The Script

DAVE: Does this mean you're leaving me for Tommy's Christmas present?
INT. BARRY KITCHEN - DAY
BETH IS SERVING BREAKFAST TO TOMMY AND WILLIE.
WILLIE: (DISAPPOINTED) Oh mom, airplane omelettes again?
TOMMY: Why can't we eat normal food for breakfast?
BETH: Your father needs material for his column. Hey, where is your father?

WILLIE: He's in the pantry testing how Eggo waffles do at subzero temperature.

CRASHING SOUND OS. DAVE ENTERS KITCHEN HOLDING A PIECE OF WAFFLE IN A PAIR OF TONGS.

DAVE: Fascinating. A lattice crystal division based on blueberry placement.
DAVE SCRIBBLES SOMETHING IN A NOTEPAD.
DAVE (CONT'D): How're those Denver omelettes, men?
TOMMY: Like a rotten jellyfish sprinkled with barnacles.
WILLIE: Like a wet potato pancake filled with gummy bears.
DAVE: (EXCITED) Good, good!
DAVE CONTINUES SCRIBBLING IN THE NOTEPAD.

DAVE (CONT'D): Ah, the life of a humor columnist. The excitement of discovery! The joy of prose! The freedom to steal lines from your own clueless offspring!

DAVE SITS DOWN AT THE KITCHEN TABLE AND PICKS UP THE NATIONAL ENQUIRER. WILLIE PICKS UP THE WALL STREET JOURNAL. BETH CLEARS HER THROAT, AS IF TO PROMPT DAVE.

WILLIE (TO DAVE): Is mom trying to hawk a loogey?
DAVE: No son, your mother is using a time-worn method for attracting the attention of her mate, a subtle feminine device that has been handed down from generation to generation.

WILLIE: Mom's family has been handing down the same loogey from generation to generation?

DAVE: (LAUGHS) Of course not, you precociously cute child, you. Your mother is simply reminding me that I have a major announcement A namely that I will be taking over as coach of Tommy's soccer team.

TOMMY LOOKS HORRIFIED.
DAVE (GAZING OUT KITCHEN WINDOW, CONT'D) No, no. Don't thank me. Just another one of those little unsung duties that make up the life of the American father. You know, boys, when I was just a teenager, my father often said to me: Son, someday you'll thank me for doing the things you hate. Turned out he was wrong. I never did get a chance to thank him. Especially after we were able to get him committed to a mental ward with limited visiting hours. But in spite of all that, I think his point is important.

AS DAVE STARES OUT THE WINDOW AND TALKS, BETH AND THE BOYS PREPARE TO LEAVE FOR SCHOOL.

DAVE (CONT'D): Yep, sometimes you just got to trust your old man, even if your old man is Jimmy the Greek and he's telling you to bet it all on the New England Patriots. Because in the end, when you separate the wheat from the chaff, what have you got? Chaff-less wheat? Well, yes. That too. But you also have family values. And who better to speak to that point than ex-Vice President Dan Quayle, who is nearly as intelligent as chaff-less wheat. Okay, Tommy, I just want to stress one more thing...

BETH AND THE BOYS LEAVE THE KITCHEN AND A DOOR SLAMS OS. DAVE WHEELS AROUND AND REALIZES HE HAS BEEN TALKING TO HIMSELF.

DAVE (CONT'D): ...and that is: don't have children.
SFX: STEPPENWOLF'S "BORN TO BE WILD"
EXT. A CROWDED FREEWAY - DAY

DAVE IS DRIVING HIS RANGE ROVER TO WORK. MIAMI SKYLINE IS VISIBLE. HE JOCKEYS FOR POSITION TO EXIT FREEWAY. DECREPIT MINI-BUS "JITNEY" ALSO JOCKEYS FOR RIGHT-LANE EXIT BUT ITS LEFT-TURN SIGNAL IS BLINKING. DAVE THROWS UP HIS HANDS IN DISGUST, HONKS HIS HORN, AND MAKES AN OBSCENE GESTURE. AN ELDERLY "JITNEY" PASSENGER SMILES AND WAVES. THE "JITNEY" DRIVER REACHES FOR WHAT APPEARS TO BE A GUN.

INT. NEWSROOM OF MIAMI RECORD DISPATCH - DAY
DAVE WALKS PAST ROWS OF REPORTERS A PAUSING TO GIVE ONE A "WET WILLIE" A ENTERS THE OFFICE OF HIS SUNDAY MAGAZINE, SITS AT HIS DESK, AND BEGINS TO OPEN MAIL. CO-WORKER MIKE RISES ABOVE CUBICLE DIVIDER.

MIKE (TO DAVE): Hey, Dave. Any action driving in?
DAVE: Not much. Just one old coot, and he didn't even come close. He only had a snub-nose Beretta. I mean, those things are lousy at more than 20 feet.

DAVE OPENS A LETTER AND BEGINS TO READ.
DAVE (CONT'D): Hey, listen to this: In Ottawa they've discovered a petrified dinosaur dropping the size of a condo. And they're going to convert it into some kind of theme park. Jurassic Poop!

DAVE PICKS UP A COPY OF THE WEEKLY WORLD NEWS AND BEGINS READING HEADLINES.
DAVE (CONT'D): "Martians sell Neil Diamond's brain." The public will never buy it, Mikey boy. Everyone knows Neil Diamond has no brain.

DAVE DROPS PAPER AND SWIVELS IN HIS CHAIR.
DAVE (CONT'D): Shall we commence?
MIKE: You bet.

DAVE OPENS HIS DESK DRAWER AND GRABS A NERF BALL, ROLLS HIS CHAIR BACKWARD, AND LAUNCHES A SHOT TOWARD A MINI-BASKET ATTACHED TO A FILE CABINET. MIKE RACES FOR THE REBOUND. THEY BEGIN AN ENERGETIC GAME OF "CHAIRBALL."

INT. DAVE'S OFFICE - LATER SAME DAY
THE CAMERA DOLLIES AROUND OFFICE AND FINDS DAVE STARING BLANKLY AT HIS COMPUTER SCREEN AS HIS BOSS KENNY ENTERS OS. MIKE RISES ABOVE CUBICLE DIVIDER.

MIKE (TO DAVE): Danger! Neurotic lounge lizard in the area!
KENNY APPROACHES DAVE.
KENNY (TO DAVE): Hey, you wacky son-of-a-gun. Whatcha got for papa this week?

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