Sketch War

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  • Advertising Edition: R.A.’s entry

    INT. OFFICE – DAY

    TITLE – Mitchell-Bell, Inc. New York 1962

    GARETH MACLAREN (early 30s, wan with thinning hair) sits opposite BARRY NEWCOMB (a late 20s go-getter with moviestar looks). Hair and suit styles are appropriate to the mid-1960s. Whenever he’s not speaking, Barry peers intently, like a detective divining motive.

    BARRY

    We’re not the first agency you approached, are we Mr. MacLaren?

    GARETH

    No. No, I’ve been all over town. Spent an hour at Sterling-Cooper while their Creative Director waxed eloquent about something or another.

    BARRY

    Draper’s very good.

    GARETH

    He certainly seemed to think so.

    (Beat)

    Took a meeting at McMann and Tate, but the copywriter never showed up. Sat in a board room with Tate while a crow kept tapping on the window like it wanted to come in and pitch. Very awkward.

    (Beat)

    I even met with Rock Hunter.

    BARRY

    He’s become quite successful.

    GARETH

    Seems to have spoiled him.

    BARRY

    Well you certainly have a sticky problem, Mr. MacLaren. But I’m not clear why you think there’s money in it.

    GARETH

    My father believed there was. He came to America with the clothes on his back and spent the rest of his life building a company by anticipating what the public wanted before they knew they wanted it. Before he died, he told me this was the one goal he never achieved.

    (Beat)

    I think I owe it to my father, for all he sacrificed and all he accomplished, to do this for him. Can you help?

    BARRY

    There’s no ad campaign we can create that can help you.

    GARETH

    So you can’t help me either.

    BARRY

    I didn’t say that, Mr. MacLaren. I’m facing facts. No one else in town came up with anything either because, forgive me, the idea is just crazy.

    GARETH

    Maybe it is. But I’ve got to try. You won’t help?

    Barry ponders a moment.

    BARRY

    You said your father knew what people wanted before they did, right?

    GARETH

    Yes.

    BARRY

    Then maybe this is an R&D problem, not an advertising problem. At least not an advertising problem for today.

    GARETH

    I see where you’re going.

    BARRY

    You see Mr. MacLaren, Mitchell-Bell is part of a much larger concern–

    INT. OFFICE – DAY

    TITLE – Mitchell-Bell, Inc. New York 1992

    Barry and Gareth are joined by MELINDA RESTON (20s and casually dressed) in his updated office. Barry looks even more dashing with silver hair. Gareth is wiry and fit with a few wisps of gray hair all that remains. The two older men wear suits.

    BARRY

    Just skip to the bottom line, Melinda. How close are we.

    MELINDA

    At least another 30 years.

    BARRY

    That can’t be! We’ve been running non-stop since ’62.

    GARETH

    Barry, that’s what my people are saying as well. I’ve just accepted that it’s a bigger problem than we realized and I may not live to see the day.

    BARRY

    Melinda, is there anything we can do?

    MELINDA

    I think so. We’ve been seeing a lot of success with the campaigns on the new Hummers. We think maybe pushing in that direction might help. We can spur the public to embrace a whole new class of what we’re calling Sport Utility Vehicles.

    BARRY

    How much will that help?

    MELINDA

    We think we can soften the ground considerably. Maybe cut the total time in half.

    BARRY

    That’ll have to do.

    INT. CONFERENCE ROOM – DAY

    TITLE – Mitchell-Bell, Inc. New York 2010

    Barry and Gareth are still plugging away. Barry’s aging like Paul Newman, Gareth like Abe Vigoda. The lights are dim and the room is filled with young men and women in casual attire. The light of a monitor flickers on everyone’s face.

    From the speakers, the recognizable CLINK, CLINK of two ice cubes being dropped in a glass followed by the fizzy sound of a carbonated beverage being poured.

    Zoom in on TELEVISION showing ad.

    INT. BAR – NIGHT

    ICE CUBES land in glass. Cola is poured into the glass.

    NARRATOR (O.S.)

    Mmm. Cool, fresh, invigorating. Nothing refreshes like MacLarens.

