Propane

INT, downanddirty blues bar, smoke hanging in the air. CLAPTON, in black suit and dark shades, lounging at the bar, his band on stage, noodling with their instruments. Improbably, the BARTENDER is making a little crepe at a tiny gas range next to the Watney's Red Barrel. CLAPTON watches.(Quick cutaway to beautiful blue flame -- CLAPTON's p-o-v) CLAPTON nods approvingly.

CLAPTON: Now you're cooking with gas...

The BARTENDER smiles. CLAPTON smiles back at him, nodding his head up and down like Ray Charles...

CLAPTON: Now you're cooking with...

The band starts playing -- the first chords of "Cocaine" ...

CLAPTON: ..propane!

* * *

PROPANE

(to the tune of, duh, J.J. Cale's "Cocaine")

You know you got class
When you're cooking with gas...
Propane!
Cook your eggs just right...
Just watch that pilot light...
Propane! It's so clean...
It's so lean... It's so mean...
Propane!
When you're cooking slow...
Just keep the flame down low...
Propane!
Just like the Big Chill
You can get a gas grill...
Propane! (chorus)
It's an open flame
Ain't nothing the same ...
Propane!
And would you suppose
You could dry your clothes...
Propane!
You can kill your own ath...
Just like Sylvia Plath...
Propane!
It will not explode...
Unless you're dumb as a toad...
Propane!
It's so clean...
It's so lean...
It's so mean...

And the audience shouts...

AUDIENCE: (shouting in unison) Propane!

Throughout the song, CLAPTON is hopping around like the gas-evangelist equivalent of Reddy Kilowatt experiencing the wonders of propane throughout the bar. The bartender shows him the gas-fired drier; CLAPTON fries up an egg; the drummer catches on fire. It's all very nice.

The Turdminator

SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE ...

INT, VAST UNDERGROUND CRYOGENIC FACILITY

Rows and rows of frozen action-adventure actors in plastic tubes, their faces barely distinguishable from their unfrozen selves. Camera tracks past SEAGAL, SCHWARZENNEGGER, STALONE, VAN DAMME...and rests on BRUCE WILLIS.

LONG SHOT --

The same cryogenic freezing chamber. Some kind of electrical disturbance. A sphere of energy appears, lightning surrounding it. TERMINATOR 2 emerges in cop uniform, limps over to a massive control panel.

T2: I'm not the only thing that's lame around here.

He pushes a button. Cut to rotating warning light. Sound: emergency buzzers. WILLIS begins to thaw. T2 pushes another button. Cut to a row of smaller cryogenic freezing chambers where row on row of DEAD CONCEPTS have been frozen. We see one labelled: SLEEPER WAKES IN POST- APOCALYPTIC HORROR, SAVES WORLD. Its tube pops open. The script falls, wobbles deadbirdlike to the floor, still stiff. We see T2's hand enter frame, pick up the script.

CUT TO --

Dead-on close-up WILLIS's chamber. We hear an elevator DING. Tube opens. WILLIS pitches forward onto face, out of frame. We hear him say "Ow." Cut to WILLIS, sitting on polished floor.

WILLIS: (rubbing nose) Ya play, ya pay. Oh baby...what a hangover. I feel like I died and somebody stuck me in a freezing tube for 500 years or something.

T2 walks up to him. WILLIS looks up at T2.

WILLIS: Oh yeah. Right. Shoulda figured...

T2: (handing him script) Your script.

WILLIS: Script?

T2: Just take it.

WILLIS: (taking it) Yeah, yeah. (starting to read, reacting) Oh god, oh god...you thawed me out for this? This is pure sh--

CUT TO --

DEEPER LEVEL UNDERGROUND CHAMBER

Maze of transparent tubes pumping excrement. Sound: ominous rumblings. On an instrument panel, a telltale indicator moves from orange to red. A light flashes: FORESHADOWING.

Cut back to WILLIS and T2 --

WILLIS: (still reading) Oh my god--this is so...whew. Who wrote this?

T2: (impassive) He's been dead for over 500 years.

WILLIS: Yeah? It figures. (smirking, delivering a line) The guy was dead when he wrote this. (continues to read, reacting, then breaks off with disgust, stands up, waving script) Look at thing! I can't believe it! The writing is actually worse than my acting. It's an unbelievable piece of sh...

Sound: massive explosion. From deep underground, the worldwide sewage plants explode, covering the earth with liquified dung. Jump cuts of vast global destruction, people reacting in terror. Cut to bird's eye view of catamaran, skimming along the surface of a vast fecal ocean a la "Waterworld." Close in on WILLIS in the crow's nest, working his face into various attitudes. Suddenly, the boat jerks forward: WILLIS pitches off directly into the doodoo ocean. Go to underkaka camera where we see WILLIS swimming closer and closer, bubbles coming out of his mouth. We notice that WILLIS actually has gills in the side of his neck. He's swimming in shit. He's breathing shit. He notices camera, swims right up to it, mugs, smiles.

WILLIS: (distorted) Hey...ya gotta adapt!

MTV's Robe Rules

ARETHA FRANKLIN: Don't you blaspheme! Don't you blaspheme in here!
                                                            --from The Blues Brothers, 1980

The point is not to blaspheme. The point is everything's trivial if you filter it through the third generation of late 20th century self-talk -- including the Greatest Story Ever Told. That trivialization is my target -- not God, Jesus, religion, or anybody's idea of religion. Honest. Hopefully God will be impressed by this line of reasoning and I will not burn in hell. Meanwhile, here's...

MTV's ROBE RULES

EXT, ISRAELI DESERT - DAY

Looking down from helicopter. Camera follows a Recreational Vehicle traveling over the paved highways of a modern mutation of Norman Jewison's high-tech, 1st century Israel , complete with TVs, telephones, tanks and other such 20th century technology. The Romans, of course, all speak with British accents...

INT, JESUS' ROAD VEHICLE - DAY
JESUS and various disciples shoot the breeze. Handheld camera, real sound. The men are the official disciples, but there are just as many women. PETER drives. JESUS hangs over his shoulder, haggling about a road map.

JESUS: That's ... that's how you want to go to Capernaum?

PETER: Hey. I don't want to go to Capernaum in the first place, JC. But it's the quickest way there.

JESUS: (pointing at map) No, no, no. Go this way.

PETER: That's the long way, hoss.

JESUS: Then go the long way.

PETER: I don't wanna go the long way!

JESUS: You'll piss off the Romans.

PETER: Why?

JESUS: Well ...They got some kinda anachronistic rocket installation there. The short way goes right by it.

