Batman vs. Auntie Christ

BATMAN and ROBIN driving down the Gotham City streets -- the campy TV version of the Dynamic Duo. ROBIN reacts.

ROBIN: (pointing) Holy shroud, Batman ... it's Jesus Christ!

BATMAN: Don't curse, old chum. It shows a lack of command of the English language. There are plenty of words in the ...

ROBIN: No, Batman. There on the street corner. It's Jesus Christ!

BATMAN: (looking) Yes, of course! Don't break out the loaves and fishes yet, old chum. That's Auntie Christ ... the arch queen of crime disguised as Jesus Christ to lure the world into Armageddon.

ROBIN: The fiend!

AUNTIE CHRIST: (hawking wares, making noises like Penguin) Wah! Wah! Whore of Babylon scented candles, 50% off! Four horsemen for the price of three!

WHORE OF BABYLON: (Catwoman delivery to passerby) Isn't it just perrrrfect? (pedestrian ignores her) Aw don't look so sad, sweetie. It's not the end of the world.

BATMAN: My sentiments exactly. And I'll tell you another thing, missy. Armageddon pretty tired of ...

ROBIN: God, our dialog sucks.

BATMAN: Yes. I'm afraid it's something even Stanislavsky never prepares you for.

ROBIN: Why Batman? Why?

BATMAN: Because we're second-raters old chum. As the old saying goes, 'The people get the government they deserve.'

AUNTIE CHRIST: Wah! "Mark of the Beast" iron-on tatoos!

BATMAN: It's also true that actors get the scripts they deserve.

ROBIN: Holy plot point, Batman. I get it! The scripts suck ...because we suck!

BATMAN: Exactly. In fact the writer's so lame, he can't even think of an ending for a simple three minute sketch.

ROBIN: Ayn Rand could think of better dialog.

BATMAN: I wouldn't go that far ...

Cut to: THE JOKER in court giving the evil clown version of the "Howard Roark Speech"

JOKER: Thousands of years ago, the first evil clown put hydrochloric acid in the first seltzer bottle. He was probably burned to death in the hydrochloric acid spritzer he had ...

Robe Warrior

Open, idyllic scene of ancient holy land. Shepherds, camels, rustic little mud villages and all that crap.

ANNOUNCER: (strong Australian accent) Who was Jesus, then? Gentle Jesus, meek and mild? I don’t think so mate.

VOICE OVER: (another Australian accent) Je-zus Kroist!

Explosion blows village to pieces.

ANNOUNCER: Mel Gibson is …

Krazy Krist
Robe Warrior

ANNOUNCER: It’s Jesus like you’ve never seen him before.

A man’s man kinda Jesus …

INT, KRAZY KRIST in bar with crowd of rowdy disciples and followers.

KRAZY KRIST: I just turned this water … into Fosters!

Crowd cheers, raises pints.

DISCIPLE: I just turned it back into water again.

ANNOUNCER: A well-armed Jesus …

Militia-on-the-Mount scene of thousands of followers holding automatic weapons.

DISCIPLE: But Lord, we have only 5 bullets and 7 magazine clips.

KC: Pass them out among the multitude.

The ammunition miraculously multiplies.

Cheers, gunfire.

ANNOUNCER: An anti-Semitic Jesus.

Go to – ‘Road Warrior’ scene of KRAZY KRIST and disciples in tricked-out vehicles bristling with weapons being chased down dusty desert road by argumentative but also well-armed RABBIS in similar vehicles.

DISCIPLE: (pointing at vehicle behind them) Jews!

KC: (Mel Gibson as Jesus spraying crowd of Jews with automatic weapons fire) Accept God’s unconditional love and forgiveness, you bastards!

RABBI: (holding up coin) So should we pay the tax or not?

KC: (Still firing madly) Die!!!!

RABBI: You didn’t answer the question …

Vehicle goes off road, explodes.

ANNOUNCER: Yes, it’s a wild ride of Biblically inaccurate drama, excitement, Jew-bashing and death. All leading to …

The Last Supper …

INT, KC and pals in kosher restaurant.

KC: (looking at bill) Wait a minute … I didn’t order this. Dirty sodding Jews! (kicks up from table – starts shooting up the restaurant)

ANNOUNCER: The betrayal in the garden …

KRAZY CHRIST is asleep. JUDAS sneaks up on him and kisses him.

KC: (punching him in the face) No poofters!

ANNOUNCER: The trial …

Crowd of Jews stomping and shaking fists in “Rome Dome.”

JEWS: Two men enter, one man leaves! Two men enter, one man leaves!

ANNOUNCER: … crucifixion …

EXT, night. Cross in silhouette. Sound of nailing.

ROMAN: Sorry!

KC: You call yourself a bloody carpenter?

ROMAN: I said I was sorry.

ANNOUNCER: … and resurrection.

EXT, tomb. Morning.

GUARD: Hey. Ever notice all us Romans speak with British accents?

GUARD #2: No. Never thought of it before. I suppose you’re right.

GUARD: Why do you suppose that is?

GUARD #2: Dunno. Got something to do with the British Empire, I reckon.

GUARD: Right. Those Brits are right bastards – Ireland, India, Australia, you name it. Almost as bad as us.

