House of Clods

With Richard III, Shakespeare created an evil genius who shared his twisted thoughts directly with the audience. Frank Underworld talks to the audience, too. Hey, he's no genius. But it's easy to look like one when you're living in a ...

INT, WASHINGTON DC SUBWAY STATION - DAY

Intrepid reporter Zowie Barnes stands at edge of platform. Frank Underworld is right behind her wearing a fedora.

FRANK: Now is our winter of discontent made glorious summer by pushing this pesky reporter in front of a train.

He does. Zowie goes splat. Frank smiles at us, knowingly.

FRANK: The cameras will see nothing, of course. (points at his fedora) I'm wearing a hat.

Subway cops appear, unspooling yellow tape marked: "Dead Reporter: Do Not Cross."

Frank slinks away in the confusion.

A cop points a nightstick at him.

COP: All right you! No breaking the fourth wall!

FRANK: Sorry, officer.

Frank passes a newsstand, does a double-take, buys a Washington Post.

The headline reads --

PRESIDENT FALLGUY RESIGNS
Admits to illegally downloading Metallica in 1999

FRANK smiles.

FRANK: Well, well. Guess everything's going according to plan.

Across the subway station, Shakespeare howls with disgust.

SHAKESPEARE: "Guess everything's going according to plan"...? What kind of lame-ass soliloquy is that?

EXT WHITE HOUSE LAWN - DAY
Frank's impromptu inauguration.  His hand is on the Bible. His nose extends to Pinocchio proportions.

FRANK: I, Frank Blahblah, do solemnly swear to blahblah defend the Constitution of the United States of so on and so forth. Blahblahblah. So help me, Blah.

INT, WHITE HOUSE CORRIDOR - DAY

FRANK: Now that pointless voodoo is out of the way, I'll spend some quality time with my psychopathic security chief

INT, WHITE HOUSE CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY
Frank enters. Dog sits alone carving a pentagram into the table.

FRANK: Well, Dog. To date, what have we managed to accomplish with our unique blend of lethal talents?

DOG: Well, Mr. President. So far, between the two of us, we've faked a Senator's suicide, killed the prostitute we used to set him up, driven the former President out in disgrace, put you in the Oval Office and flattened that reporter.

FRANK: What about Zowie's editor? That Lupus fellow?

DOG: Neutralized. An elaborate cyber sting

INT, LUPUS' NEWSPAPER OFFICE -- DAY

Lupus sees an envelope on his desk. The label says:

NSA Data Fork inside!!

He removes --

A four-pronged metal fork and an instruction sheet written in crayon.

It reads:

1) Go to National Security Administration.

2) Stick NSA Data Fork in electrical outlet.

3) Steal Frank Underworld's secret files.

INT CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY 

FRANK: Damnit, Dog! Lupus may be stupid but he's not that ...

The lights flicker and dim.

FRANK: Well, I stand corrected. Anything else?

DOG: (points to huge pile of papers) Uh, policy stuff

FRANK: Bores the hell out of me. Take the rest of the day off, Dog. Go kill somebody just for fun. You've earned it.

DOG: Thanks, boss.

INT, WHITE HOUSE MASTER BEDROOM
Frank enters. Sits with Eclair in the dormer window. They begin passing a cigarette back and forth.

FRANK: Well my friends. I guess there's nothing left to do but contemplate the sidereal distances between myself and the drop-dead-gorgeous ice queen who is my wife. Eclair and I share zero sexual chemistry.

ECLAIR: But we dearly love swapping ciggies.

FRANK: That we surely do.

He studies her.

FRANK: Well, Eclair, in the words of the vernacular, what's shaking in your part of the world?

ECLAIR: Same old, same old. I got through the first 24 pages of the Kama Sutra with the Russian Prime Minister this morning. After lunch, I set fire to the master negative of "Sam I Am." You?

FRANK: Some Girl Scout looked at me cross-eyed. I pushed her in front of a train.

Obnoxious yammering. (OS) Frank reacts, looks up.

FRANK: Who the ... Oh hell.

ECLAIR: What ...?

Frank points.

FRANK: E-election year.

Frank and Eclair look up in horror at the flat-screen TV mounted on their bedroom wall. The orange face of Donald Trump looks back at them.

TRUMP: President Underworld is a Southern-fried putz. You wanna know something else? The man talks to himself. All the time! I'm not making this up people. I've got it on film!

ECLAIR: That man scares me, Frank.

FRANK: Me too, Eclair. Me, too.

She looks at him intently.

ECLAIR: You wanna watch West Wing?