You’re dreamin’, rookie. There’s no such shoe!

DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP
What?? It’s the greatest sports performance shoe in the world! They’ve been around since nineteen-eighty-nine, and … Oh. Oh, no no no …

(DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP buries his face in his hands and weeps.)

• • •

GRUFF 70s COP
If you don’t crack this case, kid, you’ll never be anything more than Agnew to my Nixon.

DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP
Don’t you mean Cheney to your Bush?

GRUFF 70s COP
No one is getting chained to a bush!

DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP
Wait a minute!
(He analyzes the evidence – a small, bloodstained square of shag carpeting – and is struck with an epiphany.)
I see it all now, clear as Crystal Pepsi!

GRUFF 70s COP
Clear as what?

DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP
Oh my lord I AM LIVING A NIGHTMARE!

(He tries to kick over a water cooler but misses, and his shoe flies off his foot, landing in GRUFF 70s COP’s coffee mug.)

• • •

(DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP is at a romantic dinner with SEXY 70s LADY COP.)

DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP
You know, Linda, I think I’m beginning to like it now. I mean, “like it here.” As long as you’re by my side, I can live through any era of our country’s history.

SEXY 70s LADY COP
That’s a very sweet and odd thing to say.

(A WAITER enters and serves them a cheese fondue tray.)

DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP
In fact, I have something to ask you.

(DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP plunges a fork into the melted cheese and pulls out a dripping object. With some difficulty, he uses a napkin to scrape the hot cheese away, eventually revealing a diamond ring. To cool it off, he pours a little Chablis on it.)

SEXY 70s LADY COP (tears welling up)
Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!

DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP (kneeling)
When I’m with you, Linda, I feel I can burst into song at any minute.
(He begins singing, softly and romantically.)
“I can see a new horizon,
Underneath the blazin’ sky.
I’ll be where the eagle’s_ flyin’,
Higher and higher…”

SEXY 70s LADY COP (grimacing slightly)
What are you … Oh, my …

DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP (singing)
“Gonna be your man in motion.
All I need is a pair of wheels.
Take me where my future’s lyin’,
St. Elmo’s Fire…”

(SEXY 70s LADY COP is writhing on the floor, her hands pressed frantically over her ears.)

SEXY 70s LADY COP
Stop! Stop making that noise, you monster!

DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP (panicking)
What was I thinking? Your ears are not ready for this music! Not without experiencing everything that happens between now and 1985!

SEXY 70s LADY COP
Oh, the dissonance! What pit of hell spewed forth that crushing cacophony!

DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP
“Love Will Keep Us Together!” “Jessie’s Girl!” “Do That To Me One More Time!” So many steps you haven’t had the chance to take!

SEXY 70s LADY COP
If you think I’ll marry you, you’re dumber than a worry stone!

(DISPLACED TIME TRAVELER COP stands and runs out of the restaurant. One of his shoes falls off, but he doesn’t go back to pick it up, because all the other diners are calling for his head.)

(Except for one. A MYSTERIOUS WOMAN watches him leave, then picks up his discarded shoe. We hear her thoughts in voiceover.)

MYSTERIOUS WOMAN (voiceover)
Hmmm. There’s something about that man I find fascinating. I shall search the whole city until I find the gentleman who fits this shoe.

(The MYSTERIOUS WOMAN places the shoe into her handbag. When the camera pulls pack, we see that it is a promotional bag advertising “Lost” coming out on DVD! Season EIGHT!)

THE END…???

(A funeral. The casket is upstage center, and black-clad MOURNERS are milling around. TIMMY, a boy of five, is downstage, shyly standing next to his mother, MARJORIE. EDWARD, holding a notepad, is kneeling and talking to TIMMY.)

EDDIE (to TIMMY)
A noun? It’s like a person, place or thing.

MARJORIE (to TIMMY)
What’s something you saw today, sweetheart? Just name anything.

(TIMMY whispers something to MARJORIE, who laughs.)