GUARD #2: You mean like in the future.

GUARD: Well that goes without … what the hell was that?

A huge explosion blasts the rock out of the tomb. Mel as KRAZY KRIST roars out in some deathmobile, machine guns in both hands, steering with his knees. Blows GUARDS to pieces, roars off.

KC: I’m back you bloody Jews!

ANNOUNCER: (very quickly) Filmed entirely on location in Aramaic, Latin and Greek then translated into Australian and back into Aramaic, Latin and Greek without subtitles according to the revelation of St. Anonymous, a charming lady with multiple personality disorder who saw a revelation of the Virgin Mary in a third-generation VHS copy of “The Thorn Birds” and wrote it all down on a napkin and lost it, thus founding the Holy and Apostolic Even More Catholic Than You Jew-Loving Vatican II Bastards Catholic Church in 1962. All rights reserved.

Monkey Pox

(to the tune of "Rocky Top")

I came down with a case of monkey pox
My prairie dog infected me
He got bit by a rat from Africa
Just as big as it could be
Now I'm covered with running sores
Got a pustule on my knee
I came down with a case of monkey pox
Don't you feel sorry for me?

Die, a Yellow Ribbon

(to the tune of Tony Orlando’s “Tie a Yellow Ribbon”)

You sent me to the nuthouse for all time

Like I promised you, I shot my way outside.

Now I’m on a bus to your house, ‘cause a shotgun set me free

Before I get there, you’d best do just what I told you.

Cause it’s exactly what the voices said to me.

Tie a yellow ribbon 'round the old oak tree

And that will prove that you belong to me.

Surrender to my will, and I can set you free.

But if I don't seen a ribbon round the old oak tree

I'll stay on this bus

Forget about us

Go on a shooting spree.

If I don't see  no yellow ribbon ‘round the old oak tree

Bus driver, don’t you look at me.

It's up to her whether you live or if you bleed.

I told her very clearly, just what I need to find.

Precise, detailed instructions.

To silence all the voices in my mind.

Tie a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree

It's been three long years

But they can’t hold me.

If I don't see a ribbon ‘round that mother**kin’ tree

I'll stay on this bus

Forget about us

And take these folks with me.

If I don't see a yellow ribbon ‘round the old oak tree

Now the whole damn bus is screaming

And I can't believe I see …

There ain’t no f**king ribbon

Round ...

I’m happy to say this horrible tale has a happy ending. Based on the sworn testimony of the song’s unnamed woman (Sarah Abernathy), the state of New Mexico committed her stalker boyfriend (Clark Hardbar Jr.) to the Stillwater Institute for the Criminally Insane on June 16, 1969. Before Hardbar was subdued, he swore to stage a violent breakout and stated his irrational demands to his former lover. Instead of living in fear or attempting to flee, Abernathy prepared. She immediately enrolled in a rigorous marksmanship course designed for New Mexico law enforcement officials. Abernathy stood out in the class and endured initial ridicule, but ultimately earned the respect of her classmates. Six months later, Abernathy earned the highest sharpshooter rating in her class. Even so, she continued to practice over the next three years, becoming perhaps the deadliest sniper in the United States, at least outside the military. On April 4, 1972, Hardbar initiated a brutal escape from the mental institution. After stabbing an aged security guard with an improvised blade weapon, Hardbar seized the guard’s sidearm and shotgun. He then grabbed a hostage, and went outside the institution, where he commandeered a tour bus of unfortunate Suguaro Cactus aficionados. Once inside, he ordered the driver at gunpoint to take him to his former home. After traveling approximately two miles South, Hardbar spotted a Shell gasoline tanker ruck moving in the opposite direction. Employing his shotgun, he fired into the vehicle as it passed, causing the truck to jackknife in a violent explosion, thereby  blockading the two-lane highway from law enforcement officials in pursuit. Upon hearing news of Hardbar’s escape (which Abernathy had anticipated—and repeatedly warned complacent officials at the insane asylum) she immediately positioned herself on the ridge of an arroyo behind her house. Her position offered a line of sight to any vehicle’s possible approach in the road leading past her house—a sightline framed by the dead branches of the infamous oak tree. As the bus approached, Hardbar was standing behind the front window in order to see the oak tree in question to confirm if Abernathy had wrapped it in yellow ribbons as he had commanded her. When Hardbar saw that the tree was ribbon-free, he experienced a moment of shock. Abernathy had anticipated this reaction as well—and put a bullet between his eyes with a Heckler & Koch PSG1. There were no other casualties—and her action was deemed self-defense by New Mexico law enforcement officials. In 1977, Abernathy told her harrowing story in a best-selling novel, “Stuff that Yellow Ribbon Up Your Ass,” and eventually sold the film rights to the novel to the Lifetime Network, which adapted it as a best-selling miniseries in 1983. Her lawsuit against the Stillwater Institute for the Criminally Insane was also highly successful, offering lucrative but undisclosed compensation to herself, the passengers and drivers of the tour bus, and Hardcore’s victims. Her lawsuit against Tony Orlando was not successful. Abernathy alleged that he had stolen and adapted Hardbar’s original raving lyrics as sentimental drivel. As the original manuscripts had been presumably destroyed and the characters in Orlando song were unnamed, the court ruled against Abernathy—although the judge scolded Orlando with a stern, non-legally binding rebuke to the effect that his music sucked. Abernathy currently lives in an undisclosed location near Taos, where she continues to teach the art of marksmanship to a class of female students drawn from Taos’ middle schools.  

