John McClane is leaning back in his seat. The seat in front has a mini-TV screen on it. The screen flickers and comes to life. A smug, Teutonic face appears.
KARL: Enjoying the flight, Mr. McClane?
McCLANE: I was. Gruber right?
KARL: Karl.
McCLANE: Yeah. That's bullshit. Simon and Hans. Two brothers.
KARL: I am a bastard.
McCLANE: You ask me, you're all bastards.
KARL: Ah, the trademark McClane wit.
(OS) A noise from the front of the airplane. Terrorists storming the cockpit.
KARL: Shall I tell you what's going on, Mr. McClane?
McCLANE: Save it. I got some ass to kick.
Wesley Snipes and Sylvester Stallone walk by.
SNIPES: Keep talking man. We got this.
STALLONE: Yo.
McCLANE: Fine. OK. So, what's going on, asshole?
KARL: I am causing this plane and another exactly like it to fly into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center.
McCLANE: Why are you -- the money right?
KARL: Precisely. The gold bullion in the basement vault conveniently deposited by your Federal Reserve. As we speak, my men are driving away with it in armored vehicles disguised as ice cream trucks. In the confusion and destruction, the loss will not be noticed.
(O.S.) Sounds of ass-kicking.
SNIPES: (O.S.) Stop hitting him, man. He ain't breathing.
STALLONE: (O.S.) Yo.
McCLANE: Dream on, Karl. Your pilots in training just dropped outta flight school.
SNIPES: (O.S.) Can anybody fly this fucking thing?
TED STRIKER: No problem.
TED strides to the cockpit. The passengers applaud.
LESLIE NIELSEN: I want you to know, we're all counting on you.
PASSENGERS: USA! USA!
TED: (O.S.) OK, I got it. Like riding a bicycle.
KARL: (smirking) I am sure Mr. Striker is quite competent. But this will not matter, you see.
STALLONE: (O.S.) Yo. Pull up on the fucking joy stick there. What's the matter with you? I thought you said you could fly this thing!
TED: (O.S.) I'm trying!
McCLANE: OK, you Eurotrash dickweed. What's wrong with the fucking plane?
KARL: Ah. Nothing as such. We're flying the planes by remote control, you see. I saw it on The Lone Gunmen. The so-called "terrorists" are smoke and mirrors.
McCLANE: You'll never get away with this.
KARL: Oh. But I already have.
McCLANE: This is bigger than me, asshole. You crash this plane, you move to the top of the shit list.
KARL: Ah. And whose list would this belong to?
McCLANE: The United States Government, shithead. The Feds will be after your ass.
KARL: I think not. In fact, the "Feds," as you say, are paying me to perform this operation.
McCLANE: Bullshit.
KARL: No. Mr. Cheney himself is, as you might say, my silent partner.
McCLANE: Why? What's his fucking motive?
KARL: Your nation's elite needs another war, of course. The military industrial complex, as it once was fashionable to say. Arm sales are down. A Reichstag Fire will reverse that trend.
McCLANE: You fucking bastard. Fire?
SNIPES: Yeah, he say "fire" like it ain't no thing.
McCLANE: You know how many people ...
KARL: Oh, it's not just a fire, Mr. McClane. The Towers will fall.
McCLANE: I don't believe you. You think two planes will bring down the Towers?
KARL: It's doubtful. Which is why my demolition team has laced the Towers with explosives and severed strategic support columns.
McCLANE: Nobody noticed?
KARL: They are a Ninja demolition team.
McCLANE: Jesus, crashing the planes ain't enough?
KARL: No. The Towers must fall, you see.
McCLANE: Why?
KARL: It's more visually interesting.
McCLANE: This is too fucking complicated, man.
STALLONE: Yeah. I got the IQ of a pork flank, and this plan sounds retarded to me.
KARL: Does it? Well there's more.
McCLANE: More?
KARL: Yes. We're destroying Building 7 as well.
McCLANE: Why?
KARL: The fireworks would be pretty. Did I mention we also are crashing another plane into the Pentagon?
McCLANE: No.
KARL: Well, we are. Except it won't be a plane. We're diverting the real plane and killing the passengers and disguising a missile as a plane and shooting it into the Pentagon.
McCLANE: It won't work, Karl.
KARL: Why not?
McCLANE: Too many moving parts is why. You ever heard of Murphy's law?
KARL: Please. I explained it all to George Bush and Dick Cheney in my highly detailed Powerpoint presentation. Mr. Murphy did not attend. My plan will work.
McCLANE: No it won't! You ever seen an old movie? No matter how good the plan is, the plan gets fucked up. The Killing, Reservoir Dogs, whatever. The best-laid plans of mice and men and all that shit. Something always goes wrong. Somebody always talks.
KARL: Nothing will go wrong. No one will talk. The plan is perfect, Mr. McClane. Well, I must be off. How is it you say? "Yippie-kai-kay, motherfucker." Goodbye, Mr. McClane.
STALLONE: Hey! There's the Statue of Liberty!
I wish to make this nice and sparkling clear, O my brothers. This sketch is a reaction to Dylan Avery's "Spare Change," a DVD of which I have seen. This is satire. I'm not postulating 9-11 was an inside job. I'm saying that's an idiotic idea -- for the reasons that John McClane pointed out. It's too !@#$ complicated. Every !@#$ detail has to work like clockwork or the plan fails. Too many people involved. The motive makes no !@#$% sense.
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