PETER: Route XVII?

JESUS: Yeah. Route XVII. It's like right up their BLEEP. We got all these wires and satellite dishes on the roof of this thing. They kinda look like guns or something.

PETER: Give me a BLEEPing break! Seriously?

JESUS: Seriously! They see us driving up in this heap, they'll think we're Zealots or something. They've got firepower, man. Short drive, OK? Stain on the road. The Romans don't play around.

PETER: BLEEP the Romans.

JESUS: My sentiments exactly. But. Be cool.

PETER: Be cool? For real?

JESUS: For real. I mean you don't wanna piss off the Romans. You don't wanna do that. They'll BLEEP you up.

PETER: (mumbling) At least they won't micromanage my ass.

JESUS: Excuse me?

PETER: Nothing.

JESUS: No, you said something. I wanna hear it.

PETER: Forget it.

JESUS: I won't forget it. So ... I made a disparaging remark about the Romans. You said ...

PETER: At least they won't micromanage my ass.

JESUS: What? No way. You think? When did I ever ...

PETER: All the time! All the BLEEPing time!

JESUS: It's constructive criticism. I'm your navigator.

PETER: You're a boil on my BLEEPing, BLEEP! You wanna drive this thing?

JESUS: No. I wanna return to the subject of our route.

PETER: Agghhhh.

JESUS: This "short road" thing? Gotta say, Pete. Bad idea. Bad. It's just like we're occupied or whatever. These Romans. They're really into this authority trip.

PETER: Fine. We'll take the long way where the bad Romans can't hurt you.

JESUS: Hey! I'm not scared of the freaking Romans!'

MARY MAGDALENE: (to camera) He's scared.

PETER peels off on the junction at the last possible second. Tires squeal.

JESUS: I'm scared of your lousy driving, man. That's what I'm scared of.

MARY: (to Jesus) You're like so childlike and vulnerable when you're scared...

JESUS: (flattered but hiding it) Shut up. So Pete. Where's Capernaum? Are we there yet?

PETER: No. We're taking the long way. It's gonna take more time. That's what "long way" means.

JEUS: OK, I get it. So ... are we there yet?

PETER: "Are we there yet." Man, you are like a little kid...

JESUS: Yeah I am -- you gotta be. Hey that's good.

PETER: What?

JESUS: What you -- I mean what I just said. "You've got to be like a little kid."

PETER: Jesus...

JESUS: No, seriously, Pete, that's gold. "You've got to be like a little kid." I can use that. It's good material.

MARY M: Say "child." Like, "You gotta be like a little child." That sounds smarter.

JESUS: So ... are we there yet?

MARY: Jesus! It's like I'm BLEEPing invisible!

JESUS: You're not invisible, OK? I can see you!

MARY: I didn't mean literally you stu--

JESUS: Hey Peter! Are we there yet?

PETER: No.

JESUS: No?

PETER: No.

JESUS: Why not?

PETER: See the sign?

JESUS: You mean like from God?

PETER: No. The road sign. (pointing) You see it?

JESUS: Yeah.

PETER What's it say?

JESUS: LVII.

PETER: So we got LVII miles to go.

JESUS: The Romans use miles?

PETER: Yeah. The Romans use miles.

JESUS: I thought they used kilometers.

PETER: No. The Romans invented miles.

JESUS: Oh. Are we there yet?

PETER grits teeth, rolls eyes, drives. 

MONTAGE SEQUENCE
Speeded-up footage -- Handmade Films feel: JESUS and crew in Capernaum being chased by mob.

Outside the city gates, JESUS stops, shakes the dirt off his megatrendy sneakers. Turns back and hollers.

JESUS: Capernaum sucks! You're all a bunch of BLEEPBLEEPBLEEP! My daddy's going to make you cry!

He runs away. Shouts again.

JESUS: Start the RV! Start the RV! 


EXT, LAKE - DAY
The RV pulls into frame, driving over the waves. It continues to the middle of the lake, then stops, suspended on top of the water.

INT, JESUS' RV - DAY
Everyone's getting a little tense --

JESUS: (looking out window) Where the BLEEP are we?

MARY M: Like, how come you gotta ask? I thought you're like supposed to be omnipotent or something?

JUDAS: (popping up from behind the next seat) You mean "omniscient."

MARY M: Yeah thanks, Mr. Dictionary. But with you it's impotent.

JUDAS: BLEEP off. (grabbing crotch) You wanna find out?

MARY: Not with you I don't.

JESUS: Stay on your side, Judas!

JUDAS slinks behind the seat.

JESUS: This is bad. This is really bad.

JUDAS: (OS) This is bad. This is really bad.

JESUS: Where are we?

MARY: On a lake, duh? Where do you think?

JESUS: What lake where? That's what I think.

JUDAS: (OS) Hey Mary...

JESUS: (edging into hysteria) What lake where? That's the question. I'm really asking the question. Somebody answer it. Please. Hello?

JUDAS: Yo. Mary...

MARY: I don't like you and I'm not talking to you.

JESUS: Where. Are. We.

JOHN: Well you know what they say. "Wherever you go there you are."

JUDAS: That's great, John. Advice from a reetard.

JOHN: Like you're so smart.

JESUS: Tell me where I am. Tell me where I am.

JUDAS: Hey, JC. You're seriously freaking out about this.

JESUS: No kidding.

JUDAS: What's your problem?

JESUS: I had this thing when I was a kid. My mom and dad got lost in Egypt. We just kept driving in circles for miles and miles and it really scared the living BLEEP out of me. All those pointy things sticking out of the desert? I hate those things! Really freaking traumatized me.

JUDAS: Wow.

JESUS: So, I hate not knowing where I am. It really pushes my anxiety buttons.That's my problem.

MARY: So solve the problem.

JESUS: Solve the problem?

MARY M: Yeah. Can't You, like, find out where You are? That should be easy for You. You're like totally omniscient, right?

JUDAS applauds. MARY gives him the finger.

MARY: Seriously, You are omniscient?

JESUS: (whispering) It's much deeper than that.

MARY: Don't you know everything?

JESUS: It's not that simple.

MARY: Can't you just...like...like go inside Your mind and see a vision from outer space that shows us where we are or something?

JESUS: (irritated) No, OK? No, Mary, I can't. No, I don't know everything. No, I don't get readouts in my head from orbiting satellites. No, I don't have the first BLEEPing clue where we are. You happy, Mary? I know BLEEP. (addressing the bus) Did everybody hear that?

They all nod.