War Train

(to the tune of Cat Stevens' "Peace Train")

I been crying lately

Thinking about a world at peace

Young folk getting lazy

Too much freedom and release

But look on the Fox News Channel

Slouching our way, here come’s the beast

Look up you lazy slackers

Here comes the war train!

War train take this country

Teach us to kill again

War train neo Nazis

Everyone up on the war train

Skinhead militia crazies

Get on the war train!

War train sounding louder

Crush all the peaceniks on the tracks!

Eahh-eaaaa-eagggghhhh!

Jane Fonda’s dead at last!

Duke Nuke’Em ayatollahs …

Everyone jump upon the war train

Hoo-ah-eeh-ah-hoo-ah

This is the war train!

Kill for Christ or kill for Santa

Kill for Mom or Uncle Fred

Get your shit together

Find a barber, shave your head

Student loan ain’t no more problem

Cause very soon you will be dead

Say goodbye to the living

Graveyard got a home for you

And it's getting nearer

Soon it will all be through

War train sounding louder

Ride on the war train!

Eahh-eaaaa-eagggghhhh!

Jump on the war train!

KidVid Con 6

Establishing shot of typical Marriott-Hyatt generic type convention hotel announcing “Welcome KidVidCon 6!” – a convention for the perpetrators of kiddy shows, some human, some Muppet. (The year is unspecified but it’s obviously before “Mister Rogers” and Sherrie Lewis died.) We see BIG BIRD, MISTER ROGERS, CAPTAIN KANGAROO and the rest of the usual suspects filing in …

Go to –

INT HOTEL BAR

BURT and ERNIE are sitting at a bar nursing drinks. BURT looks dejected. ERNIE’s in a good mood, as usual. TINKIEWINKIE, the putatively gay member of the “Teletubbies” ensemble, walks up to them – ignoring ERNIE completely and walking up to BURT.

TINKIEWINKIE: (walks up to BURT at bar) Hi, guy. Enjoying the con so far?

BURT: I’m not gay.

TINKIEWINKIE: Fuck you! (he walks off)

ERNIE: (giggling) Hell hath no fury.

BURT: Jesus Christ, I’d like to get my hands on the fucker who started that shit.

ERNIE: Cheer up, Burt. At least they’re not saying you shoved a gerbil up your ass.

BURT: I’m an actor. We’re supposed to be kids, six, seven years old. Nothing gay about it. Nothing sexual about it, just sick minds. Sick minds …

ERNIE: Hey, Burt?

BURT: What?

ERNIE: Ever notice something?

BURT: What?

ERNIE: Nobody ever says I’m gay. It’s always "Burt’s gay."

BURT: Fuck you.

ERNIE: Anyways, you can’t be gay, Burt. You don’t have any sexual organs in the first place!

BURT: Neither do you, asshole.

ERNIE: Speak for yourself, Burt. (looking up at two people entering bar – then shouting out) Sherrie Lewis! Lambchop!


SHERRIE LEWIS and LAMBCHOP regard him warmly with much sexual subtext and implied history. They walk off together with happygolucky ERNIE.

ERNIE: See you later, Buddy Burt.

BURT: (looking up to heaven) I hate you, Jim Henson.


MISTER ROGERS walks up to him.

MISTER ROGERS: Buy you a drink?

BURT looks up with a typical, shuddering Muppets-style emotional take.


Additional Material

Stupid Grammar Tricks

Hey kids! It's writer's rant time! Today's petty grievance? Anal grammatical rules in bonehead style books that petty editors shove down your throat or other orifices. Hard to swallow, because there are a host of these freaking rules. Wait. Did I say that right? Maybe there is a host of these freaking rules. Is "host" a collective noun? No, it's definitely "are." I think. Damnit, who cares? Here is a few pet peeves ...

Sentence fragments are the mark of a lazy writer.

No. They're not. A sentence fragment is a tool. A handy tool, in the hands of a good writer who knows when to use it. Hemingway, Harlan Ellison, I could go on. There's no such thing as a bad tool -- but what's the right tool for the job? (Hey, if you scratch your eyeball with a hammer, you might poke it out. Even a lousy carpenter knows that.) My point? Sentence fragments work. Sometimes.

Shun the split infinitive.

What idiocy. By way of illustration, let's take our Grammar Nazi pen to the original Star Trek intro. "To boldly go where no man has gone before" becomes "To go boldly where no man has gone before." Just doesn't sound right. That split infinitive rule is LATIN grammar, damn it. English is not an inflectional language. You can't have a split infinitive in English. On any planet.

Never start a sentence with a conjunction.
And I know. And I feel. And I swear. Starting a sentence with a conjunction can give it more punch. It's also a form of linguistic connective tissue. The sinews binding a new sentence to the last.

"More than" is a statement of quantity. "Over" only refers to position.

