The Funniest Story

Sandy (mid-teens) and Grace (late 70s) are preparing a holiday meal, the girl stirring a pot, the old woman chopping vegetables and herbs.

Grace: Don’t let it burn, Sandy dear.

Sandy: Don’t worry, Grandma.

Sandy stirs the pot. Connie enters – forty-something, brusque.

Grace: Oh, Connie dear, would you finish the stuffing?

Connie: (cheerful) Certainly, mother. I’m just finishing the cornucopia, on a sheave of wheat.

Grace: Oh, that reminds me of Darnel. (to Connie) You remember, dear. He had hair just the color of wheat, ripe wheat – remember?

Connie: (tense) No, I’m sure I don’t.

Sandy: Who’s Darnel?

Connie: Sandy, don’t bother grandma with questions.

Grace: Why it’s no bother at all, dear. It’s the funniest story. Darnel was a boy who lived with us when your mother was little – the son of the man who saved Grandpa’s life in the Hitler war. Well he died – the father – he got sucked into a threshing machine and was turned into, oh, red apple sauce it looked like.

Connie: Mother, please don’t start.

Sandy: I never heard this.

Connie: Grandma has so many charming stories. Let’s save this one for some other time, okay?

Grace: Darnel had blond hair just the color of wheat, ripe wheat, remember?

Connie: Yes mother, ripe wheat.

Sandy: I thought you said you didn’t remember.

Grace: Well we had some neighbors, Livia and Barney. You remember them, don’t you Connie honey?

Connie: No. Can we change the subject. I — How’s Aunty Belle? Is she settling in?

Grace: Of course you remember. Now Livia had traveled when she was young, used to do a balloon dance on the burlesque circuit, and then she got too fat and she settled down and wrote mail-order correspondence courses on Oriental techniques of love-making and colon-cleansing and the health benefits of leeches and the like.

Connie: (to Sandy) Did you see the Thanksgiving Day sale at Feldmann’s? – 20% off. Let’s—

Grace: (to Sandy) Your mother used to play with their little boy – well, Livia’s little boy, Claudius. Barney married her later. Claudius was really the son of an earlier husband. Augustus, Augustus Figg. He was the bearded lady at the Parkway Amusatorium. We were all watching “The Last Days of Pompeii” at the Bijou when somebody set him on fire. I never did see the end of that movie. He’s the one who was little Claudius’s father. He burned up extra fast because of all the hair and then he just exploded, like pop corn.

Connie: (fast) I – I remember in second grade we’d make turkeys by outlining our hands, and pop corn necklaces— (covering her mouth) OH!

Sandy: Yeah, mom, everyone’s done that. So what else, Grandma?

Connie: (fast, loud) Here, Sandy, pass me the pop corn gaahhngh the parsley. And keep stirring. What’s your favorite holiday dish? I like Tofurkey—

Grace: Now Barney – Livia’s last husband – was a soft-spoken little man from the Philippines. Brown as a beetle he was – a short little brown quiet man with a big fat wife, Livia. She must have weighed, heavens, 400 pounds. When they were courting it was like the circus. Jumbo and [...Cheeta]—

Connie: (angry) Oh please, mother, just don’t go rummaging through your bag of nightmares tonight.

Grace: (laughs) Well Livia came up pregnant, and you never saw a happier man than that little Barney. Who’d imagine they could even have marital relations? She was 500 pounds if she was an ounce – hadn’t stood up since the funeral – not the bearded lady’s funeral, but her other husband’s – not Barney, but, oh, I’m forgetting the name, but he had an eyeball made out of clear glass ... it was hypnotic, especially when he had a cold – the colors! – like a kaleidoscope! Well he fell into the hole when he was ice fishing. Hirum, Hirum Krupple! Oh, no, it wasn’t after the funeral, it was after the wedding that she never stood up again. Barney’s wedding. She ate most of the cake and they hauled her home on top of an irrigation wagon. They had to use an extra horse – imagine! But when they finally found Hirum, come the thaw—

Connie: (babbling) I’m going to the dentist next week. I’m thinking of having all my teeth pulled. I made an appointment for you too, Sandy.

Sandy: You told me, mom. Go on, Grandma.

Grace: Connie dear, please don’t interrupt. So when they found Hirum he was hollow as a gourd and just full of eels. At the wake, well some sort of shining algae had taken root and he glowed inside just like a jack-o-lantern. His glass eyeball acted like a lens and projected a bull’s-eye onto the ceiling. All the boys flicked olives at it – it was so festive.

Connie: (hysterical) Oh! God! Um, have you ever noticed there are no Thanksgiving songs? Let’s make one up right now. (singing) OH TURKEY TURKEY TURKEY MAKES ME PERKY PERKY PERKY, I WILL DO THE HERKY-JERKY— (fades away)

Grace: Well Livia came up pregnant as I said, and Barney was so happy. He had a cheesy deposit on the back of his neck – he’d scoop it out with a garden trowel or a shoe horn and it would be back the next week. But when the baby was born – Livia named it Nero – and when she brought it home, it had hair the color of wheat. Ripe wheat. And when little brown Barney saw that blond baby from his big fat elephant of a wife but most certainly not from himself, well, you can just imagine. He got a big old—

Connie: (shouting) I’m taking salsa lessons at the W. Here, let me show you. (she dances spasmodically)

Grace: That’s nice, dear, you always were so gifted. When Barney saw that pale little blond baby bastard he took a rusty old machete knife and chopped that whole family into pieces – Livia, and Claudius, and Baby Nero too. Cut them up like carrot cubes. The neighborhood was crawling with cats for weeks afterwards.

Connie: (feebly) I feel sick.

Grace: And he came to our house, Barney did, looking for Darnel. I remember thinking how itsy-bitsy his tiny little bloody footprints were when I scrubbed them up. Very inconsiderate – of course, he grew up in a mud hut village, so he didn’t know any better than to track blood all over. But only your grandfather was home, and he was not a man to trifle with. Well he took down that little man with the fungus on his head and trussed him up like a castrated goat. It was 40 years ago this week! – how funny! And when they electrocuted Barney it smelled just like sautéed mushrooms.

They continue cooking in silence.

Sandy: That’s a sad story.

Connie: (bitter) All of them are.

Grace: You think so? I’ve been meaning to send it to Reader’s Digest. Maybe “Laughter is the Best Medicine.”

Sandy: Nobody ever told me it before.

Connie: There’s a reason for that.

Grace: But that Darnel – my, my, he was not a good boy.

Sandy: He didn’t get killed, did he?

Grace: Yes he did – oh no, Barney didn’t kill him – oh, it’s the funniest—

Connie: (angry) Mother! – what is the point of telling all these horrible stories?

Grace: Why, take Darnel and Barney for example. Some babies are better off not born. That’s why I wasn’t against it when you had your abortion.

Connie: Mother!

Sandy: Mom, you had an abortion?

Grace: Oh, it’s the funniest story—

Connie: Mother! Please! I’ll talk to you later about this, Sandy. Just please drop it for now.

Grace: Oh, but let me tell you what happened to Darnel—

Connie: I’m going to finish the centerpiece. You don’t have any jolly anecdotes about cat-tails, do you I hope to God not? And save your cheery little Darnel tale for next Thanksgiving, mother. Honestly! (She exits.)

Grace: I do love Thanksgiving. I don’t prefer Christmas. Do you know what your Grandfather gave me once for Christmas? Gonorrhea. Oh, it’s the funniest story...


End

The Day After Election Day: a public service announcement

Two friends on a park bench are hanging out in a park on a bench.

Sally: Bob, did you vote? Did you vote after all?

Bob: Chill, Chiquita. It wouldn’t have made a difference.

Sally: (gasp) What!?!

Bob: I said, “Noooo di-fer-rence!”

Sally: I can’t believe you! Even after an apparition of Dr. Martin Luther King, Junior, himself appeared here in the park as an apparition to me and you yesterday here on this park bench?

Bob: Man, I thought that was just some grotty ’shrooms.

Sally: Oh, you disgust me. I suppose you were groveling in front of your computer monitor again, corrupting what’s left of your character with pornographic images again.

Bob: Bet I know who you voted for, Ms. Petticoats. As for my porn, people get blood clots from standing in lines. I don’t want that to happen to my extremities from lack of activity.

Sally: Now you’re disgusting me even more.