MARY: Like sorry, Jesus. (muttering) Jesus...

Her eyes suddenly brighten.

MARY: Wait, wait, wait. Oh my God. Jesus. I know exactly what you should do. Don't go into Your mind like I first said. Float up in the sky for real.

JESUS: You got to be BLEEPing me.

MARY: No. I think it'll work.

JESUS: I think you're out of your freaking mind. No offense. Hey, thanks for the vote of confidence. But I really can't do that flying BLEEP. Its not like I'm Superman.

MARY: You're not? Wow. Like, I thought you're like God.

JESUS: Sorry to disappoint you.

They ride in silence.

MARY: So you're not right?

JESUS: Not what? Omniscient?

MARY: No. You're not, like, God?

JESUS: You really want to open that can of worms?

MARY: Yeah.

JUDAS: Yeah, JC. Open it! Stop dancing around the issue.

JESUS: Hey, I'm the son of God, you're the freaking accountant. The day you start telling me ...

JUDAS: (OS) I'm not telling! I'm asking!

JESUS: It sounds like telling to me, man.

JUDAS: (OS) Are you God? Yes or no? It's a legitimate question!

JOHN: (OS) Everyone please leave Jesus alone.

JESUS: You stay out of this! I don't need your freaking help!

JOHN: (OS) Fine!

More silence. Then Jesus turns to Mary.

JESUS: Listen, kid. I'm not trying to duck the question.

JUDAS: (OS) Why not? You're pretty damn good at it.

JESUS: Shut the hell up, Judas!

Silence.

JESUS: See ... This God thing? It's complicated. You wouldn't ...

MARY: I'm not stupid!

JESUS: Yeah, you are. But I'll explain anyway. You see, Mary. God is in me and I'm in God and I am God but I'm human too and it gets real complicated. But I can't see through walls and I can't fly AND I DON'T KNOW WHERE I AM.

JOHN: (OS) See what you're doing to Him? He's under a great deal of strain!

PETER: (OS) Wow. Amazing insight, John. Thanks for pitching in.

MARY M: You guys! Stop arguing! This is all just stupid anyway!

Everybody turns and looks at her.

MARY: Why not ask directions?

EXT, LAKE - DAY
The RV backs up, making a beep-beep-beeping noise. It eventually reaches dry ground, then drives away.

INT- JESUS' RV - NIGHT
Rolling again. JUDAS, talking one-on-one to a handheld camera. Everyone else is asleep. Except for Mary in her seat and PETER at the wheel.

JUDAS: So, after all that BLEEP, we finally hit the road. The day is shot, the next town's shut down by the time we get there. We find a Motel VI, like always. I do the books. Then I go up to His room, and it's not a pretty sight. The Apostles are lying around like they're stoned and He's got "Mary the Supposedly Ex-Prostitute" rubbing oil on his feet, like this foot massage deal. Oil, OK? The good stuff! Yeah, God Jr. spent all our money on oil for his favorite prostitute. And I'm telling myself, "OK, Judas. This time, don't bite your tongue. Deal with it" So I confront Him. And right away, He goes into one of His things, this passive-aggressive rant like He could die at any minute and I should really appreciate Him while I can. Like this rehearsed speech, OK? Like He's ready for me -- like He's been BLEEPing lying in wait for me to make me an example. You want to know what really burns my ass?

CAMERAMAN: (OS) What?

JUDAS: Next week, He'll totally forget this. He'll be like, "Wow, Judas. The money box is really light. Do you know anything about that?"

CAMERAMAN: (OS) You sound bitter.

JUDAS: No, no, no. Heh. I'm not bitter. I'm just thinking like a professional, man. I'm the only one here who understands math! Like, he invites a thousand people at the last minute and buys like five fish and a bread stick. "Wow, we forgot to order enough fish." Then He makes more fish! I'm just trying to do my job here. I don't want to be punished for doing my job. Or singled out like the freaking bad kid who gets sent to the corner. He's always doing that. Not that I don't appreciate Him. I mean ... He's a beautiful person.

MARY: "He's a beautiful person."

JUDAS: Eat BLEEP Mary, OK? (lowering voice) He's always making me the bad guy.

MARY: (OS) "He's always making me the bad guy."

JUDAS: Shut up, OK? Make yourself useful. Put your lips on BLEEP centurion's BLEEP and bring back some money.

MARY: (OS) BLEEP you.

JUDAS: (sotto voce) She's got a thing for me. That's why she busts my balls.

CAMERAMAN: (OS) You really think He makes you the bad guy?

JUDAS: I know He does. Yeah, He makes me the bad example, like Goofus in those old Highlights magazines. "See how Judas did it. That's what not to do." And He's always doing that, man. He sets me up to make a point, and I hate that. But I'm not bitter, to deal with your previous observation. There are tensions in any professional dynamic. He's a beautiful person, more importantly, He's got insights. Between you, me and 12 million viewers, I don't know about this God thing. But He's tapped into something, I know that. Ten years from now, we'll be running this country. So, it's worth it, OK?

INT, JESUS' RV - NIGHT

Handheld camera now trained on MARY.

CAMERAMAN: So, the oil situation ...

MARY: I didn't buy it. It was like just there, OK? It seemed like a good idea.

CAMERAMAN: (OS) Whose idea was it?

MARY: (hesitating) Mmm ... mine. Like, He looked all stressed out? And I kinda needed it, too. Like, I needed to make that connection. I was feeling, like, so unconnected.

CAMERAMAN: (OS) Why?

MARY: 'Cause He's always pushing me away. Like all the time. Like this emotional wall? Normally, I deal. But today it was like in my face. He ignores me, won't even talk to me. Then He sees some other sinner with big tits, He's suddenly protective.

CAMERAMAN: (OS) What happened?

MARY: We went to, like, this village? Like this really, really shitty village where everyone poor? And the town square's like this rilly bad club for losers the good clubs throw out. Like a mob, y'know? Like all these losers had like rocks they're going to throw at this prostitute and she's like really scared? Then Jesus appears out of nowhere. He's just standing there like, "I'm your savior."  And He's all, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." And I'm all, "Hello? Like notice me, OK?" And He's like "I'm gonna visit the sinners and prostitutes." And I'm like, "You got a prostitute right here? Like, right under your nose? Like notice me? Cast a stone in my direction?" I mean...like, I know what I want is sex. I know what they want, too. But they're like in denial?

The camera pans away.

MARY M: Bring that back! I'm not done talking. Bring it back now.

Camera pans back to her.

MARY M: OK! What was I saying?