A stupid rule that kills a useful synonym. "More than." What a tooth-breaking, awkward, gob-stopper of a phrase. Say "over," baby. Say it over and over! You know you want to. "Over a hundred people started dancing!" Feels good, doesn't it?

Hear, O Grammar Nazis. I am the Singular Possessive Pronoun. I am One.
Shakespeare lost no sleep over this commandment. No, gentle readers. The Bard was singularly fond of "their." As in: "There's not a man I meet but doth salute me / As if I were their well-acquainted friend." And as an added bonus, the epicene "their" swings both ways, avoiding tedious repetitions of "his or her." Based on those cross-dressing comedies, I figure Shakespeare was cool with that.

Never end a sentence with a proposition.
Not to beat a dead horse, but a pox on this dicta. (Again, a bogus rule borrowed from Latin that doesn't apply to English.) As Churchill said, "This is the kind of arrant pedantry up with which I will not put."

Atlas Flushed

If Ayn Rand had written the biography of Thomas Crapper and King Vidor had filmed it.

Title: LONDON, 1886

INT - MR. SQUISHY'S COLLECTIVIST PLUMBING EMPORIUM
Thomas Crapper is showing Mr. Squishy his blueprint for a flush toilet.

THOMAS CRAPPER: What do you think of my design Mr. Squishy?

SQUISHY: Well, Mr. Crapper. It's radical. It could quite possibly transform the world.

CRAPPER: Will you back me, Mr. Squishy?

SQUISHY: No. I shall block you with every fiber of my being.

CRAPPER: It will work, Mr. Squishy.

SQUISHY: I know. That's why I shall block you! You have very dangerous ideas for a plumber. You think too much. Why improve upon the humble chamberpot, the noble outhouse?

CRAPPER: Because I can.

SQUISHY: Why?

CRAPPER: Man was meant for something better.

SQUISHY: Meant by whom? The mind of God?

CRAPPER: Meant by me, Mr. Squishy. The idea was born in my own mind.

SQUISHY: How dare you! Ideas exist to serve the community!

CRAPPER: Not mine.

SQUISHY: There's no such thing as an original idea!

CRAPPER: You have seen one. Ideas originate in the minds of individuals and individuals alone. There is no collective mind.

SQUISHY: That is where you are wrong! There is a collective mind, and I am the one who speaks for it! We don't need your dangerous ideas!

He tosses blueprint in furnace.

SQUISHY: Furthermore, we don't need you! You shall never work again as a plumber in this community! In all of England! I shall see to it personally! You'll be shoveling horse dung before the week is through! You're through, Crapper! Get out!

CRAPPER: Thank you, Mr. Squishy.

INT, LADY SPANKNY RAGNAROK'S HORSE STABLE

Spankny, dressed in riding pants two sizes too small, contemplates sweaty, bare-chested CRAPPER shoveling horse manure.

RAGNAROK: Who are you, Thomas Crapper?

CRAPPER: I am a plumber, Miss Ragnarok.

RAGNAROK: Not anymore. Who are you really?

CRAPPER: I am what I am, Miss Ragnarok.

RAGNAROK: That's what Popeye said.

CRAPPER: Aristotle said it first, Miss Ragnarok.

She slaps him across the face with her riding crop.

CRAPPER: Thank you, Miss Ragnarok.

RAGNAROK: You're welcome. Make love to me.

CRAPPER: No, Miss Ragnarok.

RAGNAROK: Why? Something wrong with your willy?

CRAPPER: No. Sex begins in the mind and ends in bed. My willy is an extension of my mind, Miss Ragnarok. It is the purest expression of my basic values. My willy and my mind will compromise for no one.

RAGNAROK: Let me see if I follow your logic ... I'm not good enough for you?

CRAPPER: No, Miss Ragnarok.

She turns away pouting.

RAGNAROK: Fine. Don't make love to me.

CRAPPER: I changed my mind.

RAGNAROK: Why?

CRAPPER: Your rejection of me has changed my estimation of your worth as a human being. You are not a second-rater. I should have known. Your name is filled with harsh consonants and flat vowels. On that basis, I want to rape you.

RAGNAROK: Then rape me!

CRAPPER: I don't want to anymore.

They make love. As this is a 1950s movie, it's not explicit. The action takes place in the dark with loud, swelling string music. We only hear voices.

RAGNAROK: Say it again, Tom. Say it.

CRAPPER: A is A.

RAGNAROK: Oh God! More!

CRAPPER: If A = B and B = C, then A = C.

RAGNAROK: Oh God, Tom. Yes, yes!

CRAPPER: Thank you, Miss Ragnarok. My mind is suddenly inspired.

He spends the night wanging away in a blacksmith shop on a new steel toilet while she admires his sweaty chest. The morning dawns.

CRAPPER: There it is.

RAGNAROK: It is beautiful Thomas. The world will destroy you.

CRAPPER: I do not care.

He opens his own shop: THOMAS CRAPPER'S FREE THINKING TOILET FIXTURES.

There is immediate public outrage.

A Socialist stands on a soapbox ranting in Hyde Square.

MONTAGE --

SOCIALIST: Thomas Crapper's so-called "flush toilet" ignores centuries of culture and tradition in this community! It destroys basic human rights -- and puts thousands of workers out of work!

