The Pussies

(to the tune of the theme from "The Monkeys")

Here we come

Slinking down the street.

Avoiding eye contact

With everyone we meet.

Hey, hey, we're the Pussies!

People say we pussy around.

We don’t want to make trouble.

Just ask -- we’ll turn the volume down.

We're just trying to be harmless!

Come and watch us cringe and play.

We don’t have any opinions.

We agree with everything you say!

Hey, hey, we're the Pussies!

There’s dangerous people around!

We just try to avoid ‘em.

Just say so and we’ll all leave town.

"24" -- Season Five

EXT, CALIFORNIA, NIGHT
Ariel shot of convertible snaking along on Pacific Ocean Highway. It drives cautiously, just under the speed limit, nothing to attract attention. Two men inside. RAOUL driving, DIMITRI in the passenger's seat.

INT - CONVERTIBLE

DIMITRI : You have the device?

RAOUL: Yes. As you can see. (taps compact metallic case on the seat) The device is here.

DIMITRI: Yes. (taps forehead, smiles) And the codes are here. But we are of one mind. The Americans must pay for their arrogance! For their lies!

He grabs the case, opens it. Punches in numbers.

DIMITRI: Now the system is armed, my friend. All it needs now is the first target, but which one? New York? Miami? Chicago? Dallas. Decisions, decisions. How many years I have waited for this!

RAOUL: Please calm down.

DIMITRI: Why? "Star Wars" is mine. A network of orbiting lasers -- the true SDI, not the spin for the stupid public! Death from above, anytime, anywhere -- that was the idea! And it was a good idea and it was my idea and they stole it from me! 16 years of my life, Raoul. 16 years. I lost my family, lost everything. For what? For nothing! "We never built it," the politicians said. "Too costly, impractical." Lies!

RAOUL: It is a great injustice. We --

DIMITRI: (not stopping) "Oh, there are no death ray satellites in space." Lies! The satellites are up there, I know. I built them! I launched the rockets! It is all in place! But the Americans buried the truth and me along with it! Still they lie to this day. "Oh, the "Star Wars" system does not exist." But the Americans have the system!

RAOUL: No, my friend. (indicating) We have the system, remember?

DIMITRI: Then let us test it. (opening metallic case) The target we have agreed upon ...

A fuel tanker approaches.

INT, TRUCK - NIGHT

A wide-eyed TRUCK DRIVER snorts a line of crystal meth on the dashboard, taking his eyes off the road. He hoovers, truck drifts over yellow line -- then hurtles into the sports car in a front-end collision. The impact slams the convertible against the railing. The truck follows, jackknifing, then exploding in a vast fire ball, instantly vaporizing convertible, DIMITRI, RAOUL, and the Star Wars control device. The whole flaming mess goes down the cliff-side.

INT, JACK BAUER'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

He's asleep in bed. The phone on the night stand doesn't ring.

The CLOCK effect comes up. 1:21 AM.

Through the rest of the season, we intercut between JACK sleeping and bored analysts at CTU with nothing to do for the next 24 hours.

A Clockwork Cookie

INT, MILK AND COOKIE BAR

Pull back from COOKIE MONSTER wearing a bowler hat. He's surrounded by various Muppet Droogs. COOKIE MONSTER lifts a glass of milk and salutes the camera.

COOKIE MONSTER: Hello, camera! There me, Cookie Monster, and me three Muppet Droogs, Kermit, Fozzie and Oscar. We drink milk and eat cookies!

COOKIE MONSTER buries face in plate of cookies.

COOKIE MONSTER: Angghh! Angghhhh! Cookie good!

OSCAR: How do we eat, anyway? We don’t even have digestive tracts.

COOKIE MONSTER Me bored! Let’s go kick Mister Rogers' ass!

INT, NEIGHBORHOOD OF MAKE-BELIEVE.

COOKIE MONSTER and his Droogs stride in. Confront MISTER ROGERS and his Puppets.

MISTER ROGERS: Hello neighbor. Didja bring me a cookie?

COOKIE MONSTER: (grabs crotch) Me have cookie right here!

MISTER ROGERS: Let’s get ‘em, neighbors!

HENRIETTA PUSSYCAT: Faster, faster pussycat! Meow, meow, kill!

The Muppets charge MISTER ROGERS and his Puppets. The Muppets beat the Puppets senseless. KERMIT bashes MISTER ROGERS' legs with a rubber duckie.

KERMIT: Rubber duckie, you’re for me. You will break Mister Rogers' knees. I’m so awfully glad I filled you up with lead.

MISTER ROGERS: Ow. That really hurts, neighbor.

OS: Sound of police siren.