CAMERAMAN: (OS) Denial. Something about denial.

MARY: Yeah, yeah, right. These 12 guys have sex on the brain. Or maybe 11 -- forget I said that, huh? But I know what they're thinking.They can't hide it from me. These robes they wear -- that linen's like toilet paper. (snickers) Sex, sex, sex. That's all they think about -- and never want to talk about.

CAMERAMAN: (OS) Do you want to talk about it?

MARY: I want to talk about Jesus. Who does He think he is? I rilly wanna say that sometimes.

CAMERAMAN: (OS) But you don't.

MARY M: No. I kiss his ass. I'm Goody Two Shoes. Little Miss Suck-up.

CAMERAMAN: Why?

MARY M: Why. Cause it's like, the pressure of public opinion, y'know? It's like everybody says, "Wow, he's like Mr. Messiah," like He's got this big new thing, like the flavor of the month, y'know? That's what they say. Like they're so really impressed with His theology -- like He's got a theology? I mean He just mumbles and He doesn't even answer when one of those old guys in black robes asks Him a question. Why are you looking at me like that? It's just a bra strap. God!

CAMERAMAN: (OS) I'm not ...

MARY M: OK, OK. What I just said? That's maybe not 100% true. Like He does ...

CAMERAMAN: (OS) Does what?

MARY: Answer, y'know? Like, I'm not saying He clams up. Those old guys will ask him, like, whatever? He'll say something, yeah, but it never makes any sense, y'know? I would totally love it if He asked them a question for once. Like ... "Hey, it's the desert. Why do you wear black robes?"

CAMERAMAN: (OS) Good question.

MARY: I know! And I thought of it. But who am I? Little Miss Nobody Whore, that's who. But all these disciples and these other chicks they're all like, "Oh, Jesus is the greatest, Jesus knows everything about God, we're like sooo in with Jesus because Jesus is sooo spiritual" -- that's such bullBLEEP, right? I know what they rilly want. Him, too. But He's so, like above it all.

CAMERAMAN: You want to bring Him down?

MARY: I want Him to be real! He's not like made of light and fairydust or whatever. He's just Him, you know? He's a guy, right? He's got a BLEEP under that robe.

CAMERAMAN: You're talking about sex again?

MARY: Yeah, I am. So what? I mean it's sex, it's all sex. Animal attraction, OK? He's got it baby. Woo-hoo! (snaps her fingers) Am I making you nervous?

CAMERAMAN: No.

MARY: Yeah, I am. That's what I do to guys. But sex is the magnet, it always is. Especially with You-Know-Who. Why do you think these losers are hanging around with an unemployed carpenter? You think it's spiritual? No way. I know why. They want Him! That's why they're so defensive because they don't want to admit it.

CAMERAMAN: Admit what? You keep insinuating ... what? The Apostles are gay?

MARY: No! Well, everybody's gay. But they're not like gay-gay. I meant like monkeys and surfers. There's always like an alpha male, and the other males want to hang out with him? I saw that on TV, like this nature show. They want Him like that.

CAMERAMAN: (OS) And you want Him ...

MARY: Like totally the other way. Wacka-wacka. And I know I want him, y'know? I'm just being honest but they're like hypocrites? I mean it's just like High School, like clicks, right? And they're all like, "Mary's not cool -- we're like better than Mary -- we're not going to let Mary play any reindeer games." Or whatever.You think you got enough material? I got a lot more to --

BLACK

JOHN: The way I see it love is like the spokes on a wheel. There's love between man and God; there's the love between a man and a woman; there's friendship; there's family love and then there's the love between a man and a man. (pause) And I am not gay.

BLACK

PETER: So no, I didn't tell Him about the guns. And you don't tell Him either, savvy? He don't need to know. I mean if the Romans go, "Hey, Jesus. You got any guns on the bus?" What's He gonna say? He's a big name, a public religious figure. Suppose He lies about that shit, then gets caught? That'd put Him in a compromising position in the eyes of the media, huh? I'm not gonna take that risk. Way I see it: I don't know what God's gonna tell Him to do next. And Jesus don't know about no guns. We're even.

CAMERAMAN: (OS) What if God tells him about the guns?

PETER: You know that never BLEEPing occurred to me.

EXT, JERUSALEM - DAY

Montage
More speeded-up, pop footage. Disciples and Jesus chicks shopping, trying on hats, standing on walls. Comic bit where Jesus knocks over money changers' tables and runs. Montage of the Last Supper... 

INT, JUDAS' MOTEL ROOM -- NIGHT
JUDAS doing another one-on-one.

CAMERAMAN: (OS) Start at the beginning.

JUDAS: Yeah. Very good place to start, right? OK, anyway, it's Passover. Gonna have a nice meal, say all the stuff in the book, fill my pockets with trinkgeld. Shoulda been nice, OK? But I knew He's going to do it to me again. That Goofus and Gallant crap, OK?

CAMERAMAN: (OS) How did you know?

JUDAS: A BLEEPing burning bush warned me, OK? Hey, I'm just BLEEPing with you. Seriously, He told me in the lobby, before we sat down. He takes me aside, starts whispering. "This is a very special moment, Judas. I got a lot I wanna say. Spiritual stuff. So I don't wanna talk or think about money. Money's bad, that's in the Bible somewhere. So, you deal with the money, waiters, tips, whatever. It's Passover, how hard could it be? We'll order the same thing, split the check when I'm done. When I'm done, Judas. I can't stress that enough."

CAMERAMAN: (OS) Great imitation.

JUDAS: Thanks, man. Anyway, we eat, we talk, He says stuff, why is this day any different, yattayatta. All of a sudden, He goes off script -- I think He was talking about cannibalism or something, or maybe He just said, "Eat me." I hit the wine pretty early, OK? The details are kinda fuzzy.

CAMERAMAN: (OS) When did it go bad?

JUDAS: Right at the end, like always. The waiter brings the check. But there's more than one check! These rat bastard Apostles went behind my back and it's separate checks. Totally BLEEPing confused, stuff's crossed out, nobody knows what's what. So they start arguing. Who ordered the house wine? No, I'm not going to pay for that. Let's just split the tip. No, all I had was a matzoh, I'm not going to split the tip. And Jesus is like, "Handle it, Judas. Just pick up the check out of your own money, Judas. Just take everybody's shit, Judas." So I said -- "I'm outta here. I'm not going to pay. This time I'm not going to pay."

CAMERAMAN: (OS)  Then what happened?

JUDAS: Well, you filmed it, right?

EXT, garden - night
JESUS and friends are praying. JUDAS enters with a bunch of Roman soldiers.