EDWARD
What did he say?

MARJORIE (to TIMMY)
Tell him what you said, sweetie.

(TIMMY whispers to EDWARD. EDWARD laughs and writes something in the notebook.)

EDWARD
That’s perfect. That’s perfect. Thank you, Timmy.

(The FUNERAL DIRECTOR approaches EDWARD.)

FUNERAL DIRECTOR
Any time you’re ready.

(EDWARD nods and makes his way to a podium by the casket. He clears his throat, and the MOURNERS take their seats and quiet down.)

EDWARD
The Eulogy.

Friends and family, well wishers and pomegranates, we are gathered today to mourn the lemon-scented passing of Jack Kaufmann.

Jack Kaufmann was a soggy soul, a man who was quick with a cheesy handshake and a kind Q-Tip. And he was always willing to lend a helping jack-o-lantern to someone in need.

Things weren’t always easy for Jack Kaufman. As one of sixty-nine children, he constantly had to pistol-whip for attention. But most would agree that this only made him hotter. In fact, he drew upon his experience just last year, when he finally fulfilled his dream of eating Mount Everest.

He is survived by his lovely wife Angelina Jolie, his son Rick Astley and daughter Miley Cyrus, and of course McNuggets, his faithful thirteen-lined ground squirrel. And most of us would argue that, at a mere one hundred billion years old, he was far too hoarse to die.

But today is not only a day for sadness, for we still have many ticklish memories of this drunken man. And Jack Kaufman himself would have wanted each and every one of us to seize the toilet.

(EDWARD steps down from the podium as the MOURNERS wipe away tears. Organ music.)

(A recording studio. SCOTT stands alone, fretting. After a beat, THERESA enters.)

SCOTT
He still out there?

THERESA
Yeah.

(pause)

SCOTT
If he can’t go through with it, are you willing to do the voiceover?

THERESA
No! I have a horrible voice!

SCOTT
Don’t say that.

THERESA
It’s true! It’s worse than yours.

(pause)

SCOTT
Yeah, I guess it is.

THERESA
I could never sell something as radical as this. Hell, I could tell people the earth was round, and they’d second guess themselves and consult a globe.

(pause)

SCOTT
The jury’s still out on the earth being round, as far as I’m concerned.

THERESA
Not today. Please.

(ROB enters.)

SCOTT
What’s up?

ROB
I’m in.

THERESA
You sure? Because we can’t screw around on this stuff anymore, we only have the studio till 2:30.

ROB
Right. Let’s just plow through it. I just want it to be known that I don’t believe any of this crap.

SCOTT
You don’t have to.

(THERESA and SCOTT retreat to the recording equipment and ROB positions himself in front of the microphone. All three put on headphones.)

THERESA
Take it from “slurry walls.”

ROB (reading)
“The slurry walls, three-foot-thick walls of concrete buried deep underneath the World Trade Center, were designed to hold back the ocean and the Hudson River. But these walls were displaced, in some areas by up to eighteen inches. If the walls were strong enough to support the weight of the towers and the ocean for over twenty-five years, why would they be knocked out of alignment?” Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because two one-hundred-story buildings had just fallen down on top of them?

SCOTT
Cut!

ROB
I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I can’t get behind this because I don’t believe it.

THERESA
Hey, Rob, I see on your résumé that you played Nathan Detroit in “Guys and Dolls.” So, did you “believe” that you had to find a place for the big craps game?

ROB
The fact that I was in “Guys and Dolls” is not going to make people not want to work with me in the future!

THERESA
No, your unprofessionalism will do that nicely!

SCOTT
Please. Everyone just calm down. Rob, you’re very good. You have the steely timbre, the gravitas we need.

ROB (grudgingly)
Thank you.

SCOTT
There’s a reason we hired you for this. 9/11 was an inside job. The idea that a handful of guys with box cutters could do this is ridiculous, and everyone knows it.

