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  • FSW: The Legend of the Fourth

    I decided to go with an Independence Day theme for this one, also challenging Michael to see if he could do the same. We’ll see what he comes up with later, but for now, please enjoy my offering.

    The Legend of the Fourth
    (Stan sits at the edge of his young son Seth’s bed, tucking him in for the night. Sunlight leaks through a break in the window coverings.)

    STAN
    Okay, sport. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.

    SETH
    Dad, why do I have to go to bed so early tonight?

    STAN
    Well, tiger, this is the scariest night of the year. The night when the walking dead roam the land looking for young boys and girls so they can eat their brains. Tonight is July 4th.

    SETH
    But Jimmy said there were fireworks tonight. His parents are taking him to the lake to watch.

    STAN
    Then Jimmy’s parents mustn’t love him like your mom and I love you, champ. Fireworks aren’t fun and games. We set off fireworks to scare away the monsters. Close your eyes and I’ll tell you the legend of the fourth.

    Tom Jefferson hated the king. When Tom was a boy, he’d written a long letter to the king, telling him how he wanted to become a knight someday so he could hit people over the head with a hammer. But the king never wrote back. So when Tom grew up, he had it in for the king. Problem was, Tom was what they call a dilettante, which is a fancy word for no-good slacker. Like your Uncle Bob.

    He looked everywhere for other people who hated the king. Patrick Henry hated the king because he was greedy. Patrick was always saying to people “give me this or give me that,” but the king never gave Patrick anything. Ben Franklin hated the king because the king didn’t like the electric lights Ben invented. John Adams hated the king because he wanted to be king himself.

    So they worked on a plan to destroy the kingdom.

    First they stole bodies from the cemetery. Then Patrick Henry took all the best parts from the bodies and sewed them together to make a better body. He realized that none of the teeth would fit in the mouth he’d used, so he asked his friend Paul Bunyan to carve some out of wood. They put them in the mouth and used Ben Franklin’s electricity to make it come to life.

    They named him George Washington and he beat the king up until he left. Then he chopped down a cherry tree and made everyone a pie to celebrate. That was the first July 4th in 1776.

    They realized that if they could make George come back to life, maybe Ben Franklin’s electricity could also make them live forever. So later that day they went back to Ben Franklin’s secret lab.

    Patrick Henry was greedy, so he wanted to live forever. He used Ben Franklin’s electricity on himself.

    Ben Franklin wanted to invent more things, like stoves and kites, so he used his electricity on himself.

    John Adams wanted to be king forever, so of course he used Ben Franklin’s electricity on himself.

    But Tom decided he didn’t want to live forever. And that was good, because what none of them knew was that Ben Franklin’s electricity could keep them alive forever, but every year on the same day they’d made themselves live forever, they’d need to eat. If they didn’t eat, the hunger would gnaw away at them and make them feel like they’d been kicked in their boy place.

    The only thing that would make the hunger go away was brains. Brains of little boys and girls.

    The next year on July 4th, Tom saw John Adams in the street trying to catch some children to eat their brains. He said, “John Adams, what are you trying to do to those children?”

    John Adams said, “Why, I’m trying to eat their brains Tom Jefferson!”

    Tom needed to save the children, so he tried to think of a way to scare off John Adams. Then he figured it out. He could use fireworks. “Everyone knows that zombies don’t like loud noise,” thought Tom. “Maybe John Adams is like a zombie now.”

    Tom was right, and the fireworks scared off John Adams. Zombie John Adams.

    And that’s why every year on the fourth of July, the children go to bed early and the grownups set off fireworks. To protect you from Zombie John Adams, Zombie Ben Franklin, and Zombie Patrick Henry.

    (Seth’s face is barely visible, with a deeply traumatized look in his eyes. The whole bed is shaking from his terror.)

    SETH
    What about Zombie George Washington?

    STAN
    Right. Him too. He’s the worst. With those wooden teeth, chewing on the little brains.

    Alright, buckaroo. It’s time to go to sleep.

    (Stan gets up and exits the room. Seth continues to tremble. Outside Seth’s bedroom, Stan’s wife Kerry gives him a long, deep kiss. She’s wrapped in a fluffy robe.)

    KERRY
    How did it go?

    STAN
    Great. He won’t be coming out till morning.