JUDAS: Jesus! Who loves you, baby?

JESUS: God, you sound like Kojak, man.

JUDAS walks up and kisses him, then turns to the Romans. He points at JESUS, who is wiping his cheek with the back of his hand.

JUDAS: It's that guy.

JESUS: Aw, man.

JUDAS: Now you're going to pay, Jesus. Now you're gonna pay.

The Romans advance.

JUDAS: "One big check" my ass! He had the house special and the appetizer and the wine. Don't let him skip!

The Romans advance. PETER leaps in with an automatic weapon and shoots them all.

JESUS: What'd you do that for? I'm supposed to get crucified!

PETER: Yeah, right. So the goyim could blame the Jews forever? Forget it, hoss. Let's roll.

JESUS: Wow. (looking at pile of dead Centurions) We better blame terrorists or something. Are there terrorists in this alternate reality?

PETER: Shitloads.

JESUS: Nice. Hey Judas. Be a pal. Settle-up the tab, then haul ass to the RV. We'll meet up where my Dad rained down fire on that village over the hill. Thanks in advance, man.

JUDAS: You motherBLEEP.

The RV drives off.

INT, JESUS' RV
Private sulks. Nobody's talking. 

Finally ...

JUDAS: Hey Jesus. I'm sorry, OK? Really.

JESUS: I forgive you, Judas.

JUDAS: Yeah, thanks...

JESUS: Don't thank Me. I'm the Savior. That's my job.

JUDAS: You're good at it, Jesus.

JESUS: Yeah. And you get blamed for everything. That's your job.

They drive in silence for awhile.

JESUS: So. No harm no foul?

JUDAS: No ... What are you talking about?

JESUS: Loose ends, dummy. Did we leave any?

JUDAS: Peter got rid of the bodies.

JESUS: Yeah. It was worth the extra time. Better to have a chainsaw and not need it and need it and not have it. Right, Peter?

PETER: Amen, bro.

JESUS: Anything else?

JUDAS: Not that I can think of.

JESUS: What about the bill?

JUDAS doesn't answer.

JESUS: I mean you paid, right?

JUDAS doesn't say anything.

JESUS: Tell me you paid.

JUDAS: Well, that'd be lying, 'K? You're down on that BLEEP. Last time I checked.

JESUS: Aw, c'mon. Seriously? You didn't pay?

JUDAS: Not a freaking shekel.

JESUS: You stiffed the Passover Hut?

Silence. Road noises....long pause.

JUDAS: Yeah I stiffed the Passover Hut.

More uncomfortable silence.

JESUS: Eh, BLEEP it. We're Christians now, who gives a BLEEP? Let's go make people feel guilty about having sex! Who's with me?

Everybody cheers.

Except for MARY M.

The RV drives off into the sunset.

Creepy "GREASER'S PALACE" ending follows after break.

Bad Combination

Bad Combination: Midwesterners and All-You-Can-Eat Restaurants.

I don't mean all Midwesterners, understand. Just the ones who go to All-You-Can-Eat Restaurants, heh-heh-heh. Most of 'em are just good folks, yep. They ain't all gluttons. (Heck, that's like saying all Southerners are racists.) Guess I got outta that one...

So, returning to the discussion to the subset of Midwesterners with their double-wide asses at All-You-Can-Eat Restaurants ...

What's up with you people? You eat like it's some kinda job or something. Like you've suddenly landed in Alladin's treasure cave and you're scooping up all the gold and jewels in sight. Look at all this food! We can eat as much food as we want!

As much as we want turns out to be infinite food, which is why the place resembles a circle in hell of eternal torment that Dante never got around to writing about.

There's people going through the line six times, seven times, loading up the old segmented plastic tray then running back to their tables and stuffing it in, mmmmboy, ten metric tons of Miss Applebee's Extruded Chicken Substance! That's coming in from my right hand -- now let's get my left hand working! Let's stuff my face with more of that dee-licious Lettuce-in-a-Bag with "realred" Methane Tomatoes! Boyhowdy I wish I had a mouth right in my stomach -- that'd save even more time!

Choff, choff, CHOFF!

Saving time seems to be important. You get the feeling they've done little informal time motion studies. I'll open my sugar and butter patties all at once and line 'em up, that saves me 14 seconds. Put the ice tea over here, that'll save me two steps and half a second so's I can grab me a roll from the plate over there. Ain't crossing my hands and getting all tangled up that way. Feature that...

Nobody's talking because that would waste time. They eat with two hands, which saves even more time. They eat mechanically, getting into a chewing rhythm groove here, especially the mouth breathers -- chomp, chomp, chomp, breathe, chomp, chomp, chomp, breathe, take a drink, say "Well that was sure good." Back to "Chomp, chomp, chomp, breathe..."

ChompCHOMPChompCHOMP. Balls of liquid spray are jetting out of their mouths like sweat from a boxer's head after he takes a good punch. ChoffaCHOFFAchoffaCHOMP. They're just stuffing it in. ChompCHOMPChompCHOMPCHOFFCHOFF. Food is hanging from the ears of old lady who looks like she should be dead: strings of spinach like jewelry. Some bald guy with hypertension bugeyes is mushing a biscuit into his trash-masher maw and the mechanism starts grinding RRRRRR, chunk, RRRRRR, chunk, RRRRRRRRRR! and, like the rest of 'em, he's not bothering to close the old mouth, either -- that would waste time too and there is food here -- it must be eaten quickly! -- RRRRRRcrunchcrunch! -- the food is here and it is our DUTY to eat this food! --- RRRRRRR! -- and those metallic jaws are just mashing up and down revealling multicolored institutional food smooshed up between the teeth, some of it falling down like a stray can of NIFDA lard from the dumpster when it gets hefted up by the clanging, pneumatic Waste Management truck -- jaws clanging, RRRR, CLANG, RRRR, CLANG -- Biscuit! Chicken! Mashed Potatoes! It's a ten-car, "Death on the Highway" salad bar pileup!

They feed and feed and the food seems to actually suffer in their pink falsetoothed mouths. It's like watching Godzilla's giant lizard tongue clean out a schoolbus full of screaming Japanese schoolchildren. Put the goddamn food out of its misery already!

All this may explain why most of them are rolling with fat. These people must have been bears in another life. They think they're going to hibernate. Or maybe they think there'll be another Great Depression and they'll be walking around slapping their fat while the rest of us starve...

MIDWESTERNER: (slapping stomach) Shoulda stocked up during the "fat years," son. Shoulda planned ahead!