All of a sudden an apparition of Martin Luther King, Junior, appears suddenly in the park and stands in front of Sally and Bob on the park bench.

Sally: (gasp) My goodness! It’s Dr. Martin Luther King, Junior! Again!

MLK: Yes, Sally! It is me! Again!

Sally: What are you doing here, again?

MLK: I sensed your blood was boilin’ again, Sally, for one thing.

Sally: Yes, Bob here couldn’t be bothered to vote! Can you believe it?

MLK: Well, yes, there’s that. But what I’m really here to talk about is this porn thing. So Bob--

Sally: But voting! What about voting?

MLK: Oh, poor Sally. Of course votin’ matters, in some abstract, meaningless, no-child-left-behind sort of way. But less than 40% of young Negroes bother to vote at all, and if they don’t care, why in mercy’s name should you? Time to smell the coffee, sugar-plum.

Sally: But -- but then why did you bother to appear yesterday here to urge Bob to vote in the park?

MLK: Well, we have to go through the motions.

Just then, an apparition of J. Edgar Hoover appears suddenly, wearing a conservative suit and tasteful chandelier earrings.

Sally: (gasp) My goodness! It’s former FBI Director and transvestite J. Edgar Hoover! What are you doing here?

JEH: I still like to keep an eye on Martin, here. That, and -- (excited) oh, I’m all aflutter! Is it true? (breathless) I heard Liza was getting married again!

Sally: How can you care about a thing like that at a time like this?

JEH: (indignant) Young woman! If we stop caring about Liza and her weddings, the terrorists will have won.

MLK: Hello, Jedgar.

JEH: Hello, Martin.

MLK: That’s a lovely shade of rouge.

JEH: (defensive and insincere) I’m not wearing rouge.

There follows an awkward silence.

MLK: So anyway, Bob, like I was meaning to say, any groovy web sites you could recommend? I’m partial to Orientals--

Bob: Uh, I’m a little uncomfortable--

MLK: Son, I may have missed out on the full tide of the sexual revolution, but men don’t change. (laughs)

Bob: (laughs knowingly) You might try, um, www wutz-yer-sin dot com.

MLK: Really? Sounds happ’nin’!

JEH: Martin! You know my feelings about race-mixing. Although I’m not sure that intercourse between Negroes and Orientals would count--

MLK: Jedgar, you of all people are hardly in a position-- OH! Great Heavens! I must leave you now. I sense a great stirrin’ in the Aether -- someone’s just uploaded another Paris Hilton video!

JEH: That whore has no fashion sense whatsoever! Simply atrocious! Did you see what she was wearing in that last one?

MLK: I saw what she wasn’t wearing. Mm-mm!

Sally: (gasp) Dr. King!

Bob: So the man has a fantasy--

Sally: That’s just cheap.

MLK: Farewell, my child. I must depart.

Suddenly, the shade of Doctor Martin Luther King, Junior, disappears. The remaining three stand silently for a moment.

JEH: My, this is awkward. (chuckles nervously) I imagine you’re wondering why I’m still here. Clyde was supposed to pick me up. (looks at his watch) Well, I’m certainly not going to hang about in the park like some trolling degenerate. If he appears -- Mr. Tolson, tall, blond, piercing blue eyes -- tell him to meet me at Frederick’s -- of Hollywood.

Suddenly, just then, J. Edgar Hoover disappears suddenly. Sally and Bob stare at each other with their eyes.

Bob: That was weird. What next?

Suddenly, just then, the shade of Charles Lindberg appears suddenly.

Sally: (gasp) My goodness! It’s celebrated aviator and anti-Semite, Charles Lindberg.

CL: Howdy, folks. Say, either of you seen Henry Ford?

Sally: No, sorry.

CL: Goll dang it. We were s’posed ta meet up at Denny’s with Strom Thurmond and John Wilkes Booth.

Suddenly, the shade of Charles Lindberg suddenly disappears just then.

Bob: This park bench must be some sort of multi-dimensional nexus.

Sally: Well, all I can say is, the After Life certainly seems to have porous borders.

Bob: Borders! Now there’s a reason to vote.

Voice-over Announcer: Remember, folks. Whatever the reason, just get out and vote!

END

The Merry Adventure of Mr. Punch

***THE MERRY ADVENTURE OF MISTER PUNCH ***

& HIS POEM

& ALSO A RIPPING VELOCIPEDE!!!

~~~~~

Composed extempore twixt Nones & Vespers

& performed by

Messieur le Baron Jacques du Fete, Marquis of Puppetland

with the able assistance of one

Mister Punch, Esq., & Others

~~~

Now then, my young Masters & Mistresses! Gather you round here and fix your sparkling eyes upon this here old box! Yes, it IS a shocking bad box, as you Youngsters like to say. Ha! What! But what’s this here then? Eh? Why, bless my pocket-watch! — ain’t it Mister Punch! And, my Young Gentlemen & Fine Ladies in this here assemblage of worthies assembled here, do you suppose what he’s a right rum fellow? Ho! You’ve rumbled THAT trick soon enough by cracky! Oh, yes, you are so right to boo & hiss and make such sour faces, for he is an awful bad blighter, a rare game cock he is, and smells something terrible, too. Ha!

Now why might Mister Punch be going about so sprightly? Do you reckon what he’s taking himself out & about for a little promenade in the fine morning air? – to promote the flowing of the vital humours as what we know is right? For he is awful sallow & pasty, ain’t he. But see! Now he’s rummaging about his person, searching out himself for a tuppence, and perhaps a thruppenny bit even? Oh, very ferocious he is about it too, I SHOULD say! What might you suppose he’s going to buy with such a fine sum? Buckingham Palace? Big Ben? Ho! Mayhap a jewel from the brazen brow of an Hindoo idol, or a bushel-weight of rarest Mussul-man incense, stolen from the Grand Pasha of blackamoor Cairo and brought to our blessed verdant shores by the dwarfish Pirates of Cathay? Oh p’shaw, I should think not, my sillies. For bless my belly, thruppence is not so grand a treasure as all that, for all what it’s part of a guinea. No, my hardy jack-sauce, and you, my pixie princess. He seeks to procure for himself a thing far more wonderful than THAT!

There! See him go at it! For he has found what his purse be empty, and off he goes to find what he will do. Ho! – what is it lies at the bottom of THIS mystery? For bless my whiskers, Mister Punch has taken himself to an artful Scrivener, who has copied out in ever so curly an hand the fulsome couplets what Mister Punch has writ himself. And don’t you suppose it will show itself to be an epic indeed, master poetaster what he fancies himself? But what have we here, then? Why, he is striking the Scrivener upon his pointed nose! See? And again! That DOES seem unnecessary, don’t you think so too? I should SAY so. And now look! He is running away, and with a parchment snatched away from the inky fingers of the Scrivener! And looky there! Why, he’s got the Scrivener’s pocket-book as well! No, no, Mister Punch, we’ll have none of that now, shan’t we? That is SUCH a low thing, ain’t it. We must pay for what we take, mustn’t we, Boys & Girls. For there is a design in everything, and a Grand Designer too, and don’t you forget it. I shouldn’t wonder what such a black-hearted blackguard as Mister Punch should come to a very bad end indeed, and don’t you doubt it, neither!

But look now! See? Why, naughty, thieving Jack-daw Punch is about to recite his poem, what he had copied and then stole. Let us listen, do, and hear with our own ears what Mister Punch has to say for himself.

THE POEM OF MISTER PUNCH

My name is Mister PUNCH,

For that’s the Man I am!

And ev’ry Noon for Lunch,

I eat my Rinds & Ham!

And well I love to munch,

On toasty roasted Lamb!

Now you can pat my Hunch,

You can, my pretty Ma’am!

But do beware my PUNCH,

For I shall FLIM & FLAM!

& WRECK! & RAP & RAM!

& SCRAP! & SQUASH! & SCRUNCH!

& whack! & waste! & walm!

& SLASH! & SLAP! & SLAM!

& TRUSS! & TROUNCE! & TRUNCH!

& queer! & quake! & qualm!

& BLOW! & BLAST! & BLAM!

& BUCK! & BUTT! & BUNCH!

& BASH! & BOMB! & BAM!

& CRASH! & CRACK! & CRAM!

& CREAM! & CRUSH! & CRUNCH!

& scare! & scald! & scam!

& drum! & dim! & dam!