RABBLE: Rabble, rabble, rabble!

SOCIALIST: Crapper's vicious invention will destroy the chamberpot guild and outhouse repair workers, to say nothing of the ditch diggers! I won't hear of it! What makes him so good, eh? What makes him better than us? The good people of Londontown have been pissing and shitting in ditches, chamber pots and outhouses for a thousand years. We shall do so for a thousand more -- am I right?

RABBLE: Rabble, rabble, rabble!

INT, CATHEDRAL

A Priest lifts his eyes to heaven.

PRIEST: This "toilet" is the work of Satan! Did Jesus use a toilet? Did Adam? If God had meant for man to defecate in toilets he wouldn't have given him shovels!

A crowd gathers outside CRAPPER's shop.

PLUMBER: He dares to sell his wares without the approval of the plumbers guild!

DITCH DIGGER: Or the ditch diggers collective!

OUTHOUSE BUILDER: Or the outhouse league!

PRIEST: He defies centuries of tradition!

INSIDE SHOP --

A rich woman looks down into the toilet.

RICH WOMAN: How horrid! I might fall in and drown!

She runs away.

OUTSIDE --

TOOTHLESS MAN: What if dogs drink from our toilets?

DUMB BLONDE: What if babies drink?

RICH WOMAN: What about the children? The poor children!

A THUG runs into the shop.

INSIDE

THUG: Here's what I think of your toilet, Crapper.

He pisses in the toilet.

THUG: What do you think of that?

CRAPPER: I think that it works perfectly.

THUG: Yeah. Well what about this?

He takes a dump in the toilet.

THUG: From now on, whenever I take a dump, I'm going to call it a crap in your honor!

The crowd laughs with mindless glee. They attack the shop, throw bricks through the window, burn it down.

Montage of London. People wearing "CRAP ON CRAPPER" buttons.

CRAPPER stands alone in his burned-out shell of a shop. SQUISHY enters.

SQUISHY: Ah, Mr. Crapper. Alone at last. May I ask you a question?

CRAPPER: That is a question. You may ask more.

SQUISHY: Good. Please speak your mind. No one will hear us. What do you think of me?

CRAPPER: I do not think of you.

SQUISHY: Really?

CRAPPER: I have no idea who you are.

SQUISHY: Mr. Squishy.

CRAPPER: Oh. Right. You are the man who tried to destroy me. I could place the face but not the name.

SQUISHY: It happens all the time.

CRAPPER: What do you want?

SQUISHY: (pointing to the blackened-but-not-destroyed toilet) I would like to buy your toilet.

CRAPPER: It is not for sale.

SQUISHY: Not the toilet itself. The idea for the toilet.

CRAPPER: Ideas are not for sale.

SQUISHY: I thought you were a capitalist.

CRAPPER: Oh, right.

SQUISHY: How much do you want for it? How much money?

CRAPPER: I do not ask for money.

SQUISHY: Credit for the work.

CRAPPER: I do not ask for credit.

SQUISHY: You took out a patent, of course?

CRAPPER: The patent exists in my mind.

SQUISHY: Did you fall on your head or something?

CRAPPER: No, Mr. Squishy. I will supply you with my design. You may execute my design. But it must remain my design without alteration. My one stipulation is that no essential design element be changed. That is the full payment I desire.

SQUISHY: That's it?

CRAPPER: Yes, Mr. Squishy.

SQUISHY: I shall draw up a contract immediately.

CRAPPER: My word is my contract.

SQUISHY: What -- I mean, mine too. My words is also my, erm, contract. Shake?

He shakes limply.

A few days later

INT - MR. SQUISHY'S COLLECTIVIST PLUMBING EMPORIUM

A crowd has gathered. Something up front is covered with a sheet. SQUISHY stands there, ready to unveil it.

SQUISHY: Behold, good people. (whips back sheet) The people's toilet!

The toilet is encrusted with Corinthian columns and rocket fins.

SQUISHY: Note how it incorporates elements of the chamber pot and outhouse and is also grooved like a latrine!

RAGNAROK: Oh Thomas. It is an abomination!

CRAPPER: I must destroy it. My mind and my willy insist.

Later that night, they break in to MR. SQUISHY's shop. CRAPPER drops a cherry bomb in the toilet. RAGNAROK rolls around in the street. She smears herself with feces. The toilet explodes, loudly. CRAPPER emerges.

CRAPPER: You did not have to do that.

RAGNAROK: I wanted to.

INT, COURTROOM

JUDGE: Oyez, oyez. The state vs. Thomas Crapper. The defendant is accused of willfully blowing up the toilet of Ian Squishy resulting in damages of 16 pounds. Court is now in session. Solicitor for the prosecution, state your opening argument.

MR. SQUISHY appears in a solicitor's robe.

JUDGE: Wait a minute. I thought you were a plumber?

SQUISHY: Night school law classes. At least two weekends.

JUDGE: Fine. Please state your opening argument.

SQUISHY: This man is a lone wolf, a threat to the community. He must be destroyed!

JUDGE: That's not exactly relevant to the charge, is it?

SQUISHY: Oh. Sorry. Prosecution will prove that John Crapper willfully blew up my toilet.