    KERRY
    Okay. Then you’d better hurry and get changed. I don’t want to be late.

    STAN
    What about you?

    (Kerry opens her robe to reveal a latex bustier, stilletto heels, and a garter belt. She picks up a riding crop from a nearby table and gives Stan a healthy whack with it.)

    KERRY
    Our first Sparklers and Spankers party? I’ve been ready for hours.

    BLACKOUT

  • All I Want is a Relaxing Dinner with Limp Bizkit

    (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”?

  • FSW: The Loan’s the Thing Edition

    Hey, hey! It’s still daylight out and I’m posting my sketch! Huzzah.

    Richard is already in the mix and should probably watch out for stray bolts of lightening this weekend.

    No word from Dave yet, but keep your eyes peeled because he could strike at any moment.

    Here’s my attempt to get back into the swing of things. A little dark, but, well, sometimes I enjoy that. I hope you do as well.

    And, as always, feel free to join in on the action. Just post your link in the comments section.

    A Bank office. Jane Gorman is sitting behind her desk looking over papers. Marty Bellows is seated across from her.

    JANE: Well, Mr. Bellows, everything looks in order here.

    MARTY: Oh, wow. This is fantastic. I can’t tell you how excited I am.

    JANE: Do you know what you’re going to do with the place?

    MARTY: It’s been a dream of mine to buy a building and open up a little sandwich shop.

    JANE: Well, Marty, the people here are American National like to think we’re in the making-dreams-come-true business.

    MARTY: Thank you, so much. And any time you need lunch, stop in and it’s on the house.

    JANE: You’ll never get the loan paid off that way.

    (They share a laugh. The phone rings.)

    JANE: Look these over and start initialing by the X’s.

    (She hands Marty the papers and answers the phone.)

    JANE: Jane Gorman, talk to me.

    (Marty is reading an initially. Jane is listening on the phone her face growing more concerned.)

    JANE: (On phone) I see. Thank you for calling. (She hangs up.)

    MARTY: Do you need me to sign all three pages here? Or just this one?

    JANE: Let me see.

    (Marty hands her the papers and she tears them up.)

    MARTY: What are you doing?

    JANE: I’m sorry Mr. Bellows, but I’m afraid the loan has been rejected.

    MARTY: What? Why?

    JANE: I’d rather not say.

    MARTY: But I was signing the papers. We were talking about dreams coming true. (beat) Who was on the phone?

    JANE: No one.

    MARTY: Before the phone call I was signing papers. Afterwards you were tearing them up. Ms. Gorman, please.

    JANE: Mr. Bellows. Marty. (beat) You’re dying.

    MARTY: What?

    JANE: I’m sorry you have to find out this way.

    (He stands up and looks around.)

    MARTY: Am I on one of those hidden camera shows? Okay. You got me. Very funny.

    JANE: That was your doctor. The results just came back from your colonoscopy.

    MARTY: And he called you?

    JANE: We have a mutual back scratching policy between banks and hospitals. We let them know if a patient can pay their bills and they inform us when…well, a loan applicant is a bad bet. I’m sorry.

    (He sits.)

    MARTY: I’m going to die?

    JANE: Well, you should probably consult with your doctor, but he said he’d be hesitant to okay you for a five year loan.

    MARTY: There is so much I still want to do.

    JANE: (Looking over papers) Judging from your portfolio here, I’d say you could take a nice trip to Europe. Maybe even a cruise around the world. Of course, that isn’t taking into account the medical bills you’re sure to accumulate or the ever weakening dollar.

    (Marty stands and begins to leave, dejected.)

    MARTY: Uh. Thanks. I guess.

    JANE: Good luck, Mr. Bellows. And if you need anything, well…I hope you have some close friends.

    (Marty exits. Jane sits on the edge of her desk and looks at the audience.)

    JANE: What’s your dream? You living it or still planning? Better get cracking. You never know when your loan will get rejected.

    (She moves back to her chair as angelic, orchestral music begins.)

    DEEP BOOMING VOICE OVER: American National. Reminding you that life is short, but loans are forever.

    BLACKOUT

  • FSW: Witness Protection

    (A gray, grimy interrogation room. One table, two chairs, harsh fluorescents. MARVIN HENDERSON sits nervously opposite DET. JASON DETWILER.)