& squinch! quinch! Clunch!

& conch! & crab! & clam!

& drop! & drip! & dram!

& Hunt! & Harm! & haunch!

& pop! & paste! & palm!

& WHIP! & WHOP! & WHAM!

& clinch! & clench! & craunch!

& JERK! & JAB! & JAM!

& bench! & wince! & TRENCH!

& drench! & blanch! & launch!

& LYNCH! & flinch! & stench!

& wrench! & wretch! & raunch!

& Sick! de Sade! Kabomb!

uncalm! embalm! pogrom!

KILL ’EM!! BEDLAM!! CALAM!!

And BL**DY H*LL!!! by D*MN!!!

Oh. Oh, my. My oh my. Bless my spectacles. How he does screech & shout. And on and on he did go, frothing & flailing & stomping & spitting so. His Mother never DID teach him fine manners, you may be sure. But have you never in all your innocent lives heard such a persistent bit of rhyming as all that? Enough to blow you down, ain’t it. You Boys & Girls have heard of Sir William Shakes-a-spear, have you not? He lived in Bible times, he did, with Hercules & King Arthur, an hundred years ago, and partook himself in the craft of the Theatre, much as you see before you at this very moment performed by Your Humble Servant & Company. Well, by Dickens, I should warrant what even ol’ Billy Shivers-Quivers himself never did peal out a row of rhymes like THAT, now did he! And now he’s taken his bows, and off he runs, to find what other mischief he can do.

But who’s THIS then, happening along? Why bless my buckles, ain’t it his sweet-heart, Miss Judy – and WHAT a frilly pink pinafore she is wearing. I’ll warrant some one spent a good few hours tatting THAT together, eh? Perhaps Mister Punch will have some kind word to say to her, wouldn’t you wager it’s so? Perhaps he will recite his poem, now he’s practiced it. Oh! OH! I MUST say. That’s a bit of a shocker, ain’t it? See what he’s doin’ there? Oh, right, Boys & Girls, he IS a bad old sod, he is. And see what he goes about now? OH! And he has taken the purse of Miss Judy! Oh, please, somebody call a Constable.

And looky there, now! ’Tis the Constable himself, summoned by the noise what Mister Punch did make in screaming out his poem. Why, I reckon the Bobby thought it was a fire-house claxton, by Jove. And right you are to moan so dearly, for bless my britches, sure it is the Constable knows of Mister Punch and his evil ways. And looky there, Children! See how Mister Punch starts, of a sudden? And how small & furtive he tries to make himself? But the Constable does see him now! And there they go at it! Crack, pow! But Mister Punch has found himself a great whacking stick, and is beating the Bobby about the head & neck! – like to bludgeon him to shivers, too! Oh, that IS a dark deed. And well might you shout a caution, but Mister Punch has no ears to hear it, does he Boys & Girls, for he is so busy doing – why, NO! Oh, it IS so! He is taking for himself the Constable’s purse as well, and leaving the Constable all in an heap! But now the Bobby is up again, and grabbing after old Punch. But there he goes, running away to save his life. Oh, Mister Punch, there is an Hang-man’s noose waiting to fit about YOUR neck, you may be sure.

But where is he speeding himself to, in such a fury? Why, ’tis to a Ferrier, there to reward himself & his day’s dark work. Here he is now, meeting the Ferrier, and my goodness, what brawny arms has this fine hardy, don’t you see. And see how meekly Mister Punch hands over all the lucre he has stolen To-day. Now, what can he be procuring for himself? Do you know? Why, see? SEE! Ho! Why, ’tis the very thing itself, I must say. And right you are to cheer so gaily, for who in all the land has ever seen so gaudy & banging a velocipede! No penny-farthing here, for what young Lady would want her Sweet-heart upon such an outlandish machine, I SHOULD wonder. And there he goes, spinning so merrily about. But OH! See how he has taken a fall! And such a sight he does make of himself, storming about like a Tumble-jack. For his pretty velocipede has fallen to pieces, and bad old Mister Punch is left, worse off than when he started.

THE END

THE MAN FROM Na.N.N.I.E.

The Man from Na.N.N.I.E.

(A “SIMPSONS” SCRIPT)

by

Jack H.

ACT ONE

FADE IN:

                                                     SCENE 1

INT. SIMPSONS BEDROOM – DAY

MARGE is folding clean laundry at the bed. Homer rushes in, wearing oven mitts and carrying a large pot of red sauce.

HOMER

Marge, I made the meat sauce for the cotillion! You can put it on anything! I put it on...

MARGE

(INTERRUPTING) Be careful, Homer.

HOMER

What could possibly go...

He trips over a laundry basket. In slow-mo the sauce flies in an expanding arc. Marge and Homer cry out, voices deep and slow.

MARGE

Noooooooooo!

HOMER

D’ooooooooh!

The sauce SPLATTERS across the walls, the clothes on the bed, into the closet. Music reminiscent of “PLATOON” fills the air. Homer and Marge stand frozen amidst the carnage. Meat sauce SLIPS down the wall, falls in gobs to puddle on the floor.

INT. SIMPSONS LAUNDRY ROOM – CONTINUOUS

BART is at the side-load washer, by a pile of field stones. A book, “Diamond Polishing for Dummies,” is on the washer. Bart tosses in one last stone, closes the lid, turns the knob; there is a roaring, the washer shakes, then crumples like an aluminum can.

BART

Ay carumba.

Homer dashes in, covered in sauce and cradling soiled clothes. He stares in horror at the shambles.

HOMER

Wha...wha...

BART

It broke. What’s the big deal? Just buy another one.

Homer DROPS the laundry and GRABS Bart by the throat.

HOMER

Why you little...

EXT. A LAUNDROMAT – DAY – ESTABLISHING SCENE 2

INT. LAUNDROMAT – CONTINUOUS

Homer is loading a dryer. He wears a swimsuit and an extraordinarily tight pink “Malibu Stacy in Paris” tee-shirt. THE DOCTOR, wearing a fedora and a dapper white suit, loads a nearby washer.

HOMER

...and one morning I was, um, palpitating myself? – and I found this lump in my armpit? Sometimes they’re just gummy bears, but this one’s getting bigger. And Doctor Leopard – it has teeth.

THE DOCTOR

Sounds like you need a dentist then.

HOMER

(LAUGHS) Yeah. But sometimes it keeps me up at night. It snores.

THE DOCTOR

Lie on that side.

HOMER

Wow, you’re really smart, Professor Leotards.

THE DOCTOR

A girl scout once commended my intellect, trying to sell me her macaroons. I told her she was a stupid little girl and ate all her Caramel deLite Cookies. [SLURP]

ANGLE ON HOMER

HOMER

(DROOLING) Ahhh...macaroons. (BEAT) So you English or something weird like that? The English people have horrible food and large discolored teeth. Poor, pathetic limeys.

THE DOCTOR

I do just bet you love your pizza pies and your toasted cheese sandwiches. What do you feed your tumescent armpit-growth with its budding bicuspids, Homer? Can it digest those cocktail weenies you think no one knows you feed it?

HOMER

Hey! Cool your jets.

THE DOCTOR

If you tell me your worst memory of childhood.

HOMER

What? I...I don’t think so.

THE DOCTOR

You would be afraid.

HOMER

(LAUGHS INSINCERELY) I’m not afraid.

THE DOCTOR

No, not of anything. Except...vulnerability.

HOMER

(FRETFUL) Ohhh. (RELUCTANTLY) It was probably when my pet died.

THE DOCTOR

And what was the little boy’s “pet”?

HOMER

I wasn’t...I was in high school.

THE DOCTOR

(SHARPLY) Tell it all.

FLASHBACK – TEEN-HOMER’S ROOM – DAY

Teen-Homer PLAYS delightedly at his tide pool tank. Among the sand dollars, crabs, coral, etc., is a freckled clam which seems somehow to smile. “Welcome Back Kotter,” “Space: 1999” and “Jaws II” posters hang on the wall.

HOMER (V.O.)

(RELUCTANTLY) So I really liked Jacques Cousteau, okay? And I had a tank, like a peaceful tide pool...

THE DOCTOR (V.O.)

(DRYLY) Sounds tres cool.

HOMER (V.O.)

But then one day I came home and one of them, my favorite, was missing.

Teen-Homer enters his room, notices, holds his hands to his cheeks in distress.