    The glass sits on a black velvet tabletop. Nothing is visible beyond the glass. The ice cubes glint as they bob in the sparkling amber fluid.

    NARRATOR (O.S.) (CONT’D)

    MacLarens Ice. Now available in Alaska.

    Zoom out to reveal…

    EXT. STREET – TWILIGHT

    The television is in the window of a small electronics store. The sign above reads NANOOK’S TV AND RADIO. An ESKIMO stands in front of the window watching. He wears shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flops. As the commercial ends, he turns and we see a SINGLE TEAR run down his face.

    BLACKOUT:

  • FSW: Advertising Edition (Ken’s Entry)

    Okay…I’m an idiot. Yes, I did briefly post this Friday, wondering why everyone else didn’t post yet. And then my tiny little brain went “oh yeah, this is the week we’re waiting until Monday”

    So…ummmm….sorry, and….my bad.

    Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

    What Superbowl would be complete without a car commercial, huh? So here’s my little homage to Detroit’s marketing machine, and some ideas of how they can get back on track in tough times.
    _____________________________________________

    FADE IN:

    EXT. TEXAS PLAINS – DUSK

    The sun sets over a rugged orange desert plain, scattered with scrub brush, cactus and purple rocky outcroppings. A camp of cowboys sits around a fire. One cowboy, DYLAN, square jawed handsome and rugged, crouches over a fire and pours coffee into a tin cup as he looks past the herd of cattle watching and sees distant lightning on the horizon. Acoustic guitar strums start in the soundtrack, and a male singer with a Springstein \ Mellencamp type voice and a country-rock twang starts singing.

    SINGER (V.O.)

    There’s a hard wind blowin’
    ‘Cross the world today
    Storm clouds are building
    And skies look gray

    CUT TO:

    EXT. TEXAS PLAINS – NIGHT

    It’s now raining very hard in the night – a major storm. Our cowboys are on horseback herding cattle through a torrential downpour. They are just shadows occasionally lit by lightning strikes. DYLAN makes some impressive cutting moves on his horse

    SINGER (V.O.)

    But when things get bad
    And times look rough
    Americans buckle down
    And get tough

    Another young, but handsome cowboy, CODY, looks over the side of the cliff his horse is near when a lightning strike nearby spooks his horse. The horse rears up in and CODY is thrown over the side of the cliff (all in slow motion).

    CLOSE UP ON DYLAN

    DYLAN sees CODY go over the cliff, and immediately spurs his horse over in a mad gallop(all in slow motion)

    SINGER (V.O.)

    We don’t walk away
    When we’ve got a tough fight
    We grab our neighbor’s hand
    And we push through the night

    CUT TO:

    EXT. CLIFF – NIGHT

    CODY barely hangs on to a wet rocky handhold. He struggles to hang on as he sees the huge drop below, but his gloves are giving way. Just as CODY slips completely, DYLAN’s manly hand grabs his. DYLAN grimaces in determination as he hauls CODY back up from certain death.

    CUT TO:

    EXT. TEXAS PLAINS – NIGHT

    As they stand back up on terra firma, DYLAN and CODY walk back to CODY’s horse. CODY still looks shaken, but unflappable DYALN claps him on the back, then hands CODY the reins to the horse that just threw him. CODY climbs back up, and DYALN strides back over to his own horse. They get back to the business of herding cattle in the rain.

    CUT TO:

    EXT. TEXAS PLAINS – MORNING

    The sun starts rising over the plains in a brilliant rain-free collage of orange, red and pink. Flowers are everywhere now, in full bloom from their soaking in the night, and dripping clean raindrops on the ground. DYLAN and CODY look at each other, and confidently nod with only the vaguest hints of smiles on their lips.

    SINGER (V.O.)

    You know you’ll make it through
    No matter how far
    You’re American tough
    Now buy a fuckin’ car

    CUT TO:

    EXT. SUBURBAN FRONT LAWN – DAY

    A man, his wife, and two boys (BOTH about 8 years old), all dressed in really ugly western wear stand in front of a big black SUV. Text fades in on screen:
    CHEVY TAHOE
    IT TAKES HUGE BALLS TO DRIVE A VEHICLE NAMED AFTER A PLACE BEING WRECKED BY IT’S EMISSIONS

    SINGER (V.O.)