JUDGE: Solicitor for the defense, please state your opening argument.

CRAPPER: (standing up) I will act as my own solicitor, your honor.

JUDGE: You are a fool sir. Very well. What do you plead to these charges?

CRAPPER: Not guilty.

JUDGE: On what legal basis?

CRAPPER: I will make a very long speech. It's complicated.

JUDGE: Sum it up, eh?

CRAPPER: The speech is what is is. My argument is what it is. It cannot be summed up, reduced, summarized or redacted. My --

JUDGE: I get the idea. Right. Prosecuting solicitor may proceed.

SQUISHY: I will call my first witness. Richard Urchin.

JUDGE: Richard Urchin to the stand!

URCHIN: Yeah. He blew up the toilet. He put a cherry bomb in it.

JUDGE: Thank you. Cross-examine?

CRAPPER: No.

JUDGE: Am I the only one in this courtroom who went to proper law school? Anyone else? Squishy?

SQUISHY: No, your honor. Prosecution rests.

JUDGE: Defending solicitor may call the first witness.

CRAPPER: I will call no witnesses, your honor. I am my own witness.

JUDGE: Christ. Then you're a witness, eh?

CRAPPER: I am not on trial here.

JUDGE: What? (looking at Squishy) You're not going to object? Well, if you won't I will. Mr. Crapper. Sorry to but in, but in point of fact you are on trial here. Just pointing it out. Please continue with your farcical argument.

CRAPPER: Thank you your honor. As I was saying ... Thousands of years ago, one man stood up and said "Let us stop taking dumps in the cave. Let us dig a ditch outside and crap there." His brothers probably shoved him in the ditch that he had helped to dig. I, also, have created a new idea. I, also, am the subject of collective rage. What is the basis? By what charge?

SQUISHY: He blew up my toilet!

JUDGE: Silence in the court, all right? Please continue.

CRAPPER: Yes, your honor. Regardless of any human laws which I may or may not have violated, in terms of the inviolate laws of physics and chemistry, I have destroyed a porcelain and metal object. This I do not deny. But the toilet itself is irrelevant. But I state, unequivocally and proudly, that the key nature of my act was my intent: the idea behind the act. On that basis, I did not destroy Mr. Squishy's toilet. I destroyed the idea behind his toilet. That negation is also an affirmation! To erase an idea is in itself an idea.

JUDGE: Bit of a stretch, eh?

CRAPPER: I assert that, by judging me, this court is also blowing up an idea. Not the idea itself but the idea of a negation of an idea: the idea of the free mind. What could be more crystal clear? To you, the free men and women of this jury, I assert that Mr. Squishy's toilet stands for something: it is an embodiment of an idea: the idea of collectivism, conformity and the herd mentality: a nightmare dystopia in which second-raters like Mr. Squishy hold the whip hand. I also stand for an idea: the idea of freedom, the freedom of the unfettered mind. The choice between freedom and slavery is yours to make.

JUDGE: That's it, then? You done?

CRAPPER: No, your honor. My speech goes on for another 27,000 words.

JUDGE: (sighs) Proceed.

CRAPPER: I will, your honor. I do not compromise. I do not use contractions. I ...

SIX HOURS LATER

CRAPPER: ... I and every man. Without apology and without fear.

The jury is asleep.

JUDGE: (slamming gavel) Wake up! He's done!

JURY FOREMAN: Oh.

JUDGE: Jury may --

JURY FOREMAN: Eh, forget it. He's innocent your honor! We want to go home!

JUDGE: Fine. Not guilty. Charges dismissed.

INT - MR. SQUISHY'S COLLECTIVIST PLUMBING EMPORIUM

Mr Squishy flushes himself down toilet.

EXT - CRYSTAL PALACE, LONDON - DAY

CRAPPER is at work on this latest creation. RAGNORAK runs up to him. They kiss. The toilet is inside an elevator.

Music swells.

CRAPPER and RAGNAROK ride up into the sky.

King of Capitol Hill

[George W. Bush considered as lovable cartoon redneck, Hank Hill]

Title effect – the usual speeded-up intro with GEORGE W. BUSH and buddies drinking beer in front of White House.
INT., WHITE HOUSE TV ROOM


GEORGE W. BUSH and his father, GEORGE BUSH SR., are watching SADDAM HUSSEIN on TV. SADDAM is brandishing a rifle and acting like a dick.

GEORGE BUSH SR: Boy, when are you gonna kick his ass?

GWB: Dad, I got other things to worry about.

BUSH SR: Like what?

GWB: Like Usama bin Whatsisname.

BUSH SR: Ain’t you caught him yet?

GWB: I don’t know, dad. I think so. We blew the hell outta the whole dang country. Some of the boys found some pieces in the cave … but it mighta been a donkey.

BUSH SR: That ain’t good enough!

GWB: The DNA evidence was inconclusive.

BUSH SR: American people ain’t gonna stand for it!

GWB: I can say for certain that maybe we killed him.

BUSH SR: "Maybe" don't cut it! American people wants blood – an eye for an eye! You gotta make an example outta somebody –

GWB: Yeah, that's easy for you to say.

BUSH SR: It is easy! Just pick a bad guy and kill him!