ROB
Okay. I need to tell you something. Sometimes a conspiracy theorist will make a grand conspiracy statement, and he will follow it with the phrase, “and everyone knows it.”

SCOTT
Okay.

ROB
Those four words tag you as a crackpot. They carry the implication that when I claim to disagree with you, that means I must be “in on it.” Or that they’ve “gotten to me” and threatened my family or something.

SCOTT
All right.

ROB
And since I know that neither of those is the case, your entire theory crumbles. If there is no room in your worldview for me to disagree with you without being a coward, or a shadowy architect of clandestine machinations, then you are a crackpot, and you are to be ignored.

SCOTT
Noted. Are we doing this?

(SPYDER, owner of the recording studio, enters.)

SPYDER
Guys, I need you to wrap this up. I got a “My Little Pony” Christmas special coming in here at 2:30.

THERESA
Spyder, can they reschedule? We’re trying to open the eyes of the nation here.

SPYDER
No, man, I want them in and out of here ASAP. They’re unlicensed.

SCOTT
What do you mean?

SPYDER
It’s not an official “My Little Pony” video, it’s a knockoff they’re going to sell on the street.

(pause)

THERESA
Let’s just drop it.

SCOTT
Are you serious?

THERESA
Yeah. I guess the truth loses again. Give Rob his money and let’s go home.

SCOTT
Yeah, okay.

THERESA
I guess I’ll read the closing paragraph later. We can cobble together the rest

(SCOTT stares down ROB for a moment, then shakes his hand.)

SCOTT
You fucked us, Rob. But you took a stand. On some level, I have to respect that.

(ROB watches everyone pack up. He is about to take his water bottle and leave, but he stops himself. He swipes the script back from SCOTT.)

ROB
Roll the tape.

SCOTT
What are you doing, Rob?

ROB
Just roll it.
(They do. ROB is magnificent, heartfelt, as he recites from the script.)
“To review. George W. Bush was eager to create enough chaos to allow his half-brother Osama bin Laden to divert Afghanistan’s heroin trade through Putin’s Russia. So he asked the 107-year-old Dick Cheney to combine the Catholic Church’s weather machine with the water engine technology owned by Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. Using it all in conjunction with a holographic sky-projector with possible origins in the blueprints from the ancient alien astronauts, they staged the most massive act of treason our country has seen.”
(pause)
“The President has said, you’re either with us or you’re with the terrorists. Open your eyes, America. They are one and the same.”
(pause)
“Whose side are you on?”

(pause)

THERESA (softly)
You nailed it.

ROB
Well.

THERESA
No, you fucking nailed it.

SCOTT
Rob. Thank you.

(SCOTT nods and makes his way out of the studio. SPYDER approaches THERESA.)

SPYDER
Hey, is that stuff true? About the water machine and the ancient astronauts?

THERESA
Every last word.

SPYDER
Could I get a copy of this video?

(ROB, hearing this, nods at THERESA and SCOTT. They nod back. ROB exits.)

(A morgue. Four bodies are covered with sheets. TONY PRATT, coroner, lifts one of the sheets and speaks into a handheld tape recorder.)

TONY
…and the renal and liver failure, along with the low sodium concentration in the plasma, makes for a textbook case of Legionnaires’ disease. In younger victims, this would have been very treatable, but these subjects had elderly, oft-abused bodies, and this outbreak was simply the straw that broke the camel’s back.
(TONY walks to another of the sheets and lifts it.)
Keith Richards lasted the longest, but the severe bouts of vomiting finally drained his body of all hydration, leaving him a dried husk of a man.
(TONY drops the sheet and begins walking across the room.)
And if I may add a personal note, I am saddened by the fact that the band I grew up worshipping, the band I thought would never die, has been felled by something as random as a bacterial infection spread by the air conditioning system of their five-star hotel. Their end does not hold with the hard-living reputa- WHOOP
(TONY has slipped on something. He bends down and examines it.)
What the hell?
(He leans closer.)
That’s disgusting.