    We hired famous singers
    And used their big hits
    We made tons of commercials
    Showing girls with big tits

    But you bastards went out
    And bought Japanese
    You stuck us with thousands
    Of SUV’s

    CUT TO:

    EXT. HIGHSCHOOL PARKING LOT – DAY

    A man in his early 50’s stands in front of super-shiny red Corvette. The man is dressed like he belongs in a boy band, but his large pot belly and wind-swept toupee give him away.
    More text fades in on screen:
    CHEVY CORVETTE
    BECAUSE NO OTHER CAR IN THE WORLD SAYS ‘RECENTLY DIVORCED, IN DENIAL, AND EASILY MANIPULATED’ THE WAY WE CAN

    SINGER (V.O.)

    (chorus)

    We lost our private jets
    Cause no one bought Corvettes
    The UAW
    Has us totally screwed
    We know we’re making trash
    But man, we need the cash
    So get American tough
    And buy our fuckin’ cars

    (bridge)

    Now we know your money’s tight
    And times have gotten lean
    But we still run this company
    Like it’s 1913

    Becoming more efficient
    Just ain’t in our plan
    We’ll just pump you full of guilt
    Until you buy American

    CUT TO:

    EXT. BEACH – DAY

    A charcoal gray Chevy Malibu sits in front of the sand, waves carrying surfers crash in the background. A guy and a girl, both in their twenties, exit the Malibu wearing bathing suits and sunglasses, and run down to the beach. Text fades in:
    CHEVY MALIBU
    YES, WE KNOW NO ONE WHO LIVES IN MALIBU WOULD EVER BE SEEN DEAD IN THIS CAR. BUT YOU PROBABLY KNOW PEOPLE WHO’D BE IMPRESSED BY JUST THE NAME, AND THINK IT MUST SOMETHING REALLY EXOTIC. JUST DON’T EVER THEM SEE YOU DRIVING IT.

    SINGER (V.O.)

    (back to verse)

    Some people want a hybrid
    Then go out and buy a Prius
    But buy an eco-friendly foreign car
    Is just like pissin’ on Jesus

    Stop worrying ‘bout tomorrow
    Life can be an endless Summer
    Just speed up global warming
    And buy a big ol’ Hummer

    CUT TO:

    EXT. WHEAT FIELD – DAY

    A blue Chevy Volt sits in front of a field of waving wheat. Text fades in on screen:
    COMING SOON – CHEVY VOLT
    STILL WON’T BE OUT FOR OVER A YEAR, AND WILL PROBABLY HAVE PROBLEMS EVEN THEN. BUT IF YOU BUY ONE OF OUR CARS NOW, YOU CAN ACT SMUG LATER ON BECAUSE YOU BOUGHT FROM A COMPANY THAT MAKES GREEN CARS (IF THIS THING EVER DOES GET TO MARKET)

    SINGER (V.O.)

    (back to chorus)

    We lost our private jets
    Cause no one bought Corvettes
    The UAW
    Has us totally screwed
    We know we’re making trash
    But man, we need the cash
    So get American tough
    And buy our fuckin’ cars

    Please buy our fuckin’ cars

    (this keeps repeating through the end, fading out a little each time)

    The screen fades into closeup of a waving American flag, then the Chevrolet logo fades up.
    Titles fade up on the screen over the logo:
    CHEVROLET
    ALL AMERICAN
    AND IF YOU DON’T BUY A CAR FROM US YOU’RE A GOD-HATING TERRORIST FAGGOT DOUCHEBAG…AND EVERYONE WILL KNOW IT

    FADE TO BLACK.

