Wednesday, June 14, 2006
I Hate Television (1-1-3)
I Hate Television - Previous Entries!
[Season 1, Episode 1, Scene 3 - Setting: Outside the Vibrant Inc dock doors, four people are smoking cigarettes: Jake, Rita, Jimmy, and Steve.]
Jake: Here’s another concept we’re recycling for the new show: We want to install dashboard cameras in your cars. They’re unobtrusive little gadgets that clip right onto your air vents. The idea is just like on MTV’s Real World. On that show they intercut interviews with cast members in between the main scenes. The best ones always involve shit talking and petty grudges. Our twist’ll be that you’re talking while driving home from work. You’ll be watching the road ahead, not the camera, giving the footage an intimate, reflective feel. It’ll be your opportunity to voice those thoughts you felt uncomfortable sharing with your co-workers around. A confessional of sorts. A place for your own honest take. Pretty nice, right?
Steve: I’m glad you have the decency to restrict your minicams to our vehicles. The thought of one of those clipped to my showerhead would haunt my dreams for eternity. Although I'm sure you'd get my honest take every morning, at least.
Jake: I don’t know what you’re implying this time, but I’m definitely implying that you need to get laid more. The cash advance we’re offering ought to buy you a few escorts. Think about it, tough guy.
Jimmy: Ha ha! Hey Steve, I know where to get you a good hooker!
Steve: No doubt you do, Jimmy, but I’ll pass. I still haven’t exterminated the crab colony left by the last crack whore I fucked. I chopped her up into little pieces as a public service. She’s still in my freezer. My crotch still feels like a pinball machine. The government should give me a grant before my research goes limp.
Rita: You think you’re funny, but you’re not. Jake’s right. Why can’t you just shut up, anyways?
Steve: I am, by nature, a quiet kind of guy. Every once in a while somebody comes along and jabs me with a pointy stick. I yelp. Can’t help my reflexes. They’re programmed by genetics.
Rita: Yeah, but when a doctor taps my knee with his little hammer I don’t fly all over doing roundhouse kicks to the face. My leg just jumps a tiny bit. You, on the other hand, spaz all out, like Chuck Norris.
Steve: No, Norris is more of a ‘Hi-yah’ and ‘cuff him’ type guy. I’m more like Charles Bronson. He’ll call somebody a scumbag before popping a massive fucking bullet dead center between his victim’s eyebrows. I can identify with that.
Jake: You’re too loony to leave off this show. I’ll convince you yet, man.
Jimmy: Yeah dude, this is gonna be great! Think of all the easy pussy you’ll get just from being on a TV show! Free booze, too! You’ll have tons of people who want to be your friend just cause you’re cool enough to be on TV, man! (Jimmy flicks his cigarette butt over Rita’s head, out towards the street)
Steve: Friends? Oh, you mean leeches. That does sound pretty hot, but uh… no, no thanks.
Rita: Maybe Steve wants easy dick instead and just won’t admit it.
Steve: You’re the height of wit, Rita. You should write that one down.
Jake: I thought it was pretty good, Rita. But I’ll tell you, there’s no need to insult the man. He makes himself look pretty far out without any help. And Steve, you WILL be on the show, one way of the other. We have ways.
Steve: Think again, scumbag. (Steve aims his index finger like a pistol and shoots Jake) 3:52 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm
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