TEEN-HOMER

(TO A CRAB) Horshack! – where’s Freckles!?

BACK TO SCENE

THE DOCTOR

(SARCASTIC) One of your pieces of coral was missing? How moving.

HOMER

No! It was worse! Shut up! I don’t want to talk about it anymore!

THE DOCTOR

But one of your crustaceans had disappeared. You still do love the beach, don’t you, Homer, with your carefully preserved swimwear redolent of post-pubescent salad days.

FLASHBACK – TEEN-HOMER AT THE BEACH – EVENING

Teen-Homer walks along the shore, sits by an open fire with a plate on his lap.

THE DOCTOR (CONT’D – V.O.)

Ah, the beach — the tugging of the tide, guitar strumming of an evening, fire cracking, embers flying into the effervescent sky, clams abaking. Ah— They were having a clam bake, your little teeny-bopper prankster friends.

Freckles lies dead on Teen-Homer’s plate, wearing a ghastly “smile.”

HOMER (V.O.)

(HYSTERICAL) Yes! Yes! It was Freckles, my favorite clam, smothered in spicy shrimp sauce!

BACK TO SCENE

HOMER (CONT’D)

(WEEPING) Oh, the steam, rising from the jelly of his succulent flesh — the steam, the horrible steam...

The SQUEAKY-VOICED TEENAGER saunters by with a boom box playing Bach’s “Goldberg Variations”; he drops a Pilates flyer into Homer’s laundry basket.

THE DOCTOR

(INTENSE) You still wake up sometimes, don’t you, Homer? — to the terrifying memory of your dear oyster Freckles, his spotted little half-shell open to you like a pleading hand.

HOMER

(WEEPING) Oh Freckles, how I miss your manic antics!

THE DOCTOR

And do you think if you can wash out those horrid freckle-like meat sauce spots now staining your polychromatic polyesters, that you won’t wake up in the dark ever again to that terrible vision? Do you?

HOMER

Yes! No! I don’t know—!

THE DOCTOR

(SHUDDERING BREATH) Thank you, Homer. That was very...sweet. I do prefer savory, but...

HOMER

I don’t want to talk to you anymore, Cap'n Liquor.

THE DOCTOR

But tell me one final thing, Homer. After all these years, in the deep of the night when you lay abed, now, in your memory, Homer, in your dreams, have the clams stopped steaming?

HOMER

You’re a monster! A freakish monster of insensitivity!

Homer frantically bundles his washing and attempts to flee, but trips over the Doctor’s basket and crashes into him, who cartwheels out of sight, his laundry flying: a clown suit, socks, tee-shirts (labeled “World’s Best Dad,” “I’m with stupid,” “Predator”), etc.

INT. SIMPSONS LIVING ROOM – AFTERNOON            SCENE 3

Bart and LISA sit WATCHING an Itchy and Scratchy cartoon.

ON TV – ITCHY & SCRATCHY CARTOON

Title card: “Fatwa in the Fire”

Scratchy (cat) walks through a desert, with a gas can. Itchy (mouse) pulls up in a car and Scratchy gets in.

ITCHY

Going my way?

SCRATCHY

Yes, thank you.

Itchy stops at an oil derrick, and Scratchy goes to it with his can. Itchy gets a flame thrower from the back seat and ignites a geyser of oil, which arches down toward Scratchy. The cartoon is interrupted by—

ON TV – NEWS ROOM – CONTINUOUS

Newsman KENT BROCKMAN’S talking head fills the screen.

KENT BROCKMAN

Dangerous developments are developing dangerously down at the Springfield Oil Refinery. Protestors are protesting at the gates, led by infamous peace-nik Montgomery “Red” Burns.

EXT. SPRINGFIELD REFINERY – CONTINUOUS

MONTGOMERY BURNS and WAYLON SMITHERS are wearing slogan pins in psychedelic font, “OIL SUCKS, NUKE ROCKS.” Behind them is the MOB, with signs and slogan tee-shirts. Some of the mob tips over an oil tanker, which crushes a cluster of protesters then bursts into flame.

MOB

(CHANTING) No blood for oil!

ANGLE ON BURNS AND SMITHERS

BURNS

Smithers, shake my fist.

Smithers RAISES Burns’ hand and waves it limply.

BURNS (CONT’D)

More fervor, you flaccid lackwit! Like I mean it!

SMITHERS

I don’t want it to snap again, sir.

BURNS

I’ve got others, dolt.

MOB

(CHANTING) No blood for oil.

BACK TO NEWS ROOM

KENT BROCKMAN

There we have it, Americans. “No ballads for girls.” What a sad state the world is in, when poor Britney Spears can’t sing a soulful song to gladden the hearts of lonely men in shirtsleeves, leaning out of windows. I’m Kent Brockman. Courage.

BACK TO ITCHY AND SCRATCHY

Lions, bears, hyenas, jackals, vultures, crocodiles, camels and a small T-Rex fight or gobble at the blackened remains of Scratchy, his charred head looking on in horror while Itchy laughs.

End card: “The End”

BACK TO SCENE

Bart and Lisa laugh in delight. Homer rushes through the front door, carrying his laundry basket.

 INT. SIMPSONS KITCHEN – CONTINUOUS    

Marge sits CLIPPING washer ads. Homer ENTERS, drops the basket on the table, goes to the fridge, gets a sandwich. He SNEAKS a cocktail weenie down his collar. Marge notices the Pilates flyer.

HOMER

(EATING) Comfort.

MARGE

Oh look. They’re offering Pilates at the “W”.

HOMER

(MOUTH FULL) Pilates?

MARGE

I’ve been wanting to take a class.

HOMER

Pilates is a funny word. (LAUGHING RUDELY) Pilates!

MARGE

(DIMLY ANNOYED) Yes, Homie, Pilates.

HOMER

What’re Pilates. Sounds foreign. Deliciously foreign. Are they like gelaties? (GROWING EXCITED) Or baklavies? Or Turkish Delighties?

MARGE

Well, I don’t really know exactly what it is. But I’ve heard they’re just wonderful. It’s some sort of wonderful exercises.

MARGE'S PILATES FANTASY

Draped in veils, Marge leaps through the moon-drenched glades of a silver and blue dreamscape; unicorns prance, fawns play lyres and pipes; Marge’s face assumes an aura of grace. Ravenous chewing shreds the scene, which resolves into—

BACK TO SCENE

—the face of Homer, finishing the last of the sandwich.

HOMER

Pilates exercises? Keepin’ your man satisfied is all the exercises you need.

MARGE

(STIFLED FRUSTRATION) Mmm.

INT. MONTGOMERY BURNS’ OFFICE – AFTERNOON SCENE 4

Burns, still wearing the slogan pin, sits at his desk watching a film. Smithers and the film’s pimply, multi-pierced Gen-Y DIRECTOR stand nearby.

XLN-ERATOR TEST COMMERCIAL

A pale, anthropomorphic car labeled “REGULAR OLD-FASHIONED POLLUTING GAS-GUZZLER” lies in a sickbed, hooked to an I.V. marked “TERRORIST-SUPPORTING FOREIGN GASOLINE”. White-coated DOCTORS are grouped solemnly about. A just-visible “subliminal” message flashes -- “OIL = EVIL BAD” -- over a zombie-like face.

DOCTOR # 1

How long can he last?

DOCTOR # 2

It’s hopeless. Let’s just end it.

Doctor # 1 pulls out the tube, and a ‘flatline’ tone starts. A macho XLN-ERATOR-MAN bursts in, labeled “The XLN-erator”. He clutches a bottle labeled “NEW CLEAR HYBRID TO­­-IC!” – his thumb blocks a letter in “TO-IC”. XLN-erator-man takes a swig and the doctors cheer. “Subliminal” message -- “NUCLEAR = HAPPY GOOD” -- over the image of Santa Claus.

ANGLE ON XLN-ERATOR-MAN

ANNOUNCER (V.O.)

It’s dynamic! It’s radical! It’s nuclear! The new XLN-erator hybrid automobile! Fuel-injected with highly-charged energistically activated atomistic alpha-rads, isotopically forged in the mighty core of American power!

A paunchy, balding pony-tailed ACTIVIST-type — love beads, hippie vest — enters. “Subliminal” message — “UNPATRIOTIC” — over Stalin and Hitler locked in a passionate embrace.