  • Advertising: David’s Entry – Lie to Me Baby

    INT. Conference Room Day
    Jerry Kline, (Balding, middle aged with thick glasses) stands at the end of a long table. Lined up at the table are a group of advertising gurus with briefcases open, laptops and Blackberries lit up and sharpened pencils at the ready.Kline turns to the white board behind him.
    KLINE
    The key, ladies and gentlemen, is money. More to the point…
    He draws a stick figure with a quick almost violent motion and then jabs the marker at the board where the hip pocket should be.
    KLINE (CONT’D)
    Their money. We need it. They probably need it too, but who cares? How do we get it.
    MARTINA (thin, waspish with cat’s eye shaped glasses) raises a pen in the air.
    MARTINA
    Lie?
    KLINE
    Exactly. That is why we are here. We are living the lie. We are living BY the lie. We are lying to ourselves about what we do so we can justify the lie. So…feed my addiction. Give me some lies.
    BART, (short, stout, late twenties w/freckles) stands up.
    BART
    I have an idea I’d like to share.
    KLINE
    I didn’t ask for ideas.
    BART
    How about if I lie and tell you it’s another lie – then present the idea?
    KLINE
    Interesting.
    BART
    I’d be lying if said I didn’t think so.
    MARTINA
    Just tell us what you’ve got, Barty, we don’t have all day.
    BART
    (winks at Martina)
    I think we should go a new direction with the company logo.
    MARTINA
    The logo?
    KLINE
    I hope you’re lying.
    Laughter ripples up and down the table. Bart ignores them.
    BART
    What is the one thing our clients expect of us?
    KLINE
    Lies.
    BART
    Exactly. But lately, some of that has come back to bite us in the ass. Like the time machine.
    Kevin, a thin ferret-faced man in his mid forties glances up and cuts in.
    KEVIN
    Hey! We sold truckloads of time machines. The client couldn’t be happier.
    BART
    There were a FEW issues with customers…we did tell them it was a time traveling device.
    KLINE
    It tells time.
    MARTINA
    It didn’t travel…
    KLINE
    But you can travel WITH it…and hey, how about that commercial where you go to sleep, and it’s one time – when you wake up? The future?
    BART
    In any case, we’ve gotten ourselves an unfortunate reputation…it’s hurting business.
    KEVIN
    But…if they know we are lying, what’s the problem? We lie too well?
    BART
    It’s the negative connotation … the semantics. Here is what I propose.
    Bart unfolds a cardboard stand and flips a sheet of paper over, turning it so all can see. Emblazoned across the page is the face of a cartoonish albino lion.
    KEVIN
    I don’t get it.
    MARTINA
    I do! It’s a White Lion.
    KLINE
    We have to shrink it.
    BART
    Exactly.
    He flipped the page again, and the same image stared at them. This time there was text. The logo read.
    “Little White Lion”
    KLINE
    I like the honesty…

  • Welcome to Sketch War

    About a year ago, Michael posted a sketch on his blog one Friday night. Being hyper-competitive, I banged a sketch out after work and posted it by midnight, throwing down a virtual gauntlet. Every Friday hence, we wrote sketches – first on whatever we wanted, and later on pre-selected topics – and posted them to our blogs.

    This past December, we decided it was time to consolidate all our sketches in one place and created this blog. We’d been joined over the year by several other comedy writers and wanted a showcase. But the problem with the new blog is that we’d post between two and five sketches all on Friday and nothing else the other six days of the week. Not great for providing entertaining content to attract and keep visitors.

    With the new influx of visitors coming thanks to Chuck’s Blog Mob project, we decided it was time to make some changes.

    For the next two weeks, we’ll be spreading out our sketch entries. Long-time readers already know that last Friday was the first time we didn’t post sketches. We wanted to hold them for this week. Meanwhile, we’ll be slowly adding new content. Things like critiques on each others’ sketches, reviews of live sketch performances, analysis of sketches from SNL and the like, short scenes from works in progress, and posts on the art and technique of sketch writing. Once we’ve gotten the flow of secondary content high enough, we’ll go back to Friday battles.

    We’re also counting on all of you to tell us what you want to see more of. If we should focus on critiques and analysis or posting other short scenes, or posts on how to write sketches. So let us know in comments.

    But for now, please take a look through our archives and keep coming back every weekday for new sketches.

  • Strange things are afoot at Sketch War…

    We’re going to be making a few changes and tweaks around here over the next few weeks, and because of that we’re holding off on posting our sketches until Monday. I know, it seems to defeat the whole purpose of a “Friday Sketch War” to not post on Friday, but that’s part of the tweaking.

