By Michael E. Miller
By Ryan Yousefi
By Kyle Munzenrieder
By Sabrina Rodriguez
By Michael E. Miller
By Carlos Suarez De Jesus
By Luther Campbell
By Kyle Munzenrieder
THE MEDITERRANEAN STYLE HOME SITS ON A PALM-LINED SUBURBAN STREET. A PROSPEROUS, COMFORTABLE NEIGHBORHOOD.
CAMERA DOLLIES IN FROM STREET, ACROSS LAWN, TOWARD FRONT DOOR.
INT. DAVE'S STUDY - DAY
DAVE FURIOUSLY TAPS AWAY AT HIS COMPUTER KEYBOARD IN A BURST OF CREATIVE ENERGY.
CAMERA DOLLIES CLOSER TO REVEAL HE IS PLAYING A NINTENDO GAME CALLED "DEATH PLANET." AS PLANET EXPLODES DAVE TURNS TO CAMERA AND GIVES A THUMBS UP.
STARRING HARRY ANDERSON
HIS DOG ZIPPY RUNS INTO ROOM WITH A HIGH HEEL SHOE IN HIS MOUTH. DAVE TAKES THE SHOE AND BEGINS TO THROW IT FOR A GAME OF FETCH WHEN WIFE BETH ENTERS ROOM WEARING ONE HIGH HEEL SHOE. SHE GIVES DAVE A FIERCE LOOK AND SNATCHES THE SHOE FROM HIM.
INT. BARRY KITCHEN - DAY
DAVE AND HIS TWO CHILDREN, TOMMY AND WILLIE, ARE CONDUCTING AN EXPERIMENT. DAVE WEARS A WHITE LAB COAT, OVEN MITTS, GOGGLES, AND HOLDS A MEAT THERMOMETER. SMOKE BEGINS TO BILLOW FROM TOASTER AS TWO BURNED POP TARTS SPRING UP. DAVE FISHES THEM OUT AND DROPS THEM ON A PLATE. TOMMY DISSECTS ONE WITH A KITCHEN KNIFE.
WILLIE TAKES A SMALL BITE OF POP TART AND MAKES A SOUR FACE.
WILLIE THROWS POP TART INTO THE AIR.
CUT TO POV DOG ZIPPY FROM FLOOR:
ZIPPY CATCHES AND DEVOURS BURNED POP TART.
BASED ON THE WRITINGS OF DAVE BARRY
INT. BARRY BEDROOM - NIGHT
THE BARRYS PREPARE FOR BED. CAMERA FINDS DAVE SITTING IN BED READING A MAGAZINE AND PICKING AT HIS TOENAILS. BETH IS IN THE BATHROOM (OS).
DAVE (VO): Marriage is a funny thing. At least that's what they tell people who are still single. Anyone who's walked down the aisle knows that marriage is one of the most sacred institutions in man's kingdom, a covenant that binds two people together for the rest of their lives in the pursuit of effective tax shelters. Ha-ha! Just a little nuptial humor.
I myself have been married twice. My first wife tells me I was too immature to settle down. But c'mon, it's not like I forced her mother to sit on the whoopee cushion. Beth has been much more understanding. And kids do help tosettle you down. Nothing like five years of potty training to bring out the poise in a man.
I often wonder where I'd be without my family. And then I usually realize I'd be on an island in the Bahamas, a large umbrella drink in each hand, dancing the lambada with a woman whose name escapes me. So as you can see, there are many advantages to marriage, not least of which is the prevention of hangovers and social diseases. The kids, of course, make great tax shelters.
THE CAMERA DOLLIES CLOSER TO DAVE IN BED. HE CONTINUES PICKING AT HIS TOENAILS.
DAVE: Hey hon, I was just reading this marriage quiz. How would you answer this? The key to a successful marriage is: a) Knowing when to forgive, b) Listening to your spouse, c) Good cable.
BETH: (VO SHOUTING) Is there an answer that reads: Getting your husband to stop picking his toenails?
DAVE: (SITS UP ABRUPTLY) Very funny. Alright, how about this one: The best response when your spouse is in the mood and you're not is: a) Well I'll be damned, dear A it's time for Dave Letterman, b) Not tonight honey, I've got a colostomy, or c) Hey babe, count me out. But I do have something you're gonna like. Heh heh. It's battery-operated and top of the line...
TOMMY APPEARS AT THE BEDROOM DOOR UNNOTICED. BETH ENTERS FROM THE BATHROOM AND SEES HIM. SHE NODS FRANTICALLY TO DAVE, WHO IS UNBUTTONING HIS SHIRT AND GROWLING SEDUCTIVELY. HE RESPONDS TO HER NODDING BY GROWLING MORE PASSIONATELY. FINALLY DAVE TURNS, SEES TOMMY, AND ALMOST FALLS OUT OF BED.