    MARVIN
    It’s not fair.

    DETWILER
    Life’s not fair, Henderson.

    MARVIN
    I need guarantees.

    DETWILER
    Guarantees? Haven’t you figured out from all of this that there are no guarantees in this life? Or the next?

    MARVIN
    He’ll kill me. You’ve got to protect me.

    DETWILER
    Witness protection? You give us what we need and testify against that sonuvabitch and we’ll talk.

    MARVIN
    I’m just an accountant!

    DETWILER
    And I’m just losing my patience, Henderson. Spill.

    MARVIN
    (Sighs deeply) Okay. At first, I just thought it was an error in the numbers. Doesn’t happen much, I make sure of that, but once in a while a mistake creeps in and sticks around. So I started tracking it back. It took me a while – he’s got books going back forever – but once I found it, things started falling into place.

    DETWILER
    Found what? Spell it out.

    MARVIN
    I should have realized. 144K isn’t that much. I mean, there’s billions of people, right? Why only 144,000? Why is that his magic number?

    DETWILER
    You tell me.

    MARVIN
    Timeshares.

    DETWILER
    What?

    MARVIN
    It’s timeshares. He bought up some swampland in the Everglades and drained it, put in condos, a little town, a man-made lake. A whole, self-contained little community. 2000 units, some one bedroom, some two. Week-long shares. You see, it’s not really 144K. That’s just approximate. Could be more, could be less.

    Heaven is a timeshare in Florida.

    DETWILER
    Sounds more like hell.

    MARVIN
    His old accountant was clever, but he couldn’t hide the payments. The boss had to grease a lot of palms to get that through. Plus, he had to pay off the masons.

    DETWILER
    Tough union?

    MARVIN
    No, the Freemasons. They wanted a piece of his action, and Jehovah didn’t want to start a war. He was trying to fly under the radar.

    DETWILER
    This is good stuff, Henderson, but I don’t know if it’s enough to nail him. You’ve got to give us more.

    MARVIN
    I’ve got more. He’s been skimming money off the top for years. His kid doesn’t even know, not that he’d do anything about it but pout anyway. It took me a month of going through the books, line by line but I caught it. You see, once you know what to ask, the answers can be found in his books.

    You know the X Prize?

    DETWILER
    No.

    MARVIN
    Big fund to build a private spaceship. Ten mill.

    DETWILER
    What’s that got to do with your boss?

    MARVIN
    It’s him. He’s the guy behind it.

    DETWILER
    What does god need with a starship?

    MARVIN
    Nothing. He’s been using it as a tax shelter. An illegal tax shelter.

    DETWILER
    We’ve got him!

    Tell me Henderson, why? Why did you turn against him?

    MARVIN
    My wife died last year. Cancer. I asked him why. “Why, Lord? Why did you take her?” He just sat there and said nothing. Bastard.

    BLACKOUT

    (A small, neatly furnished living room. Marvin and MARIE sit next to each other on a couch. Marvin’s hair color has been changed and he looks a few years older.)

    MARIE
    Ben, honey? I’m going to get a beer. You want one?

    MARVIN/BEN
    Sure, that’d be great.

    (Marie gets up and starts to head to the kitchen. The doorbell rings…)

    MARIE
    I’ll get it.

    (Marie crosses and opens the front door. A bright shaft of sunlight streams in through the opening. As the visitor speaks, Marvin’s expression changes from neutrality to abject terror.)

    MAN (O.S.)
    Have you heard the good word?

    BLACKOUT

  • Friday Night Sketch War: Round Twenty

    It’s been four long weeks since the last Sketch War summary, but that doesn’t mean there haven’t been some good sketches in the interim (and one very obscure one last week, sorry.) But this week we’re back at normal strength with a three-man knock-down drag-out donnybrook! So let’s get to it.

    • David fired the first shot with the deadly accuracy of an action movie superstar…
    • Coyote retaliated by unloading the clip of his service revolver, and curing cancer as an afterthought…
    • Michael might be back from his honeymoon, but his mind and sundry body parts remain behind.

    Bon mots, blow jobs, and Ponzi schemes do battle in the comedy arena this week. Enjoy!