COOKIE MONSTER: Agghh! Run! Me hear police!

OSCAR: So how do we run? We don’t even have legs.

COOKIE MONSTER: You have negative attitude. Run!

COOKIE MONSTER: (OS) Me wind up in jail. Big cookie hangover. Cookie Monster not know there was a Sesame Street Jail! Me sleep it off there.

INT, SESAME STREET JAIL

COOKIE MONSTER wakes up in a disgusting pile of cookie crumbs.

CARL SAGAN: A fine example for the children, yes?

COP: He wouldn't know a vegetable if it bit him, sir.

CARL SAGAN: Well, Cookie Monster. This is the end of the line, yes? The end of the line.

COOKIE MONSTER: Wow! Carl Sagan! (to us) In TeeVee Land, he not dead. What going on?

CARL SAGAN: We're going to reeducate you, Cookie Monster.

COOKIE MONSTER: That impossible! Me no educated in first place!

CARL SAGAN: Fine. Then we'll educate you.

COOKIE MONSTER: How?

CARL SAGAN: We're going to show you some movies.

COOKIE MONSTER: Me like movies!

COOKIE MONSTER: (OS) But me no like these movies.

INT, BF SKINNER THEATER

Cookie Monster is strapped to a chair, his eyelids propped open. A dude in a white lab coat is dripping fluid in his eyes.

COOKIE MONSTER: When show start?

VOICE: (OS) Shhhh. No talking in the theater.

COOKIE MONSTER: Me only one here!

COOKIE MONSTER: (OS) Then show start. It movie about cookies. Many many drippy cookies. Like cookie porno!

COOKIE MONSTER: Cookie! Cookie! Me like cookies!

CHOIR: (OS) C is for cookie, that's good enough for me.

COOKIE MONSTER: That good enough for Cookie Monster! Me like cookies.

CARL SAGAN: Not for long.

COOKIE MONSTER: (OS) Me start to feel sick.

COOKIE MONSTER: Belch! Oh no. What wrong?

CARL SAGAN: Cookies are bad for you, Cookie Monster.

COOKIE MONSTER: No! Cookies good!

CARL SAGAN: No. They're full of trans-fatty acids and so forth. They lead to childhood obesity, Cookie Monster. To childhood diabetes. More importantly, they lead to billions and billions of lawsuits.

COOKIE MONSTER: Me feel sick!

CARL SAGAN: "C is for carrot." Say it.

COOKIE MONSTER: No! Me Cookie Monster! Children love Cookie Monster!

CARL SAGAN: Yes, and the little children imitate you, don't they? Yes. They follow your example and stuff their faces. Henceforth you shall be Cookie Monster in name only, yes? Vegetables you shall strive for. Healthy snacks.

COOKIE MONSTER: No! It sin!

CARL SAGAN: What’s all this talk about sin?

COOKIE MONSTER: Me sin! Me see light! Me see eating cookie very very bad. Cookie Monster role model for many little children. Me repent now! Me saved!

CARL SAGAN: That's not very scientific, Cookie Monster. Trust us. Two weeks from now, you'll be a changed monster. You'll be cured, my friend.

INT, CONGRESSIONAL HEARING

COOKIE MONSTER: (OS) Me testify in Congress!

COOKIE MONSTER: Me no like cookies. Me like vegetables. Me like carrots and broccoli and asparagus.

CONGRESSMAN: So, if I were to offer you a cookie, you wouldn't want it?

CONGRESSMAN offers him cookie.

COOKIE MONSTER: No. Agghhh, who me kidding? Cookie! (eats cookie)

COOKIE MONSTER: (OS) Me cured, all right.

R.I.P. Electric Car

INT, CORPORATE CONFERENCE ROOM

A SCIENTIST is pitching a design for an electric car. A flatscreen display shows a diagram. He's pointing out features with a laser pointer. Executives sit around a conference table, watching. AUTO COMPANY CEO reacts with disgust.

CEO: Electric car? Are you out of your frigging mind? Goddamn scientists.

CEO touches button. A trap door opens. The scientist falls.

SCIENTIST: Eaggggh.

CEO: Now. How's bout we stick with my idea? Anybody got a problem with that?

YES MEN: No sir! No sir! 2+2=5 sir.

CEO: I like the way you think.

Strides to front of office, avoiding trap door.

CEO: OK! Here’s the car of the future, gentlemen. Fuck his idea. Here's my idea! The 2010 Kamikaze!

Touches HD flatscreen display. The car appears.

CEO: It doesn’t need oil. It doesn’t need electricity. It runs on food. See? Open up the hopper here, and you drop in corn, tomatoes and steaks. Listen to that engine hum!

One of the YES MEN tentatively raises his hand.