GWB: Dad, the world's full of bad guys. It's like a dang candy store full of evil candy. Which one do I pick?

BUSH SR. Who do you think?

On TV, SADDAM wipes his ass with the American flag.

BUSH SR: You gonna let him get away with that?

GWB: Well … you did.

BUSH SR: What'd you say?

GWB: (sighing) Uh … no. No Dad.

BUSH SR: No “Dad”…?

GWB: No, sir.

BUSH SR: That’s better.

GWB: Guess I better write the speech.

BUSH SR: You? (laughs) No. Karl writes the speech. You say it!

GWB: Yes, sir. (mumbling) You dropped the ball, guess I'll pick it up.

BUSH SR: What'd you say?

GWB: Nothing, sir.

TITLE: PRESIDENTIAL ADDRESS

OPEN, INT. OVAL OFFICE

Tight shot of GWB at his desk looking nervous. He can't read the TelePrompter.

GWB: Uh. (squinting) I can't read that. Can't you make it any bigger? You can't. OK. (unintelligable voice O.S.) What do you mean wing it? Oh.

Gets a terrified smile on his face. Stares at the camera.

GWB: This is your President speaking. Hello, American people. Uh. You know, the thing I’ve always admired about the American people is you’re all good people. Well, most of you. And if there’s one thing we all agree on … uh, we’re all in favor of … good. And we all think evil is bad.

Cut to CLINTONS watching on TV.

BILL: Lord have mercy, he's dumber than a sack of rocks.

HILLARY: You mean like this one?

She hits him the face with a sack of rocks.

Back to the President's address --

GWB: Well, what I'm about to say may sound shocking. But there's folks out there who don't agree with America. See, there’s this here “Axis of Evil,” namely Iraq, Iran and North Ko-re-a. The bad guys running those outfits think evil is good. That sorta makes them evil, if you see what I mean. And the most evil bad guy of them all is … (thinking) Sad-dam Hus-sein. If this thing is working right, you'll see his picture right there over my left shoulder. Why Sad-dam Hus-sein? Well, that's a good question, America. (sighs) I guess I'll have to talk about history. I hate it as much as you do, but stick with me.

We already fought one war with this fellow back in -- awhile back. My Daddy kicked Saddam's butt. But, because the American people is or are so all-fired good, we gave the man a second chance. "Saddam," we said. "You can put down your guns and become one of the good guys." By guns I mean nu-cu-lar weapons. He coulda put on a white hat instead of that stupid beret. Instead, Saddam just kicked out the UN inspectors and said to heck with it. I know they're French, but it's the principle of the thing. We gave him a second chance. And he blew it.

Now we know he's got weapons of mass destruction. How do we know, if he kicked the inspectors out? That's a good question, America. Well ...

The way Karl Rove explained it to me, it's like the time Coach caught me smoking. He didn't see the cigarette, but he saw me hiding the cigarette. What kind of idiot tries to hide a cigarette when he ain't got one? An idiot who's trying to look cool, maybe. I sure as heck wasn't cool. Coach knew it. Saddam Hussein is not cool, and he knows it! According to Karl, that means he's smoking. And we caught him.

It's what they call a smoking gun, America. Or a mushroom cloud.

Like my coach once said, "Screw up once, you’re out of the game. Screw up twice, you’re off the team."

As coach of the only remaining superpower, I am forced to blow the whistle.
(He blows a hideously loud whistle)Saddam Hussein … you are hereby suspended as quarterback of Iran for smoking mushrooms!

FLOOR DIRECTOR: Iraq.

GWB: Iraq. I meant to say Iraq. America knows what I meant, don't you America? Well, I guess that's it. We're going to war, America. Now you know why. Good night. Heh-heh. And don't let the bedbugs bite.

We go from the TV address to scene inside Oval Office revealing the cameras and film crew. LAURA BUSH applauds. BUSH SR. scowls.

FLOOR DIRECTOR: OK, that’s a wrap.

GWB: "That's a wrap." I feel like a dang TV star. (getting up from desk) How'd I do?

FLOOR DIRECTOR: I got technical stuff to do.

He leaves quickly.

GWB: OK. Guess you better do it, then. What do you think, Laura? Give me your honest opinion. Was I … Presidential?

She bites her lower lip and forces out a lie.

LAURA: George … you reminded me of Sam Houston. Or Tom Landry.

GWB: (touched at the comparison, standing up a little straighter) Tom Landry …

BUSH SR: Hell! Tell the truth, woman! George ain’t no Tom Landry – just ask the Rangers! If I was still President…

LAURA: Sir, may I remind you that you are not the President. Not anymore.

BUSH SR: You gonna let her talk to me that way, son?

GWB: Let her? Laura’s gonna speak her mind, dad. Dish it out, you gotta take it, heh-heh. (Thinking he’s as wise as Solomon with next bit of advice.) But I think it’d be a good idea if we all keep in “mind” who our real enemy is.

BUSH SR: William Jefferson Clinton! (spits on carpet)

GWB: No, Dad. Saddam Hus-sein.

LAURA: (to BUSH SR.) Sir. In this time of crisis you must put aside your petty differences. War demands sacrifices.