ACTIVIST

(WHINEY) Oh no, you can’t use that! That’s toxic!

DOCTOR # 2

That’s the OLD way of thinking!

XLN-erator-man holds up the bottle: the blocked word is “TOXIC”. He waves his hand and the “X” shifts into an “N”, making “TONIC”.

ALL DOCTORS

You saved us, Excellenerator! (CHEERING)

Suddenly flanked by bikini MODELS, XLN-erator-man smiles hugely into the camera, and gives a thumbs-up. “Subliminal” message — “SEXY” — over a kickline of can-can dancers.

XLN-ERATOR-MAN

(THUMBS UP AND SMILING) It’s genuine!

End card: “Buy-buy!”

BACK TO SCENE

BURNS

(TO DIRECTOR) No! More bathing beauties, you gangrenous degenerate. Show me some “IT”! And that Bolshevik is too sympathetic. Make him more loathsome — more Charles Laughton, less Randolph Scott.

DIRECTOR

Anything you want, Mr. Burns. We’ll give him a runny nose, and a tattoo of Pol Pot on his face.

BURNS

I’m not paying you to stand here yammering, college boy. Hop to it.

The director trots away.

BURNS (CONT’D)

(TO SMITHERS) When I’m done, those swine with their coal-tar factories couldn’t sell kerosene to the Amish.

SMITHERS

But why is the old car a car, but the new car is a very attractive man? It doesn’t make sense.

BURNS

Details! I leave that to the artsy types.

SMITHERS

And the name, sir — “Excellenerator” isn’t very easy to say.

BURNS

I don’t know. I have a throng of bruiters snuffling out something more lyrical.

INT. SPRINGFIELD MALL – DAY

The SQUEAKY-VOICED TEENAGER, holding a clipboard, is standing with HANS MOLEMAN.

SQUEAKY-VOICED TEENAGER

(READING) Which do you think sounds more patriotic and/or family-friendly, sir: “The Toxicab”, or the “Chernobyl-Mobyle.”

MR. MOLEMAN

(WORRIED) Oh, can I go home and think about it?

INT. SIMPSONS LIVING ROOM – CONTINUOUS               SCENE 5  

Homer watches TV, eating from a cereal box: “PeaNuttee Vocabuleeri-O’s,” picturing an owl, realistic but wearing a mortar-board hat; a dead TRIX Rabbit dangles from its beak. It hovers over a bowl of words: “cotillion” “palpitate,” “succulent,” “implausible,” etc.

TV ANNOUNCER (V.O.)

This concludes “Autochthonia: The Mysterious Origin of Mount Rushmore!” Coming up, “Tintinnabulation: The Philadelphia Mystery”!

Homer mutes the TV and grabs for a pencil—

HOMER

(MUMBLING THOUGHTFULLY) ...rintintinitudinity...

—when the doorbell RINGS.

HOMER (CONT’D)

(EXCITED) My GRIT magazine is here! “The Joy Bells of life are ringing!”

EXT. SIMPSONS HOUSE — CONTINUOUS

POV over the shoulder of TWO MEN in black suits. Homer opens the door.

HOMER (CONT’D)

(DISAPPOINTED) You’re not mailmen. (GASPS AND POINTS) Men in Black!

The two men are SAM STRYPE, SR. (older), and GENE MANN, JR. (younger), clean-cut.

MANN

I’m Agent Mann, and this is Mr. Strype. We’re with the government, sir.

SAM STRYPE

You are Mr. Simpson? Mr. Homer J. Simpson of 742 Evergreen Terrace, Springfield,(A HORN BLARES), USA?

HOMER

(CAUTIOUSLY) Earth?

STRYPE

Yes.

HOMER

Yes.

STRYPE

Well, Simpson, we actually do have a letter for you.

Homer gives a tippy-toe DANCE of anticipation.

HOMER

Oh, what can it be! Gimme!

He SNATCHES a letter from Mann.

HOMER (CONT’D)

(READING) “Greetings. Your friends and neighbors have selected you for service in the Armed Forces of the United States of America..." Woohoo! I’ve been elected! (BEAT) Oh, wait...

STRYPE

The word would be “selected.”

MANN

“Inducted.”

STRYPE

Inducted. You see, you were drafted...

HOMER

D’oh!

FADE OUT:

END OF ACT ONE

ACT TWO

FADE IN:

INT. LIVING ROOM — DAY SCENE 6

Bart and Lisa look out the window at Homer and the two men.

LISA

What’s up with Dad?

BART

I think we won the lottery again.

LISA

I hope he doesn’t spend it all on paper flowers, like last time.

QUICK CUT TO:

INT. ATTIC – CONTINUOUS

The attic is heaped with riotously-colored paper flowers, ruined and in sodden piles from a roof leak. A pile stirs and a MOUSE peeks out, its fur a rainbow of colors from the running dyes.

EXT. SIMPSONS HOUSE — CONTINUOUS

HOMER

Drafted into what army?

Marge RUSHES out the door.

MARGE

Well, Homer, I’m off to my Pilates! Have fun with your new friends. Brunch is in the fridge.

The men NOD politely as Marge RACES off, then enter the house.

INT. SIMPSONS LIVING ROOM — CONTINUOUS

HOMER

(DAZED) “ARMY” is almost “Y-M-C-A” backwards.

STRYPE

(TO HOMER) It happened quite a number of years ago. You see...

BUREAUCRATIC FLASHBACK – 1991

A montage shows the Congressional voting, the bureaucratic paperwork going through, the random selection process, the mailing of the notification.

STRYPE (V.O.)

...during Gulf War I, Congress secretly re-instated the draft. It was rescinded...

MANN (V.O.)

Repealed.

STRYPE (V.O.)

...repealed after precisely three minutes, but one name was already selected. You, sir. The notification was misdirected, somehow.

QUICK CUT TO:

FLASHBACK – INT. POST OFFICE – DAY – 1991

A berserk firehose-wielding POSTAL WORKER trips over a Chihuahua. No water sprays, but the nozzle nicks Homer’s letter, knocks it behind a bin of “M” dead letters to “Milli Vanilli,” “Musical Youth,” “Menudo,” “Men at Work,” other 80’s demi-celebs.

BACK TO SCENE

STRYPE (CONT’D)

The letter was found not long ago, during a routine mumps virus sweep, and this brought you to our attention.

HOMER

(GASP) The MP’s! I’m a deserter!

STRYPE

No, Mr. Simpson.

MANN

We’re with (DRAMATICALLY) N.A.N.N.I.E.!

He flashes a badge bearing the acronym “Na.N.N.I.E.” and the motto, “Minding Big Brother since 1948.”

MANN (CONT’D)

The National American Nuclear (FALTERING)... Necessary... Investigatorial Effort, or something. I don’t really know what it stands for. It’s very secret.

STRYPE

(SMUGLY) I know.

HOMER

(STILL WORRIED) What do you want with me?

STRYPE

Your country needs you, Simpson.

HOMER

Me?

STRYPE

Your Homeland Security file is astonishing. You’ve stopped a number of China Syndromes.

HOMER

I won a plaque. (POINTING TO IT ON A TABLE) I use it to crack walnuts.

STRYPE

You saved the Space Shuttle.

HOMER

I thought I dreamed that.

STRYPE

You helped Hank Scorpio save the Eastern Seaboard from creeping liberalism.

HOMER

Wasn’t that an episode of The Man from U.N.C.L.E.?

MANN

And then there was the time you kept the Earth’s core from exploding by diverting the coming Ice Age down that big volcano.

HOMER

Yes, I remember doing that.

STRYPE

Frankly, sir, there is no one more suited to the mission. You’re a renaissance man.

HOMER

Woohoo! I’m going back in time! Now I’ll get the guy who cracked the Liberty Bell! (RESENTFUL) Dirty luddite.

STRYPE

No. Now you’ll save the world. Again.

INT. BURNS’ OFFICE – DAY SCENE 7

Burns is at his desk, with Smithers nearby.

BURNS

Smithers, get the former Yugoslavia on the line. I’m tooling up the old Yugo factory for my XLN-erator. Atomic reactors in every automobile — brilliant!

SMITHERS

But sir, fueled by nuclear waste? It’s so toxic.

BURNS

Tonic! Weren’t you paying attention to that pedagogical flicker show? And not “waste”...