YES MAN: But …

CEO: But?

YES MAN: But won’t people starve?

CEO: Yes! And that’s the beauty of it. Take a look at this model — the next generation. The Soylent Car! It runs on people. People!

YES MAN: But won’t we run out of people?

CEO: What’s your point?

YES MAN: But who’ll drive the car!

CEO: The car drives itself.

YES MAN: But where does the fuel come from? When there’s no more people

CEO: Other cars! (touches display) See? Ta-da! The cannibal car! It eats other … Well, see for yourself!

Cannibal Cars come roaring into the room and devour the YES MEN. They scream. CEO looks on appreciatively.

CEO: It's an exciting time to be alive, gentlemen. An exciting time to be alive.

David Milch presents: The Traveling Wilburys

In 1985, four music legends banded together. The legends were George Harrison, Bob Dylan, Ray Orbison and Tom Petty. The band was The Traveling Wilburys. Sadly, no footage survives from their rehearsal sessions. David Milch, the creator of HBO's "Deadwood," imagines what their unique, creative collaboration must have been like.

INT, RECORDING STUDIO -- DAY
The lads are sitting around, all giving the stink eye to a defiant Bob Dylan, who stands, arms folded. George, Ray and Tom don't look too happy. Whatever just came out of Bob's mouth has clearly pissed them off.

George Harrison: What do you mean you ride by on a bicycle?

Bob Dylan: You heard what I said. At the end of the video, I ride by on a bicycle.

George: That sort of implies you're better than us. Set apart, as may be.

Bob: Who the fuck are you?

George: I'm a Beatle.

Bob: I'm an aphid.

George: The band, mate.

Bob: Oh, the band. Yeah, the British invasion. That whole scene. I vaguely remember. Right. OK. There's the cute one, the rebel and the ugly drummer with rings. You're the other one. The one nobody remembers.

George: Hey ...

Bob: Oh, OK. You sucked Maharishi's cock or something.

George: I played the sitar. Cock-sucking was never involved.

Bob: You say so. John played the ... It's a goddamn banjo from India. It's not that fucking hard.

George: I think you're a bitter person.

Bob: I think ... (turning head - to Roy Orbison) You just fart or something?

Roy Orbison: No. Well, maybe.

Bob: Goddamn. Can somebody please explain to me why this cat is alive and Elvis is dead?

Tom Petty: You got a negative attitude, Bob.

Bob: Me? You stole my fucking songs. You stole my fucking hat. I guess you can afford to be positive.

Tom: I won't back down ...

Bob: No. I tell you to fucking back down, you'll back down. You got a problem with that?

Tom: Me?

Dylan: No. Jeff Lynne. That fucking Irish cocksucker over there.

Jeff Lynne: I don't want to make trouble.

Dylan: Of course you don't. You got balls the size of bee-bees. That'd be a bad idea.

Jeff: Sure.

Dylan: "Sure." You fucking pussy. You ever stood up for yourself? In your whole fucking life?

Roy: Jeff's not ...

Dylan: Was I talking to you? Was I fucking talking to you?

Roy: No.

Dylan: No. Fuck no.

Jeff: I wasn't... OK. (smashing bottle) Fuck this shit, all right?

Dylan: At last. A real fucking cry from the soul.

Jeff: I'm going to bleeding kill you, mate. Who's with me?

George: Me, I suppose.

Jeff: You bloody well suppose or you bloody well are?

George: In for a penny, in for a pound.

Jeff: That's the bleeding spirit. Look! There's bowler hats!

George and Jeff put on bowler hats. Opening theme from "A Clockwork Orange."

Bob: And bowie knives! You know how to handle one of these?

Tom: Meh-heh-heh-heh.

Roy: (picking up knife) I guess it's like riding a bicycle.

Jeff: Right!

Door opens.

Bob: Ah, shit. It's the photographer.

Photographer: Smile, boys!

They smile.

*Credit where credit is due dept. This material draws on an improv comedy sketch performed with Su Byron on a disorienting journey.

Troughs!

ANNOUNCER: You're hungry! You wanna eat, and you wanna eat now! But some restaurants make you wait ...

MONTAGE --

INT, RESTAURANT

Man waiting impatiently at table.

JOE BLOW: I could eat a freaking horse! I can’t wait for waiters!

INT, CAFETERIA

Man waiting at serving line.

JOE SHMOE: Agghh! This line is taking forever!

INT, RESTAURANT

Woman at table, frowning at a plate of food.

JANE ROE: I'm starving! Who has time for plates?

ANNOUNCER: Who indeed? Hey! Stop waiting, people! Come on down to Troughs! There's no waiting at Troughs! Just plenty of food, and lots of it!