Well OK, Mister personalized license plate Cadillac BUCKEYE. Ever occur to you there's maybe a reason the food is "all you can eat"...? This is the food that no one else wants. This is what's left over after they make Spam. This is what's too disgusting to go into sausages -- even Mexican sausages. This is the food that gets sent back from Food Lion. This is the food from the dumpsters of other restaurants that gets sent to a massive Institutional Food processing plant in Dayton Ohio, vulcanized, and turned into new Institutional Food, sorta like the corpses in Soylent Green.

But there sure is plenty of it!

A game for fools

So I graduated from UVA with a BA in English and a portfolio of my cartoons for The Declaration. Circa 1978, I showed up at The Sarasota Herald Tribune to see if they could use me as an illustrator.

The editor I talked to laughed.

Let me show you something, he said.

And he took me into the back room. It was something like the warehouse in Citizen Kane, a huge, dusty warehouse space rimmed with steel girders. One wall, it seemed, was filled to the top with bolted in industrial metal shelves. These shelves were stuffed to bursting with clipart books.

The man reached out and grabbed one of the books

And started flipping.

Here, a chef twirling a pizza. Here a chef twirling a mustache. Here, a chef twirling his mustache and a pizza. Here, a whole page of "YOU CAN DO IT YOURSELF" illustrations, right next to a page of "HIRE THE EXPERT" illustrations. Damn hypocrites.

Predicting the future is, obviously, a game for fools.

I am that fool.

We're in the middle of an extremely bloody revolution though it's easy to miss because, in most cases, what's being bled isn't blood but money. The revolution is the revolution of digital imaging and what that means is, well...

Consider, by way of analogy, the world of music.

Once upon a time if you were a musician you played music and, if you were lucky enough, you were paid. There was nothing else.

Then Edison invented the phonograph.

Slowly, very slowly, the recorded-music industry came into being.

And, in less than a century, live musical performance is only a small subset of the music industry.

The same thing happened to acting. Once upon a time if you acted it was on stage -- or nowhere.

Then, once again, here comes Edison, this time with the movies...

But this kind of thing hasn't happened to the visual arts world -- not exactly -- even though there's printing...

Because printing to painting just ain't the same as a CD of a musical performance is to a performance...

The visual arts world is divided into two harshly opposed camps, namely commercial artists and fine artists.

Fine artists make static objects: paintings, sculpture, drawings. An object. One. You buy it and hang it on your wall or put it in your garden.

There may be reproductions, but the reproductions are very different and controlled via the whole dance of signed and number prints, limited editions, etc...

And then there are artists who do illustrations, artists who draw cartoons, artists who, by and large, feed what they're doing into the world of print.

The original ain't as important as the result -- though, in some cases, the original art may become valuable -- to begin with, it's just a tool, often disposable.

And it's often hard to tell -- even if you're the artists -- what's the original and what's the copy. You do an ink line drawing, copy it, then shade the copy. Which one's the original?

The particular cruelty of this, for static visual artists in general and cartoonists in particular, is the devaluation of what you do -- because what it's going into is, essentially, disposable -- and, unlike high-profile forgeries in the fine arts world -- what any cartonist does is very easily duplicated. This has the effect of making it very easy to steal. This also has the effect of allowing a handful of high-profile cartoonists to dominate the print market.

Each week, the daily newspaper gets a bundle of cartoons from the syndicates. Some are editorials, some are syndicated strips. Each packet (depending on the syndicate and a formula based on circulation) costs the newspaper anywhere from $25-$60.

Which means, essentially, that approximately 30 to 50 cartoonists can handle the daily cartooning needs for a nation of 250 million people.

Illustration is a different world, as are magazine cartooning and illustration. What these worlds have in common is fierce competition and a very, very limited supply of jobs.

Enter the digital revolution.

It's changing things, so slowly that it's hard to notice...

What it's doing, first of all, is allowing illustrators to be illustrators.

Marketing directors, editors, publishers and advertising agency honchos of course don't want this. What they want is $8 an hour grunts who, like busy machines, will grind out page after page of completed mechanicals, slapping clip art into the empty holes whenever possible--never their own work, because that's not what the grunts are being paid $8 an hour for.

But clip art is digital now.

Which means you can modify it -- easily. Flop it, distort it, clone it, colorize it. All that clip art has become digital which, instantly, turns it into one big swipe file -- opening up more possibilities of showing what you can do, or learning what you do better enough to move on.

The second thing it's doing is opening up more space for cartoonists and illustrators to get their stuff out their -- an alternative to the nosebleed world of fine arts, and the nasty, poor, brutish and short world of commercial art-for-print.

The Bob Marley Trial

INT, Jamaican courtroom...seedy, tropical, with slow, creaking ceiling fans. PUBLIC DEFENDER and PROSECUTION are irritating, British and white. The JUDGE is laconic and black.

BOB MARLEY is in the dock. The PROSECUTION is grilling him.

PROSECUTION: Did you or did you not shoot the Sheriff on the day in question?

BOB MARLEY: I shot the Sheriff, but I didn't shoot no Deputy, oh no!

PROSECUTION: I didn't ask you about the Deputy.

BOB MARLEY: I shot the Sheriff but I didn't shoot no Deputy.

JUDGE: Defendant will please direct his responses to the current line of questioning.

PROSECUTION: Could you please tell us what happened on the day in question?

BOB MARLEY: Freedom came my way one day and I started out of town, yeah!

PROSECUTION:  "Freedom came my way one day"...what do you mean by that, Mr. Marley? You were not, in fact, incarcerated at the time -- yet you say "freedom came my way one day." In what sense were you not free? Is that simply your way of saying you had decided to leave town? Is there some reason you suddenly felt free to leave town, a reason, perhaps involving Sheriff John Brown?

PUBLIC DEFENDER: Objection! Leading the witness.

JUDGE: Sustained. Prosecution will please rephrase the question.

PROSECUTION: What did you mean by "freedom came my way one day" . . . ?

BOB MARLEY: (shrugging) Freedom came my way one day.

PROSECUTION:  In what sense?

BOB MARLEY: What sense?

PROSECUTION: What do you mean by "freedom come my way one day"...? What are you talking about?

BOB MARLEY: What am I talking about?

PROSECUTION: I asked you first.

BOB MARLEY: Talking about freedom, mon. That's dread.

PROSECUTION: What are you talking about...in this specific instance...when you say "freedom came my way one day."

BOB MARLEY: Just freedom came my way one day, mon. Freedom. You know what freedom is?