Burns NODS at a formula on his desk: “NUCLEAR WASTE = SUbmolecular Puissantic Recto-Ionic Surfeit Excreta = SuPRISE.”

BURNS (CONT’D)

...“suprise!” It’s such a happy word. Blast that Clinton Administration...

INT. A STALACTITE CAVERN — CONTINUOUS

Countless aisles of shelves cover a vast cavern. Snaking between stalagmites is a small monorail. At the center are mad-scientist machines; background noise suggests heavy industry.

BURNS (V.O. — CONT’D)

...with its environmental extremism! (INDIGNANT) What are garbage men for, if not to cart away my effluvia?

Moving in, shelves are stacked with red-labeled cans, reading “SuP”, and “RISE" beneath. Each can is marked with a picture of a leering Clinton next to a finger-wagging Gore.

BURNS (V.O. — CONT’D)

Ah well — at least those SuP (‘SOUP’) cans will turn a pretty profit.

BACK TO BURNS’ OFFICE

BURNS (CONT’D)

I’ll even get a nickel back for the cans. (LAUGHS MALIGNANTLY)

EXT. THE “W” — DAY — ESTABLISHING SCENE 8

A building identified by a large “W” sign.

EXT. THE “W” — CLOSER VIEW — CONTINUOUS

Marge stands near the entrance reading a banner: “The W offers — Happy Magic Partyland Pilates of Tantalizing Joy.”

MARGE

(TO HERSELF) Ooo, it sounds so enticing!

INT. EXERCISE ROOM — A FEW MOMENTS LATER

Marge, NED FLANDERS, BARNEY, KRUSTY, SELMA and PATTY, COMIC BOOK GUY, CHIEF WIGGUM, BUMBLEBEE MAN, SEA CAPTAIN, HANS MOLEMAN, EDNA KRABAPPEL, AGNES SKINNER, MANJULA NAHASAPEEMAPETILON, and others mill about. Mats are on the wood floor in regimented order.

Krusty is facing a scowling Selma, who wears a headband which shapes her hair into Krusty’s hairstyle.

KRUSTY

My god, it’s like looking into a mirror. A sexy, scowling mirror.

Selma ignores him.

KRUSTY (CONT’D)

You really send me, doll.

SELMA

Crawl back into your crypt, pasty.

KRUSTY

Wowie! Do you do voice-over work?

SELMA

Lucky for you I used up my MACE on him.

She points at DISCO STU, curled in the corner, CLAWING at his face.

KRUSTY

(UNDAUNTED) So, sugar, did you know your eyes are the color of tobacco smoke? Sultry!

SELMA

Under all this makeup my skin looks like the floor mat of a Brooklyn taxi.

KRUSTY

That’s very exotic.

SELMA

Go sell some blood, rummy.

KRUSTY

So you’re gonna make me work for it. Okay, cupcake, I got yuks outta the Grand Dragon in ’63 — I guess I can turn you around.

ANGLE ON FLANDERS AND BARNEY

FLANDERS

Hi-didley-ho, Barney-bean, gonna exchange those abs-of-flab for a bustle-o’-muscle!

BARNEY

Huh? Isn’t this the Labowsky bar mitzvah?

FLANDERS

Ding-dang defin-idley not.

Smithers ENTERS, dressed in 80’s aerobics wear — leg-warmers, wrist-bands around biceps, lime tank-top, lemon tights. Chief Wiggum is dressed identically — he notices this, BURSTS into tears and RUNS like a school girl from the room.

SMITHERS

Hello, all. I’m Waylon, your Pilates instructor. Everyone find a mat and lie on your backs, please.

They comply. The lights dim, and a low mechanical humming begins.

SMITHERS (CONT’D)

We’re going to initiate you into a higher degree of Pilates. Everyone, stare at the ceiling, at the light directly above you.

They comply. The humming increases, and the lights begin to pulsate and spin in sickly shades from red to yellow.

COMIC BOOK GUY

There is something familiar about this.

Marge shows mild confusion, then relaxes.

COMIC BOOK GUY (CONT’D)

(WEAKLY) Oh! Daggers in...my mind...

Comic Book Guy passes out, eyes open, and so does Marge. Everyone is entranced. A metallic door slams down. The recorded voice of Mr. Burns starts.

BURNS (V.O.)

Now, my lumpen pawns, you are about to begin an appalling, an excellent adventure...

INT. LIVING ROOM — EVENING SCENE 9

Homer sits on the couch EATING from a Vocabuleeri-O’s box. Marge COMES IN the front door, mechanically.

MARGE

Hi, Mommy. I’m going to bed now.

HOMER

But what...what about dinner?

MARGE

Look in the closet.

Homer obediently GOES and looks.

HOMER

There’s nothing here but cookie boxes. (THE SOUND OF FRANTIC TEARING) Empty!

Homer TURNS around, but Marge is gone.

INT. SIMPSONS BEDROOM — CONTINUOUS

Marge, fully clothed, lies asleep face down on the bed. The room darkens into midnight, and we widen to find Homer in bed, staring at the ceiling. He hears the doorbell ring faintly.

INT. LIVING ROOM — A FEW MOMENTS LATER

Homer is in his pajamas standing next to Strype and Mann. The Vocabuleeri-O’s box is on the couch, next to another Homer which stares ahead blankly.

STRYPE

This is an exact robotic replica of you...

HOMER

What, again?

STRYPE

...programmed for any contingency. Your family will never know you’re gone.

HOMER

That’s (EYES DARTING TO THE CEREAL BOX) implausible.

MANN

(IMITATING MARGE’S VOICE) Homer, would you open this pickle jar?

ROBO-HOMER

(HOMER’S VOICE, FLAT) In a minute.

MANN

(MARGE’S VOICE) Homer, the funniest thing happened to me today.

ROBO-HOMER

Can I have another beer?

MANN

(MARGE’S VOICE) Homer, why aren’t you at work?

ROBO-HOMER

It’s Saint (BEAT) Thistlethwait’s Day and additionally (BEAT) I have a headache.

HOMER

(PENSIVELY) It might work. It just might work. (DECISIVELY) Alright, men. I’ll do it. I WILL save the world.

INT. LIVING ROOM — THE NEXT MORNING

A bedraggled Marge LURCHES down the stairs and to the front door. She dimly notices the Robo-Homer.

MARGE

Morning, Homie. Oh, my head hurts funny. But I’m going to Pilates. It’s so...it’s so, um, tantalizing.

ROBO-HOMER

I am continuing to sit here on this (BEAT) red couch.

Marge EXITS.

INT. “W” PILATES EXERCISE ROOM — A WHILE LATER

Marge and the others lie on mats, staring at the ceiling, again mesmerized. Their arms SWING in semaphoric arcs as they listen to the droning voice of Mr. Burns.

BURNS (V.O.)

(SLOWLY) You will pinch the seal with the mechanical prizer...

EXT. SPY SCHOOL — MORNING — ESTABLISHING SCENE 10

An inconspicuous building with a flashing neon sign: “American Slosh Copy.”

INT. SPY SCHOOL INTAKE ROOM — CONTINUOUS

Homer, wearing skivvies, stands in a bare room. An elegant DOCTOR STEREOTYPEPERSON poses nearby with a stylish clipboard, a cigarette dangling from his insouciant lip.

DR. STEREOTYPEPERSON

Name, Homer J. Simpson, code name, “CRULLER”. Sex?

HOMER

I’m married. (SLOWLY) To Marge, my female wife.

DR. STEREOTYPEPERSON

(HUFF) Gender?

HOMER

Oh. Um, well, I’m a man. But I’ve got this growth? Under my arm? And I’m not quite sure if it’s a boy or a girl.

DR. STEREOTYPEPERSON

(BEAT) Fabulous — male then, with tertiary sexual characteristics. Body art?

HOMER

Oh no, I’d never get a tattoo art. I knew this guy who got one? And his baby was born with an extra head! — in exactly the same spot! I don’t want anything weird like that.

They stare at each other for an endless moment, something unspoken not passing between them.

EXT. SPY SCHOOL TRAINING FIELD – DAY

In a wet sweat suit, Homer is EATING from a foil MRE (“meals ready-to-eat”) bag as if from a feedbag. A black-garbed man approaches — BULLENGER, a drill sergeant-type, hairy arms and neck. Homer LICKS and swallows the bag, finishes by popping a roundish “treat” into his mouth.