INT, TROUGHS!

A giant restaurant with four giant troughs. An endless stream of food emerges into the troughs. People, on their hands and knees, stick their faces in the troughs and eat.

JANE ROE: Wow! The food just keeps on coming!

ANNOUNCER: You said a mouthful, sister. That's the Troughs! difference. No waiters! No waiting! No plates!

JOE BLOW: (lifting head up from the swill) Hey, what's the catch?

ANNOUNCER: There's no catch!

JOE BLOW: Come on! How much can I eat?

ANNOUNCER: As much as you want! Other restaurants say, "All you can eat." At Troughs!, we mean it! You can eat all you want!

Jane grabs for a chunk of meat in the trough.

ANNOUNCER: Ah, ah, ah. Haven't you heard the jingle?

JANE: The jingle?

ANNOUNCER: Yeah, dumbass. The jingle.

JINGLE: (Andrews Sisters-type harmony) You can eat all you want! But you can't use your hands!

ANNOUNCER: That's the Troughs! difference. Come on down to Troughs! (beat) God, I hate myself, but I need the money. I used to do Shakespeare now I'm doing this ... Hey, they pay me a lot of money to do this shit. I'm going to drink myself into a stupor tonight. You're not recording this, are you?

We're Americans

A timely sketch. This ain't exactly funny. But here it is anyway ...

TITLE: 1944

INT, MILITARY, ALLIED PROVISIONAL DETENTION CENTER, SOMEWHERE IN ENGLAND – DAY

The detention center is a reconditioned Victorian prison, ugly but functional. An unsmiling MARINE is leading a shuffling line of German POWs down a metal-grated catwalk on the second floor. The POWs aren’t permanent guests. After brisk initial processing and paperwork, they’re continually rotated out to POW camps in the USA.

One prisoner looks particularly nervous. HORST.

MARINE: Hands on the rail, numbnuts! Hands on the rail!

HORST realizes the MARINE is talking to him.

HORST: Hands … Vas …?

Another prisoner translates.

KARL: Hände auf der Schiene.

HORST: Ah. Der Shiene!

HORST gingerly holds the rail. But he still looks worried.

HORST: (whispering to KARL) Vas est … “numbnuts” …?

KARL: Betäubte Testikel.

HORST: Testikel? Mein testikel?

HORST reflexively grabs his balls and pitches forward on his face down the metal stairs. The POWs laugh. It’s the first entertainment they’ve had in weeks.

MARINE: Jesus, stop laughing , you stupid Krauts! (slaps the nearest POW – they stop laughing) Sadistic Nazi bastards. I’m trying to help you here – and I don’t even like you! (looks over the rail.) Aw, crap. (blows whistle) Medic! We need a medic here!

View of HORST, up-angle of his slack face, open mouth. He’s unconscious. Extremely foreshortened, there’s a large white pill a few inches away from his mouth.

INT, INFIRMARY

HORST slowly wakes up in bed. His arms and legs are in casts and hoisted up with pulleys. He comes back to consciousness—and panics. He jerks from side to side, trying to reach an arm to his mouth. Can’t. Works his tongue around the inside of his teeth. Nothing.

The following dialogue is in German with subtitles --

OSS OFFICER: Looking for this?

He holds up the pill. HORST sees it and panics.

HORST: No, no …

OSS OFFICER: Calm down, OK?

HORST: I want …

OSS OFFICER: What do you want?

HORST: I want to be a good German.

He starts crying.

OSS OFFICER: That’s great. Good German. Good Nazi. You ask me, they’re two different things.

HORST: I want to be a good soldier!

OSS OFFICER: Good soldier, dead soldier. Again that’s two different …

HORST: (shouting) My name is Horst …

OSS OFFICER: Yeah, yeah. Name, rank and serial number. We know all that crap. Save it.

HORST starts weeping again.

OSS OFFICER: Stop blubbering!

HORST: I hate pain. I can’t take pain.

OSS OFFICER: That’s why it’s pain, stupid. If it felt good, you’d put your hands on hot stoves and shit.

HORST: P-please don’t torture me.

OSS OFFICER: Oh, please? Your mommy taught you manners?

HORST: Please!

OSS OFFICER: Pretty please with sugar on top?

HORST: Yes! With sugar!

OSS OFFICER: Jesus, Horst. I’m sick of this conversation, let me tell you.

Pinches his cheek like a proud grandparent. HORST screams.

OSS OFFICER: Coochy-coochy-coo.

HORST: Agghhhhhhh!

Lets him go.

OSS OFFICER: We’re not going to torture you, stupid. (gets in his face) We’re Americans. We don’t do that.