TOMMY: What's battery operated and top of the line?
DAVE: Uh, er, your Christmas present.
TOMMY: But it's only September.
DAVE: Never too early to beat the crowds. Last year I got slammed in the ribs by a psychotic grandmother...
TOMMY: Yeah, Dad. I read that column.
BETH: Why are you still up, Tommy?
DAVE: Don't you have a soccer game tomorrow?
TOMMY: No. It's Saturday. That's why I'm still up.
DAVE: How's the old team-a-rooni doing?
TOMMY: We suck-a-rooni.
DAVE: Oh c'mon. You can't be that bad.
TOMMY: We're 0 and 16 and haven't scored a goal in nine games.
DAVE: (WHISTLES) Wow, that's suck-a-rooni alright.
TOMMY: We're so bad even the coach quit. Our last practice is tomorrow and we're coachless.
BETH: Dave, why don't you help out?
TOMMY AND DAVE: (IN UNISON) No!
BETH: Look kiddo, time for bed.
TOMMY AND DAVE: (IN UNISON) No!
BETH: Yes. Your father and I need to talk.
TOMMY SLINKS OUT OF THE BEDROOM. DAVE PRETENDS TO FOLLOW BUT BETH GIVES HIM A THREATENING LOOK.
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?
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.
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.
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 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?!
DAVE: Where has this guy been? They've already put a down payment on Hillary.
KENNY: Alright wisenheimer, whaddaya got?
DAVE: Looks like three jacks.
KENNY: Hah! A flush.
KENNY LAYS DOWN HIS CARDS AND MOVES TO PULL THE CHIPS TOWARD HIM. DAVE GENTLY BLOCKS HIS HAND.
DAVE: Hold on there. Let me just check something.
DAVE SHUFFLES HIS CARDS.
DAVE (CONT'D): I could have sworn...oh yes, here we are. My mistake. Four jacks.
DAVE LAYS THEM DOWN.
KENNY: I hate it when you do that.
DAVE: And I hate to call it a night, suckers, but I'm gonna need to pack it in. I've got a soccer game tomorrow morning.
THEY BEGIN CLEARING THE TABLE.
RICARDO: Yeah, Miguel told me he had a great time at practice yesterday.
DAVE: More than I can say for my own kid. He stormed outta here like a congressman who just bounced a check. I don't know why he's so testy.
RICARDO: Well, Miguel did mention something Tommy told him, if you really want to know.
DAVE: (MOCK PLEADING) Please. I'd prefer to find out now, before the kid grows truly embittered and files for divorce.
RICARDO: Well, Tommy said he wished you could be like other dads sometimes, instead of clowning around. Kids take soccer pretty seriously.
DAVE: Yeah, so do thousands of European soccer fans who get crushed to death every year.
RICARDO: Listen, Dave, maybe he wants you to take him seriously.
DAVE: (ANNOYED) That's so typical of a plastic surgeon. Always trying to make everything so perfect. By the way, when am I going to get to see those videos of your last implant?
INT. BARRY BEDROOM - NIGHT
DAVE AND BETH ARE ASLEEP IN BED. CAMERA DOLLIES CLOSER TO DAVE.
DISSOLVE TO DREAM SEQUENCE:
INSERT FOOTAGE OF PELE IN HIS HEYDAY WITH THE BRAZILIAN NATIONAL TEAM. THE CROWD IS HYSTERICAL. PELE DRIVES THE BALL TOWARD THE GOAL FROM 20 YARDS. CUT TO FOOTAGE OF DAVE, DRESSED IN A CLOWN SUIT, GUARDING THE GOAL. HE DIVES FOR THE BALL BUT IT FLIES PAST HIM FOR A SCORE. INSERT MORE FOOTAGE OF THE CELEBRATING BRAZILIANS. CAMERA FINDS A FAN WAVING A SIGN THAT READS: "HOW'S DAVE SUPPOSED TO PLAY GOAL WHEN HE CAN'T EVEN TAKE HIS OWN SON SERIOUSLY?" CUT TO DAVE DEJECTEDLY PICKING HIMSELF UP OFF GROUND. PELE APPEARS AT HIS SIDE AND HELPS HIM GET UP.
PELE: Don't worry, Dave. It's just a dream sequence.
INT. BARRY BEDROOM - NIGHT
DAVE BOLTS UPRIGHT IN BED. HE IS WEARING A DR. SEUSS NIGHTCAP.