(BRENT HERNANDEZ, an assistant coroner, enters. He has tears in his eyes.)

BRENT
Tony, have you seen- WHOOP
(BRENT has slipped too. He looks around him on the floor.)
Oh no. It happened again.

TONY
What happened again?

BRENT
It’s the new intern, sir. She keeps wandering in here, and, well…

TONY
Well what?

BRENT
Have you seen her? She’s fucking hot.

TONY
Brent, if the two of you have been fornicating in the morgue, I’ll see to it that you never work in the industry again.

BRENT
No! Not at all! In fact, she’s a bit of a tease… It’s, uh, it’s why I’m crying.

TONY (indicating the floor)
Then where did this come from?

BRENT
It’s the bodies, sir. I think… I think it’s from the bodies. This happens every time the new intern comes in here.

TONY
Are you serious?

BRENT
She’s really fucking hot.

TONY
Be that as it may, the floor is covered in corpse ejaculate, and I am not going to clean it up. Send the intern in here with a mop.

BRENT
All due respect, sir, that would cause a bit of a vicious cycle.

TONY
Tell her to wear some dowdy clothing!

BRENT
I can’t. She’d take us to court in a sexual discrimination case.

And Now, The Punch Line.

(TONY looks to the camera and rolls his eyes.)

TONY
This is the worst musical predicament we’ve had here since Roberta Flack’s lover went on that soft-song killing spree!!!!!!!!!

The End.

(A restaurant. A MAÎTRE D’ answers the phone. It’s FRED DURST.)

MAÎTRE D’
Good afternoon, Kyle’s on Seventh.

FRED
Yes, I’d like to make a reservation for tonight.

MAÎTRE D’
Certainly, sir. How many will be dining?

FRED
Four.

MAÎTRE D’
And your name please?

FRED
Durst.

MAÎTRE D’
“Durst”?

FRED
Yes.

MAÎTRE D’
I’m sorry, is that “Durst” or “Burst”?

FRED
Durst.

(The MAÎTRE D’ is about to write it down, but second-guesses himself.)

MAÎTRE D’
Sorry, is that “Durst” with a “D” or “Burst” with a “B”?

FRED
Durst with a D.

(The MAÎTRE D’ pauses.)

MAÎTRE D’
I’m sorry sir, is that “D” as in “duck,” or “B” as in “buck”?

FRED
“D” as in “duck.”

(The MAÎTRE D’ winces.)

MAÎTRE D’
I’m sorry. Is that “duck” as in “I went hunting and shot a duck,” or “buck” as in “I went hunting and shot a buck”?

FRED
“I went hunting and shot a duck.”

(The MAÎTRE D’ is about to write the name down, but stops himself.)

MAÎTRE D’
Um. Was that “I went hunting and shot a duck as it paddled in the pond,” or “I went hunting and shot a buck as it gamboled through the woods”?

DURST (irritable)
I went hunting and shot a duck as it paddled in the pond.

MAÎTRE D’
Thank you, Mr. Durst. Sorry about that.

FRED
It’s fine.

MAÎTRE D’
May I have your first name?

FRED
It’s Fred.

(The MAÎTRE D’ is about to write it down, but stops himself.)

MAÎTRE D’
I’m sorry, was that “Fred” or “Red”?

(Wesley Snipes talks on an airplane phone to hijacker and terrorist mastermind Charles Rane.)

In “Passenger 57”

SNIPES
You ever play roulette?

RANE
On occasion.

SNIPES
Well let me give you a word of advice: always bet on black.

In Real Life

SNIPES
You ever play roulette?

(pause)

RANE
Do I what?

SNIPES
Ever play roulette.

RANE
Why?

SNIPES
Just answer the question.

RANE
No, I don’t think I’ve ever played roulette.

SNIPES
Okay.

(pause)

RANE
Why do you ask?

SNIPES
No reason.

RANE
No, tell me why you asked me that!

SNIPES
It’s stupid.

RANE
What’s stupid?