HOMER

Hey, that wasn’t a fortune cookie! It was a snail!

BULLENGER

Snail is the other dark meat, cockroach. Now, two! Gimme two push-ups!

HOMER

You’re hairy. I burn the hair off my back with a lighter.

INT. SIMPSONS KITCHEN — NIGHT SCENE 11

Bart and Lisa finish eating hard spaghetti in a bowl of milk. Their eyes are haunted. Lisa washes the bowls, and Bart puts away the milk and spaghetti package. They stare at each other, Lisa picks up Maggie, Bart takes Lisa’s hand, and they walk into the living room.

INT. LIVING ROOM — CONTINUOUS

Robo-Homer has not moved, and Marge stands waving her arms. SANTA’S LITTLE HELPER (dog) lies curled by the couch. A rainbow-striped mouse RUNS out of Robo-Homer’s pant-leg.

BART

Um, mom, Homer, we’re going to bed now.

ROBO-HOMER

I really dug my groovy day.

LISA

My recital is tomorrow, mom.

ROBO-HOMER

Woo. Hoo. This is my favorite show.

The TV is not on.

BART

Hey Homer, Lisa’s butt-crack goes sideways.

ROBO-HOMER

I think so. Ask your mother.

The kids look at each other. Bart goes up to Robo-Homer and SHAKES its shoulder.

BART

Hey man, you’re freakin’ us out.

ROBO-HOMER

(VIBRATING) Here come the judge.

The Robo-Homer attempts to stand – its head tilts to the side, then pops off. A ganglia of optic fibers spouts from the neck.

BART

Gaaahhng!

LISA

(WITH TERRIBLE INSIGHT) This explains so much.

The kids look at Marge, then FLEE upstairs. The dog growls at the Robo-Homer head, which blinks mechanically on the floor.

INT. LIVING ROOM – LATE NIGHT

Bart and Lisa, in pajamas, stare from the staircase as Marge finally stops waving her arms and goes out the front door, which closes with a small noise.

ROBO-HOMER’S HEAD

I taught I taw a puddy-tat.

FADE OUT:

END OF ACT TWO

ACT THREE

FADE IN: SCENE 12

INT. SAM STRYPE’S SPY SCHOOL OFFICE — THE NEXT DAY

Homer stands, and Strype sits at his desk, which has a name plate, “Sam Strype, Master Spy.

HOMER

(GASP) Mr. Burns!? How do you know?

STRYPE

Anonymous tip.

HOMER

What’s he doing?

STRYPE

That’s on a need-to-know basis. And also, we don’t know. Just stop him, Secret Agent Cruller. (DRAMATICALLY) By any means necessary! Or unnecessary.

HOMER

But, um, from doing what?

STRYPE

We trust your judgment, man. (DRAMATICALLY) We trust your judgment. Anything you see that needs stopping, go ahead and stop it.

HOMER

But, shouldn’t I get more training or something? Like in a movie?

STRYPE

There’s no time, man! There’s...

HOMER

Yeah yeah, there’s just no time.

STRYPE

(ANNOYED) You’ve got a lifetime of heroism behind you. Use it!

HOMER

(DOUBTFUL) Okay. I guess.

INT. ROOM D’EQUIPAGE — LATER

Homer walks with PROFESSOR FRINK through a gadget-testing room. The “GET SMART” theme is playing.

A MIDGET holds a pinwheel — the wheel flies off and beheads an Osama manikin. A WOMAN is shot with a ray gun — she swells into a female HULK, then explodes like a green balloon.

A TECHNICIAN turns a dial and the “BOND THEME” plays. A MAN with a fly-head walks with a tuxedoed JAMES BOND, who sees Homer, moans sickly and flees in terror.

A FEW MINUTES LATER

Homer stands with Professor Frink by a table holding familiar and bizarre spy-gear, including a TV Batman utility belt.

HOMER

(POINTING AT THE BELT) Ooo! Do I get a cape, too?

PROF. FRINK

Now pay attention, Cruller, here. (HOLDING UP A KOOSH BALL-LIKE PILL) Now this makes you pass a rainbow from the bladder of your body with the swallowing and the passing hennggg.

HOMER

What good is that?

PROF. FRINK

(DEFENSIVELY) Look at what I’m saying to your ears now and suppose you were captured by a primitive tribe of island people in the ocean, who’d think you were a god or that sort of thing that’s in the sky with power.

HOMER

Oh.

PROF. FRINK

(HOLDING A WATCH) And this wristwatch translates Italian words into Egyptian...

HOMER

”Egyptian?”

PROF. FRINK

You’ve heard of “mummies” with the scaring and the choking, I think so. And it explodes when it gets wet.

HOMER

Explodes! This is so cool.

INT. CAVERN BALCONY — NIGHT SCENE 13

Burns looks out over the expanse of the cave, which is now occupied by figures moving about stiffly, all wearing “DR. NO” style radiation-suits.

BURNS

My army is working perfectly.

SMITHERS

But sir...

BURNS

(INTERRUPTS) Enough insolence! Don’t make me make you thrash yourself, Smithers. There’s always room for one more dupe in my Legion of Drone-Droids.

SMITHERS

(CONFLICTED) Oh no, sir — being your willing slave would be terrible.

BURNS

My Brain Wave has worked its magic on this pliable bevy of magnetized ciphers.

INT. CAVERN DECANTING CENTER — CONTINUOUS

The drone-droids are at work — carting, unsealing with hand-held devices, opening (with a Rube Goldberg-esque can opener requiring large arm-movements), pouring the sludge into open tanks which drain into gas cans.

SMITHERS (V.O.)

Why not just use an electric can opener, sir?

BACK TO SCENE

BURNS

Silence, you simpering blatherskite! That level of technology — it’s — where do you think we are? Roswell?

SMITHERS

Sir, I just don’t understand how you can release all this nuclear waste into the environment. It’ll cost millions of lives, sir.

BURNS

That’s a price I’m willing to pay. In any case, my top scientists tell me that SUNLIGHT is radiation. (DEFENSIVELY) I’ll be selling a blocker.

He points to a corner, at a barrel of “PAPA BURNS ALL NATURAL RADIATION BLOCKER — WITH ALOE VERA.”

SMITHERS

It must be illegal...

BURNS

You’re forgetting (AS IF THIS EXPLAINS IT ALL) “The Yucky Mounds Recycling Loophole Act.” And it will be good for the economy! “Waste” not, want not. (LAUGHS)

SMITHERS

(TROUBLED) Yes, very witty, sir.

INT. SPY DRESSING ROOM — NIGHT SCENE 14

Homer, wearing black and the Batman belt, is at a mirror. He POPS a KOOSH BALL pill, drains a jug of water. With a FLURRY of makeup he gives himself a clown-face, WIPES it off, PAINTS again. Now it’s the “Cat Man” drummer from KISS. He WIPES, paints, has proper camouflage.

EXT. WALLS OF THE NUCLEAR POWER PLANT — LATER THAT NIGHT

Homer is ready for the mission. Mann is with him.

HOMER

Can’t you come with me?

MANN

It’s a one man job, and you are that man.

Homer dances about on tippy-toe.

MANN (CONT’D)

I know, you’re eager.

HOMER

(INSINCERELY) Well, yeah. But I have to...you know...

MANN

(IMPATIENT-PARENT VOICE) Why couldn’t you – oh never mind. Find a tree.

Homer WALKS OFF for a moment, RETURNS. There is an angry squeaking from a bush. A rainbow-colored mouse FLITS away.

INT. SUBTERRANEAN CORRIDOR — LATER

Homer SKULKS down the hall, down dank stairs, along horror-movie tunnels. He OPENS an arched wooden door: a huge room filled with barrels of “PAPA BURNS’ ALL-NATURAL RADIATION BLOCKER, WITH ALOE VERA – RPF LEVEL 27,000,” labeled with various scents: “POTPOURRI,” “LEMON ’N’ STRONTIUM,” “HEAVY WATERMELON,” “APOCA-LYPTUS,” “RAINBOW HOLOCAUST,” “ON THE BEACH,” “HEART OF THE SUN.” Homer closes the door.

Homer OPENS another door. Inside are rows of large glass capsules, holding clones of Mr. Burns at various ages. The oldest are stamped “RIPE” and labeled “MONDAY” thru “SUNDAY”. A large dumpster overflows with “Burns bodies,” limbs akimbo. Homer SHUTS the door.