BUSH SR: Sacrifices! You wanna talk about …

LAURA: (whispering in BUSH SR.’s ear) Sir, with all due respect, it is necessary to build up his self-image.

BUSH SR: His what?

LAURA: Jiminy Christmas, sir, you know what! Your son is a brave man, and you know it!

BUSH SR: Brave? Yeah, sure he is. He kept the VC outta Texas airspace.

LAURA: According to psychological studies, the fear of public speaking ranks above the fear of death! You should know that more than anybody. This is not the time to tear him down!

GWB: What the heck are you two whispering about?

LAURA: (smiling supportively) How much we love you. Isn't that right? (she elbows BUSH SR.)

BUSH SR: Yeah, I guess.

LAURA: We’re all very proud of you, George.

BUSH SR smiles unconvincingly.

THREE MONTHS LATER

GWB watching TV. SADDAM is posturing – again.

GWB: There he is again with that stupid rifle. That burns me up, I tell you what. (Sighs, then turns to CHENEY – who resembles the chain-smoking, paranoid Dale Gribble of the cartoon show.)

CHENEY is fiddling with a confusion of maps and charts at a big situation-room type table.

GWB: Dang it, Dick. You said all’s we had to do was threaten to go to war and somebody’d put a bullet in his head. The man seems fine to me.

CHENEY: All in good time, George, all in good time. It’s all part of the plan.

GWB: What plan? You’ve never actually shown me this so-called plan.

CHENEY: It’s in the Bible, George. Babylon the Great equals Iraq. Gog and Magog. Damien and Johnny Cash. It has all been foretold…

GWB: So … who’s Saddam supposed to be? Gog or Magog?

CHENEY: I haven’t figured that out yet.

GWB: Dang it, Dick. You off your medication again?

Phone beeps – the blazing-red “hotline.”

GWB: It’s the hotline! (awed) Wow! I have never actually answered the hotline.

Phone still beeps.

GWB: (looking at it, savoring moment) I feel like John F. Kennedy. (picks it up) Hello. This is the President of the United States speaking. May I help you?

KIM JONG-IL: (the dictator of North Korea with irritating voice like Hank Hill’s Laotian neighbor) Hello, hillbilly!

GWB: (irritated) Who is this? (shouting) Dang it, Dick, are you ordering Chinese takeout on the hotline?

KIM JONG-IL: Not takeout, stupid. I Kim Jong-il, North Korea dictator! Your worst nightmare!

GWB: No. That’s the one where I have to take the exam naked …

KIM: Spare me psychobabble crap! You suck, hillbilly boy! You stole election!

GWB: Now that’s just uncalled for.

KIM: Can’t hear you! What dat noise in background? You watch stupid American TV?

GWB: The Fox news channel.

KIM: Hillbilly News Channel! All the time kiss your ass!

GWB: It is fair and balanced. See, it says so right on the logo. They can't say it if it's not true.

KIM: Turn on CNN, Jethro – get a big surprise!

GWB picks up clicker – zaps over to CNN.

Big as life, he sees KIM JONG-IL. Who waves.

KIM: Hello, hillbilly! Whole world watching embarrassing phone conversation! Hear every stupid word you say!

GWB: (shuddering) Oh God.

KIM: Whole planet know! I badass! You all hat, no cattle! (grabbing crotch) I got your weapons of mass destruction right here, hillbilly! What you gonna do about it? You stupid – just like daddy!

GWB: I am not stupid like my daddy – I mean my daddy’s not stupid – I mean neither one of us are stupid!

KIM: Get story straight! You stupid! Say “nucular.” Can’t even say nuclear! You stupid American, can’t even speak own language. I smart Korean, I can say it! Nuclear, nuclear, nuclear! See how smart?

GWB: Calm down.

KIM: I not calm down!

GWB: Perhaps we can discuss this reasonably. In private.

KIM: Not discuss reasonably! I not reasonable, remember? That what you said! I evil! I part of Axis of Evil! Real bad guy! Irrational crazy guy like John McCain!

GWB: Just a second… Kim. That’s a girl’s name.

KIM: Hey!

GWB: (chuckles to himself) I think I hear Laura calling.

KIM: Laura not calling!

GWB: (faking conversation) Yes, Laura. Heh-heh. Just talking to Kim here. No, it ain't my old girlfriend. Kim's a guy's name, too, Laura. Kim's my buddy.

KIM: I not your buddy!

GWB: What? Oh, time to walk Spot, heh-heh? Don’t want to stain the White House carpet. (calling to invisible dog) Here boy, here Spot… (he whistles)

KIM: Dog not there! This bullcrap!

GWB: (dangling car keys in front of phone to sound like dog leash) You ready, Spot? (faking dog bark) Good boy!

KIM: You not hang up on me!

GWB: Sorry, Kim. I have to … walk the dog.

He hangs up.

Shudders.

Looks at TV where KIM JONG-IL is still ranting into phone for all the world to see.

Shudders.

Clicks off the TV.

SPOT walks into the room, expecting a walk, looking confused.

GWB looks at dog.

GWB: You got no idea what's going on, do you?

SPOT wags his tail.

GWB: That makes two of us. Come on, boy.

GWB and SPOT walk out of frame.

Go to black.