DAVE: My God! I just had the most revealing dream sequence! Beth! Beth! I dreamed Pele showed me the path to enlightened child rearing.
Beth: (GROGGILY) Have you been drinking warm beer again?
INT. DAVE'S STUDY - EARLY NEXT MORNING
DAVE READS INTENTLY FROM A BOOK TITLED SOCCER STRATEGY FOR KIDS: HOW TO ESCAPE HARM. HE THEN BEGINS TO SKETCH OUT PLAYS ON A PAD OF PAPER.
SFX: THEME FROM "ROCKY"
EXT. SOCCER FIELD - LATER THAT MORNING
DAVE LEADS HIS TROOPS THROUGH PRE-GAME DRILLS. CAMERA GOES WITH HIM ALONG SIDELINES DURING GAME. HE HOLDS A CLIPBOARD, WEARS A HEADSET, GESTURES EMPHATICALLY, APPEARS AUTHORITATIVE. CAMERA FINDS SCOREBOARD THAT READS: SHARKS: 3, JETS: 3. INSERT EXCERPTS OF RUMBLE SEQUENCES FROM THE FILM VERSION OF WESTSIDE STORY. CUT TO TOMMY GUARDING GOAL. HE DIVES AND MISSES THE WINNING GOAL.
INT. BARRY KITCHEN - AFTER THE GAME
THE FAMILY RETURNS. TOMMY AND DAVE SLUMP DOWN AT THE KITCHEN TABLE.
BETH: Well, I'm sure you guys want to be alone. I'll head upstairs with Willie and pursue a subplot while you two have a heart-to-heart.
DAVE: Thanks. I think.
DAVE PAUSES. CHECKS HIS POCKETS FRANTICALLY.
DAVE: Where the hell did I put those Lifesavers?
HE GIVES UP LOOKING AND OFFERS TOMMY A LEFTOVER PRETZEL. TOMMY SHAKES HIS HEAD.
DAVE: I know you're pretty disappointed, killer. But we played our best.
TOMMY: (SOFTLY) Oh I know. Hey, that's the best we've played all year. How'd you learn so much about soccer, anyway?
DAVE: Pele and I are brothers. This is something your mother doesn't know, so keep it under your hat.
TOMMY: Seriously. I mean, you're definitely not like other dads who coach. You'll go out in public in your underwear. You take notes of my friends' conversations. And I'm not even sure when you actually work, except that our family problems end up being printed in your column and a zillion people read about 'em. But today you really whipped us into shape. I'm proud of you, pop.
DAVE: Does this mean you're dropping the divorce suit?
THE TWO HUG EACH OTHER.
DAVE (CONT'D): Hey, is something else bothering you?
TOMMY: It's no big deal.
DAVE: C'mon. You never know, your old man might be able to help.
TOMMY: (HESITANTLY) Well ... I think that Westside Story bit in the game montage really bombed.
EXT. BARRY HOME - NIGHT
ONLY ONE LIGHT REMAINS ON. CAMERA DOLLIES SLOWLY TOWARD WINDOW.
DAVE (VO): I myself never played sports as a kid A unless you count that brief fling with synchronized swimming. But these days it's clear that sports are a much bigger deal. And I'll admit it: sports do help fathers and sons bond. Even I get choked up thinking about all those dads who get so involved with Little League they'll stick pins in a voodoo doll of the coach. With that kind of inspiration, what kid hasn't dreamed of being the next Willie Mays? Or Pele?
CAMERA DOLLIES TO WINDOW and FINDS DAVE IN HIS STUDY, DRESSED IN HIS BATHROBE, AS HE PLUGS HIS GUITAR INTO AN AMPLIFIER.
DAVE (VO CONT'D): Me, I've always dreamed of being a rock star. Maybe that's the dream inside all us boomers. To be up there on stage, playing to the crowd, flipping the bird to adulthood, being torn limb from limb by fans. Or not so much torn as, maybe, massaged. And come to think of it, not so much limbs as more generally appendages.
SFX: DAVE BEGINS TO PLAY OPENING BARS OF "LOUIE LOUIE".
DAVE (VO CONT'D): Anyway, it's like the Kingsmen put it so many years ago: Me gotta go now. Until next week, anyway.
AS DAVE PLAYS AND PRANCES LIKE A ROCK STAR, CAMERA PULLS BACK AND WIDENS. A LIGHT GOES ON IN THE HOUSE NEXT DOOR.
ELDERLY NEIGHBOR (VO): What in God's name is that horrific noise?!
NEIGHBOR'S WIFE (VO): Must be that Barry boy playing again.