Homer OPENS a final door, which leads onto the cavern balcony.

INT. CAVERN FLOOR – A LITTLE LATER

Homer CREEPS along, and sees: Flanders, wearing a horrified expression, surrounded by stalagmites and bats, shoveling nuclear waste into a reactor. Then he sees Barney.

HOMER

Hey, Barn, lend me that outfit, okay?

BARNEY

Sure thing, master. (URP)

A FEW MOMENTS LATER

Homer, in a radiation-suit, moves to the decanting machine, looks confused, touches the operator, who turns — it’s Marge. Through the protective helmet, Homer’s face distends in Munch-like horror.

HOMER

Eeeeeeck!

Burns, in a Darth Vader radiation-suit, looks up from a 1960’s style “computer” panel.

BURNS

(POINTING) Seize him!

A hoard of drones converges on Homer, who backs into a tub of waste, tips backwards and disappears beneath its roiling surface.

INT. A DUNGEON CELL — LATER SCENE 15

Homer, bound with ropes to a chair, again wears black, sans camouflage. Burns is just finishing revealing his plan.

BURNS

...spiffing scheme, isn’t it.

HOMER

You’ll never get away with it.

BURNS

And just who are you, my meddlesome intruder.

HOMER

(ATTEMPTING TO BE DRAMATIC) I’m The Man from, um... B.A.B.Y.S.I.T.T.E.R.!

BURNS

Well, it’s nap time — forever!

HOMER

Mr. Burns, you’re acting so, so evil.

BURNS

Quit your nagging, Jiminy Cricket. I’m over 21.

HOMER

But if all this nuclear waste...

BURNS

(BORED AND DISMISSIVE) Yeah yeah, nuclear waste, blah blah, nuclear winter. Brrr. But what about the nuclear spring afterwards, hmm? (TO THE SIDE) We never hear about that, eh, Mr. Nader?

Widen to find Ralph Nader, also bound, and gagged. He wears a slogan pin, “Nuclear Power Is Just As Bad As Oil – In Fact, Worse, Even, Probably.”

HOMER

But, um, but...

BURNS

But me no buts. You bore me. I’m going to get a Fresca, and when I come back, well, I don’t know, but it seems like I should do something — something nefarious.

Burns LEAVES. Homer STRUGGLES with his ropes, gives up. A rainbow mouse scurries across the floor.

HOMER

Come here, mousie, I have a yummy peanut for you.

Homer puffs and a peanut flies out of his nose. The mouse grabs it and scampers way.

HOMER

D’oh!

There is a gnawing sound out of shot – it is Homer’s unseen armpit twin, which he calls ‘Boo-Boo’. Homer GLANCES down to his left side, and looks joyful.

HOMER

Yes, Boo-Boo, yes! Use those wonderful teeth, and gnaw, gnaw our way to freedom! And then, to rescue our wife and save the world!

INT. CAVERN – A FEW MOMENTS LATER

Homer stands heroically in the decanting area HOLDING Smithers by the throat; Marge stands nearby.

SMITHERS

Goodness, there’s no need to be so butch. I’m on your side.

HOMER

Oh yeah? Says who?

SMITHERS

It was me who called for help. Mr. Burns isn’t himself. He has a mold infestation in his socks, and he just won’t change them. But the medicine’s coming down from Canada any day now. Honest, this is just a passing phase.

Burns, holding a Fresca, DODDERS by and sees that Homer is free.

BURNS

Horrors! – the brute is loose! I must flee!

He STEPS into a nearby Blofeld monorail which carts him away at walking speed — a white cat leaps and settles in his lap.

HOMER

(TO SMITHERS) That’s alright for now, Igor. How do I get all these poor Pilates zombies out of here?

SMITHERS

(POINTING) Just tell them to go out that tunnel.

INT. CAVERN TUNNEL ENTRANCE — A WHILE LATER

The last of the Pilates zombies, including Ralph Nader, are trotting into the tunnel. Marge is beside Homer.

HOMER

(TO MARGE) Wait here, beautiful. I’ve got one final bit of business to attend to.

Homer TROTS to a tub of waste, REMOVES Professor Frink’s exploding watch from his belt and TOSSES it in. He RACES back, sweeps Marge off her feet, heaves her over his shoulder and RUNS down the tunnel.

A fireball consumes the cavern, and flames race down the tunnel toward Homer and Marge. On and on he RUNS, the now-somehow-impossibly-slow fireball plodding along after him. Homer stumbles and the fireball pauses. Finally he reaches a door, slams it as the flames arrive. A thread of smoke leaks through the keyhole.

INT. “W” PILATES EXERCISE ROOM — NIGHT — CONTINUOUS SCENE 16

Homer finds himself among the rescued zombies.

HOMER

Alright, everybody, snap out of it.

And indeed, they bestir themselves as from a troubled sleep.

ANGLE ON COMIC BOOK GUY

Wearing a look of supreme distain.

COMIC BOOK GUY

Worst, definitely worst exercise experience ever. Henceforth I shall exert myself solely by re-cataloguing my graphic-novel archives.

ANGLE ON FLANDERS

He’s talking on a cell phone.

FLANDERS

And I just diddly-dang don’t know if it was a vision from the Lord, Reverend, or if I was actually in hell.

ANGLE ON KRUSTY

He SLUMPS against a mirrored wall.

KRUSTY

Oy, did I get some farshtunkeh kreplachs or what? I haven’t felt this bad since Totie Fields taught me how to rumba.

Widen to find Marge and Homer.

MARGE

(DISORIENTED) Oh Homie, what’s been happening?

A series of muted explosions shakes the building.

MARGE (CONT’D)

What’s that?

Homer

Joy bells, baby. Joy bells.

Homer takes her hand and they go outside—

EXT. “W” BUILDING — CONTINUOUS

—and look toward the far hills, where a towering mushroom cloud possesses the horizon. Homer pulls an improbably large tube of RADIATION BLOCKER out of his utility belt.

HOMER (CONT’D)

Butter up, beautiful — it’s gonna be a hot night.

Marge utters a suggestive Mae West purr.

By the glow of the distant pillar of flame, Homer’s shadow is cast behind him, the shadow of a flawed man, a weak and a foolish man, but now a man who is everything a man would want to be – strengthened, redeemed, by the love of a good woman.

INT. SIMPSONS KITCHEN — DAY SCENE 17

The Simpsons are at the table. Robo-Homer sticks feet-up out of the trash. Homer has finished a feast of meat sauce and 8 or 10 entrees. Lisa wears the badly-stretched Malibu Stacy tee-shirt.

HOMER

And that’s how your father saved the world again.

LISA

But dad — didn’t the explosions just spread all that nuclear poison that much faster?

HOMER

(CONDESCENDINGLY) Of course not, honey. Because the “Papa Burns” blocking goo blew up with it, and canceled it out.

LISA

(UNCONVINCED) Oh.

Homer contentedly PICKS his teeth.

HOMER

I’ll miss Boo-Boo, though. (ASIDE TO BART) That was gonna be your name, boy. (TO ALL) Boo-Boo — I guess he just ... dropped off, like a blue toenail.

QUICK CUT TO:

INT. SIMPSONS ATTIC – CONTINUOUS

A rainbow mouse scurries from a flower pile, accompanied by a tiny HOMINID with huge teeth in a Homer-face. It wears an MRE bag.

BACK TO SCENE

BART

(TO HOMER) How do we know you’re really Homo-Homer, and not just another Robo-Homer?

HOMER

I’ll show you my Boo-Boo scar.

He pulls up his shirt to reveal a sucking gouge in his side.

LISA

(AVERTING HER EYES) So would this “Boo-Boo” be a brother, or an uncle? (BEAT) Dad, are you a hermaphrodite?

MARGE

I don’t think those are appropriate things to think about, Lisa. The important lesson here is that, if you get a chance to do something you really want to do, like Pilates, it just may turn out to be a nightmarish living hell.

BART

Well, I got the Robo-Homer head (HOLDING IT UP BY AN EAR) and I’m keeping it. It does my homework.

Bart SWINGS the Robo-Homer head onto the table with a loud THUNK, cracking a walnut.

ROBO-HOMER-HEAD

That’s all, folks.

THE SIMPSONS ALL

(DELIGHTED LAUGHTER)

FADE OUT:

THE END