    Come back Monday morning first thing for more details about the changes.

    In the meantime, here’s something to tide you over, know what I mean?

     

    There’s video below, FeedReader.

  • Friday Night Sketch War: Borders Edition

    Forgive me the lateness of this recap, but I’m still recovering from the bloody melee in the arena yesterday. *Five* warriors did battle yesterday; the floor slick with cream pies and banana peels.

    Whoa. Passed out from the blood loss. On to the sketches on the theme: borders.

    Wow. Just, wow. Five warriors, and rumors of another battler considering joining the fray next week. We’ve got guns, rednecks, zombies, Minutemen, Ivans, and fat kids. Check them out and be sure to leave comments.

    Next week’s topic: advertising.

    If you think you’ve got the comedy chops to do battle with our scarred
    and bitter warriors, if you dare step into the hailstorm of seltzer and
    cream pies, if you think you’re MAN ENOUGH to make us laugh, write a
    sketch and contact us at sketchwar(nospam)@dreamloom.com.

  • FSW: Borders Edition (Peter’s entry)

    Friday Sketch War
    Borders Edition
    “52.3°N, 119.9°E”

    FADE IN:

    EXT. BORDER CROSSING – DAY

    A little hut occupies a desolate, rocky landscape. Truly the middle of nowhere.

    A worn sign reads “Border Crossing” in Russian, Mandarin, and English.

    LUBOV

    (Russian, subtitled)

    I spy with my little eye —

    INT. BORDER PATROL STATION – CONTINUOUS

    LUBOV (20s) and BOROVICH (30s), military men, play chess in the shabby little hut. The hut contains the bare necessities — an old communications radio, some tin pots and pans, and (oddly) a taser.

    Both men speak subtitled Russian throughout.

    LUBOV

    — something beginning with the letter ‘S’.

    BOROVICH

    (immediately)

    Sky. Go.

    Lubov makes a move; Borovich makes him take it back.

    BOROVICH

    Not that, Lubov. You do that, I get your queen.

    LUBOV

    Oh! I spy something beginning with ‘R’.

    BOROVICH

    (immediately)

    Rocks.

    Lubov picks up the taser.

    LUBOV

    You’re great at ‘I Spy’!

    BOROVICH

    That’s not a toy.

    Lubov shoots the taser’s little electrical clips into the huts ceiling. It makes a BZZT sound.

    Lubov notices something out the window.

    LUBOV

    Huh. Now I spy something that starts with ‘M’.

    BOROVICH

    ‘M’? What, outside?

    LUBOV

    There’s a man out there.

    EXT. BORDER CROSSING – DAY

    Lubov (taser in hand) and Borovich stand outside the little hut.

    XIAO is running full-tilt towards the border station.

    Lubov nervously raises the taser.

    Borovich pushes Lubov’s hand down.

    BOROVICH

    Stop! This is a protected border!

    Xiao doesn’t stop; Borovich grabs Xiao.

    Xiao only speaks in subtitled Mandarin.

    XIAO

    I’m being chased by a man with an axe!

    Lubov picks a little book out of his pocket, thumbs through it quickly.

    BOROVICH

    What’s he saying?

    LUBOV

    It’s “I am…” — here it is — “I am enjoying my morning run.”

    BOROVICH

    He can’t — you can’t run here! It’s the border!

    XIAO

    I don’t speak Russian! There’s a guy with an axe!

    Xiao mimes appropriately.

    LUBOV

    He really wants to cross.

    BOROVICH

    Hmm.

    EXT. BORDER CROSSING – DAY

    Now all three men occupy the little hut.

    Borovich places the last chess piece into the starting position.

    BOROVICH

    Simple. You win a game of chess, and you can cross.

    LUBOV

    Is that legal?

    BOROVICH

    Who cares? I haven’t played decent chess in seven months.

    LUBOV

    Hey!

    XIAO

    What?

    BOROVICH

    Your turn.

    Xiao and Borovich start playing, blindingly-fast.

    In the background, Lubov tries to juggle the taser, a pot, and his hat.

