The Script

DAVE: How 'bout a boric acid enema?
KENNY: (DOUBLING OVER IN MOCK PAIN) Ouch! That hurts! But save it for the column, Dave. You know deadline's in an hour.

DAVE: So? I just got here.
KENNY: You've been here for two hours since lunch A which, if I'm not mistaken, was your third lunch break of the day. Not surprising since you've played approximately 23 games of chairball.

MIKE (FROM HIS CUBICLE): 24!
DAVE: (HAUGHTY) For your information, Kenny, I have spent practically the entire day in a deeply creative trance. The kind of thing you wouldn't understand, of course. And I've come up with an innovation so much ahead of its time you're certain to reject it.

KENNY: Try me.
DAVE: No, really Kenny, I don't think you're ready for this one.
KENNY: C'mon, genius.

DAVE: Well, if you gotta know, I was going to propose running last week's column again.

KENNY: (EYES WIDENING) The one on badger sputum? That's great, Dave. Whaddya think I am, a total lamebrain?

DAVE TURNS AND LOOKS DIRECTLY AT THE CAMERA.
DAVE: Do I really have to answer that?
DAVE TURNS BACK TO KENNY.

DAVE (CONT'D): Look, Kenny, every day the paper comes out with an edition, and every day the stories get more disorienting. Monday: Woman's nose torn off by grappling hook. Tuesday: Mayor found trapped on highway median. Wednesday: 7 tons of cocaine found in Gloria Estefan's lingerie. New facts every single day. It drives your average reader bonkers. And what's the one day they have to rest? Huh? Sunday, of course A the day my column runs.

DAVE TURNS TO MIKE, WHO ROLLS HIS EYES AND SLIDES DOWN OUT OF VIEW. DAVE TURNS BACK TO KENNY.

DAVE (CONT'D): Now how do you suppose my fans feel about my writing a new column every week? Do you think they really want to read about the latest exploding animal? Heck no! They want a little respite, a little familiarity. Well this week, for once, I wanted to give 'em a break. Sure, I could whip off a column. I could program my computer to whip off a column for you. But the real question is: Do you have the guts to take a stand for our readers?

KENNY: Gosh Dave, lemme give it some thought.
KENNY WANDERS OFF LOOKING CONFUSED. MIKE RISES AGAIN ABOVE CUBICLE DIVIDER.
MIKE: Virtuoso performance, sir. How long before he figures it out?

DAVE: Couple of hours, at least. Long enough to get the computer program up and running.

DAVE GRABS THE NERF BALL.
DAVE (CONT'D): Now, get your butt away from the hoop. I need some inspiration.

FADE OUT:

ACT TWO
FADE IN:
INT. BARRY KITCHEN - EVENING

DAVE AND TOMMY HAVE JUST RETURNED FROM SOCCER PRACTICE. DAVE WEARS A WHISTLE AROUND HIS NECK, EXTRA LARGE SHIN GUARDS, ELBOW PADS, A FLAK JACKET, BRASS KNUCKLES, AND CLEATS. HE SLIDES ACROSS THE KITCHEN'S LINOLEUM FLOOR AND CRASHES INTO THE TABLE. TOMMY IS NOT AMUSED.

DAVE: Well killer, I think the Alert Readers are looking, uh, promising.
TOMMY: We're not the Alert Readers, Dad. We're the Sharks.
DAVE: I thought we voted for the Alert Readers. Who wants to be a shark? Sharks have terrible indigestion, and they're constantly being teased by photographers in cages.

TOMMY: Either way, we suck.
DAVE: Yet another reason to switch names. When's the last time a shark sucked anything? Alert Readers, on the other hand, are famous for sucking. And writing to humor columnists.

TOMMY: Whatever.
DAVE: Whatsa matter? Wasn't that a good practice?
TOMMY: (SARCASTICALLY) Just great. I loved the part where you had the team dancing the Mashed Potato. And the water balloon drill. That should come in handy tomorrow. The team sing along of "Twist and Shout" A very moving.

DAVE: Well, you know, I felt we needed to work on team solidarity before moving on to the details, such as kicking.

TOMMY: Sure Dad, you're a real riot.
TOMMY RUNS UPSTAIRS.
DAVE: (SHOUTING AFTER HIM) Hey, this is Miami! No joking about riots!
INT. BARRY KITCHEN - NIGHT

CAMERA DOLLIES THROUGH KITCHEN AND FOLLOWS A TRAIL OF EMPTY BEER BOTTLES THAT SNAKES ALONG THE COUNTER, ONTO A SNACK TRAY, AND FINALLY TO THE KITCHEN TABLE, WHERE IT WINDS AROUND A PRETZEL BAG AND ENDS AT DAVE, WHOSE T-SHIRT READS "STEPHEN HAWKING FAN CLUB." HE SWIGS FROM THE BOTTLE CLOSEST TO HIM AND DISCOVERS IT IS EMPTY. AROUND THE TABLE SIT MIKE, KENNY, AND DAVE'S FRIEND RICARDO, WHOSE T-SHIRT IDENTIFIES HIM AS A PLASTIC SURGEON. OVER EACH BREAST ARE THE WORDS: "ENLARGE HERE."

DAVE: I'll see your 50 pesos and raise you 60 billion yen.
KENNY: I hate it when you bet in foreign currency.
DAVE: C'mon Ken, get with it. No one bets in dimes or quarters any more.
KENNY: Really?
KENNY THROWS POKER CHIPS ON THE PILE.
DAVE: I said 60 billion yen.
KENNY: But that's what you just threw in.
DAVE: Sure, but the yen-to-dollar ratio just skyrocketed.
KENNY: It did?
KENNY THROWS OUT THE LAST OF HIS CHIPS.
MIKE: Sure, how do you think Sony just bought the White House?
KENNY: Sony bought the White House?!

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