PROSECUTION: I... (thinking better of it) ...never mind. So, what did you do when "freedom came your way," Mr. Marley?

BOB MARLEY: I started out of town, yeah.

PROSECUTION: What happened when you started out of town?

BOB MARLEY: Then all of a sudden I saw Sheriff John Brown. He was aiming to shoot me down.

PROSECUTION: And what did you do?

BOB MARLEY: I shot, yes, I shot - shot him down and I say, yeah...

PROSECUTION: No further questions, your honor.

BOB MARLEY: By-by-by - I shot the Sheriff...I didn't shoot no Deputy. Oh, no! Oh!

PROSECUTION: No further questions!

BOB MARLEY: It was I shot the Sheriff, but I didn't shoot no Deputy. Oo-ooh...

JUDGE: Defendant will please refrain from these outbursts. (to the PUBLIC DEFENDER) Your witness.

PUBLIC DEFENDER: You shot the Sheriff?

BOB MARLEY: But I did not shoot no Deputy.

PUBLIC DEFENDER: Let's talk about the Sheriff.

BOB MARLEY: Deputy ain't got nothin' to do wit me...

PUBLIC DEFENDER: The Sheriff...

BOB MARLEY: Ain't got a damn thing to do wit' it, mon.

PUBLIC DEFENDER: I believe you -- but let's talk about the Sheriff. Why did you shoot the Sheriff?

BOB MARLEY: Reflexes had the better of me.

PUBLIC DEFENDER: Reflexes?

BOB MARLEY: All of a sudden I saw Sheriff John Brown and he was aiming to shoot me down.

PUBLIC DEFENDER: So you shot...

BOB MARLEY: I shot him down.

PUBLIC DEFENDER: And this was in self defense?

BOB MARLEY: I swear it was in self-defense.

PUBLIC DEFENDER: You had no motive other than self-defense to shoot Sheriff John Brown?

BOB MARLEY: No, mon.

PUBLIC DEFENDER: Why would Sheriff Brown want to shoot you?

PROSECUTION: Objection, your honor. Calls for speculation

PUBLIC DEFENDER: To your knowledge, did Sheriff Brown have a reason for attempting to shoot you?

BOB MARLEY: Sheriff John Brown always hated me.

PUBLIC DEFENDER: For what?

BOB MARLEY: I don't know.

PUBLIC DEFENDER: Then what made you think he hated you?

BOB MARLEY: Every time I plant a seed, he say, "Kill it before it grow." He say, "Kill it before they grow."

PUBLIC DEFENDER: No further questions.

JUDGE: Prosecution may cross-examine. Your witness.

PROSECUTION: You shot the Sheriff...and you swear it was in self-defense?

BOB MARLEY: I swear it was in self defense.

PROSECUTION: Why did you shoot him down?

BOB MARLEY: I already said.

PROSECUTION: Well, please refresh my memory, Mr. Marley -- why did you shoot him down?

BOB MARLEY: He was aiming to shoot me down.

PROSECUTION: And of course, Sheriff John Brown was the one who raised his weapon first, hmmm? We're supposed to believe that? He had no possible provocation -- he wasn't trying to defend himself from you?

BOB MARLEY: No mon.

PROSECUTION: You didn't draw first? You didn't have a gun in your hand?

BOB MARLEY: No.

PROSECUTION: You weren't waiting for him?

BOB MARLEY: No.

PROSECUTION: Here you are, walking out of town -- "all of a sudden" you see the Sheriff gunning for you. He's got the drop on you. You've got only microseconds to react -- and you do. You reach for your gun and you "shoot him down." You outdraw him -- a trained law-enforcement professional?

BOB MARLEY: Reflexes got the better of me.

PROSECUTION: And it's just a question of reflexes?

BOB MARLEY: Yes.

PROSECUTION: You had no reason to suspect that Sheriff John Brown was waiting for you?

BOB MARLEY: No, mon.

PROSECUTION: You weren't already holding your gun -- waiting for him?

BOB MARLEY: No.

PROSECUTION: So this was totally unpremeditated?

BOB MARLEY: Just reflexes, mon.

PROSECUTION: You must have pretty good reflexes Mr. Marley, pretty good reflexes indeed. Where were you carrying your gun?

BOB MARLEY: My troousers, mon. In de belt.

PROSECUTION: Could you show the court? (pulling out a gun) With the court's permission...this is of course not loaded...

JUDGE: Court will allow.

PROSECUTION: (handing gun to BOB MARLEY) How were you carrying the gun?

BOB MARLEY: I told you. (sliding gun into belt) Like dis, mon.

With blistering speed, the PROSECUTOR draws another gun, aims it at MARLEY's head. BOB MARLEY blinks, slowly, like a lizard, then reaches for his gun -- reaching for the wrong side first -- then reaching for the other side, fumbling. Then laughing...

BOB MARLEY: Oh, I see mon. You setting me up...

PROSECUTION: (sarcastically) Such lightning-fast reflexes. My, my.

BOB MARLEY: That's not fair, mon...

PUBLIC DEFENDER: Objection! Prosecution is attempting to prejudice the jury with obvious theatrics...

BOB MARLEY:  Dem rude boys keep me up in jail all night.

PROSECUTION: With the court's permission...Prosecution is attempting to show that his ganga-soddened reflexes aren't...

BOB MARLEY: I and I fucking tired, mon'...

JUDGE: Court moves to disallow -- and instructs the jury to disregard -- and instructs the defendent to please restrain himself.

PROSECUTION: We'll proceed with another line of questioning, your honor. So, Mr. Marley -- you shot the Sheriff?

BOB MARLEY: But I did not shoot no Deputy.

PROSECUTION: Stop talking about the Deputy. I'm asking about the Sheriff.

BOB MARLEY: No way did I shoot no Deputy.

PROSECUTION: Right. Well, let's move on to the Sheriff, shall we?

BOB MARLEY: I liked the Deputy.

PROSECUTION: I'm sure you did. But what did you do after you shot the Sheriff? You ran, didn't you?

BOB MARLEY: All around in my home town, they trying to track me down. They say they want to bring me in guilty for the life of a Deputy.

PROSECUTION: Oh not that again...

BOB MARLEY: For the life of a Deputy....

PROSECUTION: What Deputy? (starting to get a little shrill) I'm not asking about the Deputy.

BOB MARLEY: But I say, yeah...I shot the Sheriff, but I swear it was in self defence.

JUDGE: Order!

BOB MARLEY: I swear it was in self defence, yea-ea-eah! It was I who shot the Sheriff...