    If you think you’ve got the chops to join in our weekly merriment, send a link of your funniest work to sketchwar at dreamloom dot com.

  • FSW: Short & Sweet Edition

    Dave was out of the gate early today rewriting classic movies.

    Richard is up and at ’em having some trouble with the law.
    I’m still on Pacific time, which is why mine seems late, but really isn’t. 
    It’s also why mine doesn’t seem funny, but really is.
    (Paul sits in a kayak, bobbing in the water. He is staring off into the distance, a serene smile on his face. A moment later Derek paddles up to him.)
    Derek: Hey.
    (Paul nods in acknowledgement) 
    Derek: The sunset is amazing out here, huh?
    (Paul nods again.)
    Derek: Sometimes, if you’re really lucky, you’ll see a minke whale or some dolphins swim by. Just takes your breath away.
    (Paul nods again.)
    Derek: I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out here before. You on vacation?
    Paul: Honeymoon.
    Derek: The new Mrs. didn’t want to venture out on the water?
    Paul: She loves outdoor activities.
    (Derek looks around.)
    Derek: The currents can get pretty strong out here. Which way was she paddling?
    Paul: Oh, she wasn’t in a kayak.
    Derek: She must be a pretty strong swimmer to make it out this far.
    (Paul nods.)
    Derek: And back. I don’t know too many people who could do that.
    Paul: I don’t know anyone who could do it.
    Derek: Wait. Did she swim out here or not?
    Paul: She did.
    Derek: And you let her…I mean, I don’t see anyone out here. Look, buddy, I don’t know what your deal is, but…
    (The cover flips back on Paul’s kayak and Marissa pokes her head out.)
    Marissa: Hey, Chatty-Charlie, why don’t you move along? You’re sorta breaking his concentration here and there’s only so much oxygen in here once this cover is closed.
    Derek: Oh. I thought…I mean, it seemed like…
    Marissa: Move it Nanook before I cram this oar up your b-hole.
    Derek: Sorry.
    (Derek paddles off.)
    Marissa: It had better be this biggest goddamn diamond…
    (Paul puts his hand on Marissa’s head and nudges her back down into the kayak.)
    Paul: Shhh. My concentration, remember?
    (She disappears out of site. Paul returns the cover of the kayak. He smiles serenely.)
    Blackout

  • FSW: Trapezoid Traffic Stop

    (Harold and Debbie sit in their car, strobing blue and red lights shining through the rear window making clear their plight. At the wheel, Harold looks forlorn, Debbie irritated.)

    RADIO ANNOUNCER (O.S.)
    …come on in to Spiedermann’s Metal Gazebos. With every great bower comes great bronze stability!

    DEBBIE
    Turn that off!

    (Harold kills the radio. A trooper strides to the window in full regalia. His boots a-gleam and his hat brim arrow-straight, Dudley Do-Right’s got nothing on him.)

    TROOPER
    License and registration, please.

    (He examines the provided materials for a moment.)

    Do you know why I pulled you over this evening, folks?

    HAROLD
    I sure don’t, officer.

    DEBBIE
    Harold! Don’t be difficult. You know what you were doing. Tell the nice man.

    HAROLD
    I suppose I might have been just a smidge over the speed limit back there. Sorry, officer. I was just keeping pace, you know. And yes, I know that’s wrong.

    TROOPER
    Speeding, huh? Didn’t notice that. Let me get that down. Just how fast do you think you were going, Mr. Renshaw?

    HAROLD
    Oh, I wouldn’t say more than a couple of miles over…maybe six?

    DEBBIE
    Harold!

    HAROLD
    Ten. Okay, I was going ten over. I’m real sorry.

    TROOPER
    Ten. I should probably write you up for that.

    (The Trooper pulls out his ticket pad and gets poised to write.)

    You know, that’s actually not why I pulled you over this evening, Harold. Do you mind if I call you Harold?

    HAROLD
    That’s fine.

    DEBBIE
    What else did you do, Harold?

    TROOPER
    Now ma’am, don’t get too mad at Harold. It’s not what he did, but what I can do for you. Folks, I pulled you over tonight to talk about Prickly Pear Products. Are you familiar with the healing power of prickly pears?

    HAROLD
    Prickly…what?

    DEBBIE
    Are you giving him a ticket or not?