    LUBOV

    It’s lucky you showed up. Things were getting a little dull here at crossing #5201/B.

    XIAO

    What?

    Lubov digs out his little book as Xiao and Borovich continue their game.

    LUBOV

    (Chinese, subtitled)

    We are happy for your dog because we have spoons here.

    XIAO

    I’m so confused.

    BOROVICH

    Huh! I lost! Already!

    Borovich shakes Xiao’s hand.

    BOROVICH

    Well-done.

    LUBOV

    Wait! He also has to — uh — juggle these things!

    BOROVICH

    Lubov, a deal’s a deal.

    LUBOV

    But it would be fun. Right? Sir?

    EXT. BORDER CROSSING – DAY

    Xiao stands in front of the building with the taser, the hat, and the pot in his hands.

    Xiao looks confused.

    Lubov mimes juggling.

    Xiao juggles —

    LUBOV

    He’s really good.

    BOROVICH

    He gets to cross into Russia, no question.

    Meanwhile, a crazed BRUTE WITH AN AXE appears behind the two men and raises his weapon to strike Lubov.

    Xiao notices this, stops juggling, and shoots the madman (with the taser). The brute drops, unconscious.

    Borovich, of course, only sees Xiao shooting at them — he jumps towards Xiao and punches Xiao out cold.

    BOROVICH

    Lubov. You gave him the taser?!

    LUBOV

    Uh, sir?

    They both look at the felled brute.

    BOROVICH

    Are you sure the visitor said ‘morning run’?

    LUBOV

    Not 100%.

    BOROVICH

    Hmm.

    Borovich points to the brute.

    BOROVICH

    Tie him up with something.

    Lubov produces a length of rope from his pocket and starts tying the brute’s hands.

    LUBOV

    What’ll we tell command?

    Borovich ponders a moment, then points to the brute.

    BOROVICH

    We’ll say he’s an evil spy —

    Lubov props the axe against the hut.

    Borovich checks Xiao’s pulse, props him up against the hut.

    BOROVICH

    — and this guy is a valuable informant — someone we need to detain for further questioning.

    LUBOV

    That’s an excellent plan, sir!

    Borovich opens the hut’s door, drags Xiao in.

    BOROVICH

    It’ll be good to have this guy around.

    Lubov follows Borovich in and closes the door.

    FADE OUT.

  • FSW: Borders Edition (Ken’s Entry)

    Wow….who knew I’d be the last one posting at 10:00 am Pacific time.

    This here sketch war is heatin’ up….
    (and welcome back Michael!)
    __________________________________________________________________

    EXT. SOUTHWESTERN DESERT – NIGHT

    JUAN, JORGE and ESTEBAN, all three Mexican men in their early 30’s dressed in ragged dirty clothes, crouch-walk through scrub brush under a night sky, talking in hushed tones.

    JUAN

    We are almost there mi hermanos…almost there.

    JORGE

    Madre de Dios! At last! We have made it!

    ESTEBAN

    My wife, my children, please forgive me for leaving you.

    JORGE

    You have no choice my brother! We leave that they may survive.

    JUAN

    Si Esteban! We cross the border so you can find good work, so you will make good money. When their bellies are full with the food they buy with the money you send back, they will understand…they will bless your name.

    JORGE

    Shhh! Do you wish to alert the border patrols?

    ESTEBAN

    I pray you are right my brothers.

    JUAN

    Let us go, now, with no regrets. Let us go where the money still has value, where there are still jobs to be found, where our lives are not at the whims of corrupt men.

    JORGE

    The border is just there. Run fast, run quiet, and do not look back.

    JUAN extends his arm, hand open palm down, and looks at the others. JORGE’s face tightens in determination as he clamps his hand down over JUAN’s. ESTEBAN pauses, thinking, in turmoil. But he too tightens his jaw in determination and smack his hand down over the other two.
    Just as the three men stand up and start to run, they are hit by bright search lights. They freeze shielding their eyes as BOBBY RAY and JIMBO enter, pointing shotguns at the three.

    BOBBY RAY

    Well lookee here Jimbo. Looks like we got three little illegals tryin’ to cross the border.

    JIMBO

    Looks like.