SNIPES (sighs)
If you had said “yes,” I was going to tell you to always bet on black.

RANE
Why would I do that? That’s not a good strategy at all.

SNIPES
Look, just drop it.

RANE
I mean, more than half of the pockets on a roulette wheel are not black. They’re just as likely to be red. What the hell are you talking about?

SNIPES
I’m black.

RANE
Sorry, you cut out for a second.

SNIPES
I’m black.

RANE
Oh.

(pause)

SNIPES
So, yeah.

RANE
So it was a joke?

SNIPES
Kind of.

(pause)

RANE
We’re on the phone, how would I know you were black?

SNIPES
Just drop it.

RANE
And what color do you think I am? Red?

SNIPES
Look, the point is, I’m going to need you to land the plane and let all the passengers go.

RANE
No!

(RANE hangs up)

Finally, as promised, a special comment for the guy sitting behind me at the 9:15 showing of “Iron Man” last night.

I don’t assume for a moment that you are familiar with Ralph Waldo Emerson, sir, but there may be something for you to learn in his aphorism, “Life is not so short but that there is always time enough for courtesy.”

Because last night, before the movie even started, you abandoned courtesy with a swiftness bordering on psychotic.

You saw fit, during the preview of “The Love Guru,” to voice the vulgar acts you would like to perpetrate on Jessica Alba. Your taste in female pulchritude notwithstanding, you’d do well to keep those comments to yourself. The imaginary exploits that were so intriguing to you held no such fascination for those of us within earshot of you, a group which, if I am not mistaken, included everyone in the theatre.

Not content with that act of inconsideration, you took it upon yourself to begin nudging my seat.

I am no Pollyanna; I know that a certain amount of jostling is to be expected even in a crowd of the most careful and considerate people. But it became clear that this shifting was not brought about by the act of innocently settling into your seat, but was rather the result of you propping your feet on the back of the empty chair to my left.

I glanced back at you, hoping to remind you with my eyes that you were in fact not in your living room with a coffee table in front of you, but rather at a public venue filled with strangers who had paid for the privilege, not of listening to your witticisms, but of watching “Iron Man.”

You gaped back at me with your uncomprehending eyes and finally asked, quoting here, “What is your problem?”

(TITLE SCREEN: “What is your problem?” – The Guy Sitting Behind Me At The Movie Theatre)

What is my problem? What is my problem, sir?

That you would exhibit such blockheadedness that you wouldn’t know and/or care that your actions detracted from my experience. That you would be so brazen in your entitlement as to be immune to censure and embarrassment. That you would wait until the movie started before slowly and noisily unwrapping the cellophane on your box of Dots. That is my problem.

When at last I stood up to leave that aisle and find another seat, suddenly you were aghast at my rudeness, snapping at me to sit down, and lambasting me for daring to block a portion of your view for three seconds’ worth of the film.

It is at this moment that you made the transition from ignoramus to traitor. In spite of your impressive list of crimes against every other moviegoer in attendance, you chose to play the injured party – a sensitive, upstanding soul in a world gone mad – at the slightest hint of inconvenience presented to you.

It is an upheaval of the social construct to expect the rest of us to conform to your gerrymandering standards of etiquette. That is my “problem.” That is the problem of every other paying audience member in that theatre. And at last, that is your problem, sir. For you have gotten this far in your life without the implications of that hypocrisy managing to creep their way into your skull.

Finally, I appeal to your self-interest, since you have demonstrated your incapability to experience the slightest trace of empathy. Someday, perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow, but surely some future day, you will find yourself seated in front of a fellow audience member even more lowbred and oafish than you are.

Perhaps he will demonstrate his intellectual vacuity by repeating every one of the movie’s idiotic punch lines. Perhaps he will answer several calls on his cell phone throughout the film. Perhaps he will bring a squirming toddler to an R-rated picture, and you will bear the brunt of all the fussing and scolding.

Then you will realize too late which side of this social conflict you are on.

Good night and good luck.