JUDGE: (pounding gavel) Order in this courtroom!

BOB MARLEY: Oo-ooh...

Judge gives him an evil look.

BOB MARLEY: Sorry.

PROSECUTION: Right -- let's move on then, with no more talk of imaginary deputies. Now, Mr. Marley, without mentioning the deputy in any way, you have admitted that you -- supposedly -- an innocent man, ran. Why did you run, Mr. Marley?

BOB MARLEY: They say it is a capital offense.

PROSECUTION: Shooting the Sheriff?

BOB MARLEY: No, mon. Shooting the Deputy.

PROSECUTION: (closing his eyes, grinding his teeth, opening his eyes) What Deputy?

BOB MARLEY: I shot the Sheriff. But I didn't shoot no Deputy.

PROSECUTION: (ready to explode) The Deputy...the Deputy. You keep mentioning "the Deputy," Mr. Marley, yet so far no one has been accused of shooting any Deputy.

BOB MARLEY: Whoever he is, I didn't shoot him.

PROSECUTION: (exasperated) WHAT Deputy? What in bloody hell are you talking about?

BOB MARLEY: Oh no! Oh!

JUDGE: Prosecution is instructed to move to a more relevant line of questioning.

PROSECUTION: He brought it up! He keeps talking about the bleeding Deputy, doesn't he?

JUDGE: Don't.

PROSECUTION: Sorry.

JUDGE: Just don't.

PROSECUTION: Sorry. Sorry, Judge, of course I won't. Bit on edge there...I quite apologize...yes, of course, right, OK, certainly...where were we? Mr. Marley admits to shooting the Sheriff. Mr. Marley is running. Mr. Marley, Mr. Marley, yes, well. What was going through your mind at the time, Mr. Marley? You're an innocent man. You've just killed another man in self-defence, yet you ran. What were you thinking?

BOB MARLEY: What is to be must be. Every day the bucket goes to the well. I say, one day the bottom a-go drop out. One day the bottom will drop out.

PROSECUTION: Right.

The PROSECUTION stands there, blinking, for half a minute.

PROSECUTION: (shaking his head) I suppose that's it. No further questions, your honor.

JUDGE: (to the PUBLIC DEFENDER) Defense may now cross examine.

PD: Mr. Marley, is it possible that the "seeds" the Sheriff objected to were in fact the seeds of ganja and Rastafarianism and that, hypothetically, the missing Deputy sympathized with your point of view, growing whiteboy dreadlocks, listening to reggae in his spare time and smoking ganga -- ganga which he had bought from you and your "seeds," attempting thusly to buy coolness for his crackerass Barney Fife self as you, simulateously, were attempting to buy your way out of the poverty of this sinkhole of Carribean decadence by making a demo album for Island Records, the "freedom" you so dearly sought, and, one day, eventually obtained -- by the income you received selling ganga to the Deputy who, in turn, had become, in his newfound coolness, the object of sexual attention by the Sheriff's wife -- a Sheriff who, in his impotence and rage, eventually shot the Deputy, a fact which you discovered as, on the day freedom "came your way," you were at last leaving town and, as a matter of courtesy, had come to pay him one last call -- only to find the Deputy's newly-shot body -- which the Sheriff later disposed of -- you immediately surmised what was afoot, armed yourself, and attempted to leave this island and -- while not premeditating the murder of the Sheriff, you were at least able to defend yourself. In short, when the moment came in which Sheriff John Brown attempted to ambush you -- you, and your reflexes, were at least ready. Something like that?

BOB MARLEY: It was I shot the sheriff, but I didn't shoot no deputy, I didn't shoot no deputy. Oo-ooh. No-no-no-no-no!

PUBLIC DEFENDER: Defense rests, you honor.

JUDGE: Prosecution may cross examine.

BOB MARLEY And so - and so, read it! I shot the Sheriff, But I didn't shoot no deputy. Oh no, oh! I shot the sheriff, But I didn't shoot no Deputy. Oo-ooh.

PROSECUTION: Why bother? (throws papers in the air) No further questions, your honor. Prosecution rests.

The Unknown Power of Presidential Executive Orders

Various right-wing trolls have been bitching about President Clinton's latest executive orders. Bitch, bitch, bitch. Please. You ain't seen nothing yet. These horrors are but the beginning of sorrows, my non-friends. Only the beginning of sorrows. It gets worse ... Much worse.

Seriously, folks. I'm not making this up.

No. And I shall prove it, non-friends.

Behold!

I have in my very hands an absolutely, relatively reliable document detailing Phase #2 of President Clinton's hideous, malign usurpation of basic American rights.

As the mangled Masala said to Ben Hur...

"It goes on. The race goes on..."

So what does the paper say? What future Executive Orders do we have in store? Ahem.

Here goes ...

13072: Seizure of all catch phrases in the United States. Comedy writers will no longer be able to say "Don't go there" or "Tell it to the hand." Chaos will ensue.

13073: Seizure of all battery-powered electric bunny rabbits.

13074: Seizure of all tennis shoes with lights or pumps inside. Regulation "Chuck Taylor" All-Stars issued to all American athletes, both amateur and professional.

13075: Richard Simmons is shot in a special nationwide "Dying to the Oldies" celebration.

13076: Crack S.W.A.T. teams invade Sesame Street and seize the letters "Y" and "K" along with the number "2" thereby solving the Y2K problem.

13077: In a hideous scheme known as "Operation Chinese Fire Drill," government workers are forced to enter the private sector while their private counterparts are forced to work for the government. The government, instantly, becomes streamlined and efficient, but it is now impossible to get a #1 Value Meal at McDonalds without filling out endless forms and enduring an extensive background security check — not to mention the 30-day waiting period ...

13078: In a vicious reversal of our great traditions of independence, the American people are forced to spend time with their families. Corporate executives are prevented from exchanging first wives for trophy wives. On-the-go Yuppie couples are forced to cancel their much-anticipated ski trips, when it turns out they can't put Mom and Dad in "the home" after all.

13079: The Postmaster General is mailed to Tibet — replaced by the lovable mail carrier from "Cheers." Every man, woman, or child entering any United States post office is immediately issued a firearm in the interests of strategic parity.

13080: The government, on second thought, gives all of its airports and aircraft back. To whom? Anybody who wants them.

13081: Smokey the Bear is declared to be a god. His statue is 'erected' at Yellowstone National Park. From that day forward, anyone suspected of starting a fire will be hauled before that statue and sacrificed.

Signed 3, Cunegonde 1998, by President for Life William Jefferson Clinton.