    BOBBY RAY

    Now just where in the name of Jesus did you three think you was goin?

    ESTEBAN

    Please…just, let us go. For the sake of our families, please let us cross.

    BOBBY RAY

    Did I hear that right Jimbo? Is he askin’ us, a couple of duly authorized Minute Men, to let him just slip across this here border and pretend like we didn’t seen nuthin’?

    JIMBO

    Sounds like.

    BOBBY RAY

    Well how bout this, ‘Pedro’. How bout you three get your asses right back where they belong pronto before I lose my temper.

    JUAN

    Mister, please, have mercy, there is nothing left for us in this country…

    BOBBY RAY

    GODDAMN IT!!! I am gonna to count to three and y’all best be steppin’ away from that border….1…..2….

    JUAN, JORGE and ESTEBAN step back. BOBBY RAY and JIMBO walk over beside them.

    BOBBY RAY

    We can’t have you boys leavin’ the U.S. just yet – Uncle Sam needs all the cheap labor he can get right now. Y’all go on with Jimbo and he’ll give drive you back into town.

    JUAN, JORGE and ESTEBAN exit following JIMBO. BOBBY RAY shoulders his shotgun and shouts after them.

    BOBBY RAY

    And you tell you’re other illegal immigrant buddies that we’re watching – ain’t none of you gettin’ back into Mexico ‘til OUR economy’s fixed.

    Titles fade in over the silhouette of Bobby Ray Standing with his shouldered shotgun:
    "THE MINUTE MEN – KEEPING AMERICA’S CHEAP LABOR INSIDE AMERICA UNTIL WE’RE READY FOR THEM TO LEAVE"

    FADE TO BLACK.

  • FSW: Borders Edition (Michael’s Entry)

    EXT. PARKING LOT – DAY

    A large, olive green tent is set up in a desolated parking lot. The remnants of burned out cars sit around it. The urban landscape is near ruin. There is a Red Cross painted on top of the tent. A long line of disheveled, sickly looking refugee-types are waiting their turn. A helicopter flies over, low enough that people duck their heads in worry, and is gone. In the distance, the sound of barking dogs. Or maybe gunfire.

    At the back of the tent stands KARRIE MOORE, 30s, British, tired but still lovely to look at. She takes a long drag off of a cigarette. She wears a yellow, plastic apron that is smeared with blood. A moment later, HENRI FALCONE, 40s, French, rakishly handsome, exits the tent, wiping his hands on a bloody rag.

    HENRI
    Those things will kill you, no?

    KARRIE
    (taking another drag)
    I’m trying to build up an immunity.

    HENRI
    Busy day today.

    KARRIE
    It’s been like this since we arrived.

    HENRI
    I’ve been working with Médecins Sans Frontières for over a ten years now. This is one of the worst places I’ve ever been sent.

    KARRIE
    They ever sent you to any good places?

    HENRI
    Just when they send me home. How about you?

    KARRIE
    This is my first assignment.

    HENRI
    And?

    KARRIE
    I can handle the blood. Gunshot wounds. Stabbings.

    HENRI
    That’s good considering this is practically a war zone.

    KARRIE
    It’s the children that get to me.

    HENRI
    Oui.

    KARRIE
    Their watery eyes filled with fear. We don’t have an immunization for that.
    (Beat)
    Makes me feel helpless. Like I’m doing nothing.

    Henri puts a hand on her shoulder.

    HENRI
    You’re doing more for them then their own people are. That’s not nothing.

    KARRIE
    You think they’ll ever come a time when we won’t be needed?

    HENRI
    We can hope, no?

    A shiny, black Cadillac Escalade pulls up and the tinted window slides down. The sound of children trying to talk over one another spills out. An overweight man leans out the window. He has a severe Texan twang.

    TEXAN
    Pardon me, Miss. Y’all wouldn’t be able to help us, would ya?

    KARRIE
    Is someone in need of medical attention?

    Henri sticks his head into the tent.

    HENRI
    Stretcher!

    TEXAN
    Oh no, no. It’s nothing like that. We’re all as fit as fiddles.