    TROOPER
    Well ma’am, that depends. You see, I’m a distributor for 3-P, that’s what we call Prickly Pear Products, and I’d like to ask whether I can interest you in making hundreds of extra dollars a month with just a few hours of work. Our products practically sell themselves. From hair care to health care, soap to supplements, prickly pear pulp can change the way you live.

    Did you know that before the white man arrived, the native Americans of the Southwest never got cancer?

    HAROLD
    I really don’t think we’re inter…wait. That can’t be right. You’re saying they never got cancer? And you expect us to believe that?

    (The Trooper looks at Harold and Debbie for a second, then raises his pen to the ticket.)

    TROOPER
    No sir. I suppose I don’t. You said fifteen miles over the limit, correct? You know in this state that’s considered reckless. I think you should step out of the car.

    HAROLD
    I said ten! Ten!

    DEBBIE
    Excuse me. Officer? I was wondering if there were any other uses for prickly pears. It all sounds so fascinating. Doesn’t it Harold?

    TROOPER
    I’m glad you asked. My product display case is in the trunk of my patrol car if you’d like to take a look, folks. Don’t mind the man in the back seat. He’s harmless.

    BLACKOUT

  • Action Movie One-Liners Don’t Work In Real Life

    (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)

  • Answer Key to Friday’s Sketch

    Okay. I realize I overreached so far on yesterday’s sketch that it appears I’ve had a stroke. To assure you all, the ASPBV (American Society for the Protection of Blood Vessels) monitored the writing of that sketch and no blood vessels were injured in the production.

    So here’s a quick legend:

    • The patient is named Jim Halpert. If you don’t know, he’s a character on the American version of The Office. If you watch, you might remember this prank.
      • Bears. Beets. Battlestar Galactica.
    • The second man is Bear McCreary. That’s two ‘bears’. I specifically chose McCreary as the second Bear because he is the composer for BSG. Also writes a great blog on the process, here.
    • I should have been clearer about the soup that looks like blood. It’s borscht. That’s the ‘beets’.
    • When Edward James Olmos shows up, that’s the explicit BSG reference.
    • No next appointment for the patient until 2009 because last night was BSG’s season finale.
    • One more throwaway joke: McCreary was wearing a yellow smiley face and spilled borscht on it. That joke will make a lot more sense to a lot more people in 2009, but if you’ve read The Watchmen, you should get it.

    I’m not being defensive. I knew when I wrote the scene it had a limited audience. I just didn’t realize I’d made it *that* limited! 🙂

    Oh well. Next week will be better.

  • FSW: The Three Bees

    Okay, this one’s an odd egg. There are several jokes buried in here, but they’re targeted to specific audiences. I figure you either don’t get this at all, get pieces, or get everything. This might be my most layered piece yet. Now, whether it’s funny or not…

    David has already posted his piece for the week, an excellent one at that. He completely nailed his character’s voice. Michael’s on his honeymoon, so if a sketch shows up I’m going to be a bit concerned about the marriage! As for Red, she’s going to be out of the game for the next month or so as she lives the exciting life of a WSOP dealer. Poker, free drinks, and a salary. Not a bad gig.

    As always, we welcome – nay, beg – others to join in the sketch war games. Just email your piece or a link to your piece to sketchwar_at_dreamloom.com.

    The Three Bees
    (Jim lies on a couch. He wears shirt and tie, stylishly loose. His hair is a mop that says “I don’t care how it looks” but in reality takes thirty minutes and much product to achieve. Seated in a chair behind him taking notes is Dr. Josefs, a 50-something man in a cardigan. A very traditional Freudian.)

    DR. JOSEFS
    How are you today, Jim?

    JIM
    Okay. A little anxious…I had that dream again last night.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Tell me about it.

    JIM
    I’ve told you about it before. It’s the same, every time. Nothing ever changes.

    DR. JOSEFS
    I know, but this is a process. Talk it through. Tell me about the dream.

    JIM
    Okay. (Deep sigh)

    (As Jim starts to speak, the lights go down on the doctor’s office and come up on the scene he’s describing.)

    I’m sitting at a table in an old-style nightclub. It’s late, maybe after hours, and there are only a few people left. This one table is right in front of me. There are two men – one in a white dinner jacket and dress shirt with his bow tie undone, the other has his jacket and tie completely off and draped over the chair. Oh, the guy with the jacket, he’s got a button on the lapel. A yellow smiley face button.

    DR. JOSEFS
    What are the men doing?

    JIM
    They’re talking to each other and laughing, but I can’t hear them. All I hear is the sounds of tables being bussed.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Do you recognize these men?

    JIM
    Same two as always. The one with his jacket still on is a musician I saw perform once. McCreary, something. The other one is that guy who hosts “Man vs. Wild”. That Bear Grylls guy. He starts gesturing pretty wildly, pointing and waving his hands for emphasis. The McCreary guy just shakes his head no during the rant.

    (The men in the dream freeze and the lights dim to half-power. Then they come back up on the therapist’s office.)

    DR. JOSEFS
    And you can’t tell what they’re talking about?

    JIM
    Nope. I try. Everytime I have the dream I try to hear them, or read their lips or something. Doc, it’s happening more often. I’ve had it three times this week alone. I wake up sweating and shaking. What is it?

    DR. JOSEFS
    I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out. What else happens?

    JIM
    I’ve told you! I’ve told you at least ten times already. I’ve been having this dream for months!

    DR. JOSEFS
    I know, Jim. But we’re getting close to a breakthrough, I’m sure of it. What happens next?

    (Jim settles down and breathes deeply to calm himself. The lights go down again and they come up on the club scene. The men unfreeze.)

    JIM
    They finish their argument and then a carhop comes to the table with a tray.

    DR. JOSEFS
    A carhop?

    JIM
    One of those girls on rollerskates they used to have at drive-in burger places. She doesn’t have on much, but it all sparkles. It’s like she got in a fight with a Bedazzler and lost.

    DR. JOSEFS
    What’s on the tray?

    JIM
    Two bowls and a big jar.

    DR. JOSEFS
    A jar?

    JIM
    Yeah. The bowls are empty. She puts them in front of the guys and then opens the jar and pours it into the bowls. It’s thick and red. Looks like blood.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Do the men eat it?

    JIM
    Yeah. Like they’re starving. She rolls away and they’re already bent over the bowls. They’re ravenous. After a minute, they put down the spoons. They just pick up the bowls and drink, gulping down the soup. The one guy, McCreary, he spills a little on his shirt. Gets some on his smiley button, too. Then they turn right to me, both of them staring at me.

    DR. JOSEFS
    What do you think they want?

    JIM
    I don’t know. I can’t tell. Their expressions are blank. The wilderness guy, he raises his arm and points at me, and then I wake up.

    (Blackout on the nightclub scene. Lights back up on the therapist’s office.)

    Doc, I can’t take it any more. What’s it all mean?

    (Dr. Josefs looks at his notes, jots a few more down. Doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. It feels like an eternity.)

    DR. JOSEFS
    Jim, how are things at work?

    JIM
    At work? They’re fine. Same as usual.

    (Dr. Josefs jots a few more notes. From the darkness where the nightclub sits a man walks out. It’s Edward James Olmos, wearing a tuxedo. He walks right up to the couch while Dr. Josefs scribbles, not noticing.)

    OLMOS
    Your table is ready, sir.

    (Smash cut to the same exact scene, but Olmos is gone. Jim opens his eyes with a start and gasps.)

    DR. JOSEFS
    Jim?

    JIM
    I saw him. He was right here.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Saw who?

    JIM
    The maitre’d. But it wasn’t…it was that guy from “Miami Vice”.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Don Johnson? Don Johnson was the maitre’d?

    JIM
    No. Not him.

    DR. JOSEFS
    Tubbs? You dreamt about Tubbs? This is more serious than I realized. We’ll need to–

    JIM
    –no. Not him either. The lieutenant. What was his name?

    (Dr. Josefs scratches a few peremptory notes and puts down his pen.)

    DR. JOSEFS
    Jim, I think I understand what’s been bothering you–

    JIM
    –What is it, doc?–

    DR. JOSEFS
    –but, we’re out of time today.

    (Dr. Josefs presses a button on his intercom and speaks into it.)

    Mary? Could you please schedule another appointment for Mr. Halpert. Sometime in 2009 would be fine.

    BLACKOUT