    The back window rolls down to reveal two very plump children sitting in the back seat, both sucking on super-sized sodas. They wave their pudgy hands at Karrie and Henri.

    TEXAN
    But we are lost.

    KARRIE
    Lost?

    TEXAN
    We’re trying to find the Henry Ford Museum, but this here map’s got us turned every which way. Who knew Detroit would be so confusing to drive around?

    HENRI (Under his breath)
    Merde.

    KARRIE
    I’m sorry, I don’t know where that is. But some of the locals might be able to help you.

    She points to the people waiting in line. Texan takes a look at them and cocks an eyebrow.

    TEXAN
    Uh, thanks. But I think we’ll just keep drivin’ around. We’re bound to come across it sooner or later, right. Thanks.

    He rolls up his window and begins to drive off. Two large McDonald’s bags are tossed out of the rear window before it slides back up. The stretcher bearers arrive.

    HENRI
    Sorry, false alarm.

    They go back into the tent.

    KARRIE
    You know what’s ironic? I always wanted to visit the states when I was a kid.

    HENRI
    At least they still have running water.

    KARRIE
    Yeah, but don’t drink it.

    They share a laugh. Karrie flicks her cigarette to the ground and steps on it, grinding it into the dirt. They head back into the tent.

    FADE OUT

  • FSW: Borders Edition (Coyote’s Entry)

    INT. BEDROOM – DAY

    Matching pairs of twin beds, nightstands, and dressers mirror left and right. A line of duct tape neatly divides the room down the center, right up the back wall, splitting a JONAS BROTHERS POSTER right between Nick’s eyes. EMILY, 7 and sassy, enters the left and notices a shirt edging over her side of the line.

    EMILY

    Mom! Maddy’s stuff’s on my side again!

    Mom’s heard this before and she’s tired of it.

    MOM (O.S.)

    So move it, Emily.

    EMILY

    She’s always over the line! It’s not fair.

    MOM comes into the room from the right and picks up the shirt. She folds and lays it on the right side bed. She crosses the line and sits next to Emily.

    MOM

    Em, you know she tries, but she’s not a big girl like you. Try to be understanding?

    EMILY

    Okay.

    CUT TO:

    INT. BEDROOM – DAY

    MADDY, a precocious 4-year old with a mouth as big as her sister’s, enters the empty room from the right. She spies a pink sneaker on her side of the divide.

    MADDY

    (whiny)

    MOM!!! Em’ly’s shoe’s on my side!

    MOM (O.S.)

    Maddy, what did we say about whining?

    MADDY

    (whinier)

    But, mom!

    Mom enters from the left, picks up the sneaker and puts it next to its mate at the foot of Emily’s bed.

    MOM

    Maddy!

    (beat)

    Never mind.

    CUT TO:

    INT. BEDROOM – DAY

    Emily enters from the left and sees one of Maddy’s dolls on her side of the room.

    EMILY

    Mom!

    VIRGIL, a mid-50s rancher in boots, jeans, and 10-gallon hat, enters from the right with a folding chair, sets it up on the center line, and sets hisself down.

    EMILY (CONT’D)

    Who’re you?

    Virgil tips his hat so-slightly.

    VIRGIL

    Name’s Virgil. You must be Emily. Your mom’s told me all about you.

    EMILY

    She has?

    VIRGIL

    Yep.

    EMILY

    Why are you here?

    VIRGIL

    Keepin’ the peace.

    Maddy enters from the right and stops dead in her tracks when she sees Virgil.

    MADDY

    MOM!!!

    VIRGIL

    Whoa now, little lady. No call for hollerin’. Name’s Virgil.

    MADDY

    You smell funny.

    Virgil plucks a flask from his pocket and takes a sip.

    VIRGIL

    Wouldn’t know about that. Been minding the border down Mexico way with the Minutemen. Then they finally up and finished that dadburned fence.

    Emily slides one of her pink sneakers across the floor to the line. Just as it breaks the plane, Virgil pulls a six-shooter from a hidden shoulder holster and trains it on her head.

    VIRGIL (CONT’D)

    Might want to rethink that.

    Virgil opens his flask again and offers it to Emily and Maddy before taking a swallow.

    BLACKOUT: