VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
“FAULKNER AND BRUCE”
(We start with Faulkner and Bruce in the security room.)
FAULKNER: I have seen so many people stealing turkeys from the Thanksgiving special NBC is shooting. What a goddamn disgrace!
BRUCE: I know! We should do something about it.
BRUCE: Yeah, you’re right.
(Sam the Director pops in.)
SAM: We’re about to shoot a scene in the Turtletaub film in which a gun goes off. I just want to make sure you guys know it’s not a real gun.
(Faulkner takes a swig of a large bottle of Jack Daniels.)
FAULKNER: What? Oh, okay.
BRUCE: What did he say?
FAULKNER: I don’t know.
BRUCE: Cool. Well I’m going to-
(FAKE GUN GOES OFF.)
FAULKNER: JESUS CHRIST…
BRUCE: WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?
FAULKNER: Get your gun, Bruce. We’re going in.
(They get their guns and walk out the door. Cut to outside the Turtletaub set.)
FAULKNER: Alright, you go in after me.
FAULKNER: On my command, one, two, THREE!
(They both burst in their, guns visible.)
DIRECTOR: WHAT THE F**K ARE YOU DOING?
FAULKNER: PUT DOWN THE GUN, SIR!
ACTOR: This is a prop, you idiot!
DIRECTOR: Have you been drinking?
FAULKNER: I WAS WHEN I F**KED YOUR WIFE LAST NIGHT!
(Cut to Faulkner and Bruce in an office with a skinny man in a suit.)
SKINNY MAN: You…heard a gunshot from a set, and came over there, with your guns out, and cursed out the director and refused to put the gun down?
BRUCE: But, Mr. Kessler-
KESSLER: I’m not done, you then preceded to drunkenly fire your pistol at the ceiling?
BRUCE: Well, you see, his wife is very sick, and he’s been drinking to cope with the pain.
KESSLER: You see, about that, Mr. Faulkner has worked here for twenty years, and I happen to know for a fact that he is single.
BRUCE: Well…what does single mean, really...
KESSLER: Single means single.
BRUCE: Yeah…it does…
FAULKNER: Look, we’re sorry, okay?
KESSLER: Look, with the Scorcese incident, and the other incidents…we’re losing clients because of you two. Now, I’m going to have to let you two go.
FAULKNER: Now hold on a second…before you do that, know that I will jam your assh**e up with so many lawyers pleading racism that you will have to suck Reverend Jackson’s d**k to keep your position here.
KESSLER: …I am, uh…sorry for the misunderstanding, my intention was not to fire you, but to, give you a slap on the wrist. Just don’t do it again.
FAULKNER: That’s better.
(They get up and walk out. Cut to the security room, where Faulkner and Bruce are eating donuts.)
FAULKNER: Man, what a life.
BRUCE: You see, to me, I would want robots to control security.
FAULKNER: Then you, uh, wouldn’t have a job.
BRUCE: No, I would. I would man the robots.
(Faulkner takes out a bottle of jack.)
FAULKNER: Want some?
BRUCE: Sure. (Faulkner hands it to him and Bruce takes a swig.)
BRUCE: How do you sneak this s**t past security?
FAULKNER: I am security!
BRUCE: Oh yeah, that’s right. Crap, I hear someone marching down the hallway. Hide the Jack!
(He slips it in his bag.Ed from accounting marches in.)
ED: I would like to report a stolen item.
FAULKNER: Uh, okay. What was stolen?
ED: Shouldn’t you write it down?
FAULKNER: I remember everything.
ED: Okay. So I was in the bathroom, and I exited one of the stalls when I realized,
FAULKNER: Hurry it up.
ED: I would like to give a full account of the events.
FAULKNER: Jesus Christ…I’ve worked here for twenty years I don’t need no full accounts.
ED: I believe you mean you do not need any full accounts.
FAULKNER: Get the hell out of here! OUT!
VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
ED: Oh, okay. (He leaves.)
BRUCE: F**kin’ nerd.
BRUCE: Well I’m sure he’ll whine and complain to Kessler about this.
FAULKNER: Ya think? We already cursed out the directors, we don’t need this.
(Cut to Ed talking to Kessler in his office.)
ED; I attempted to give him a detailed account of the events, but he was not patient, so he told me to “get the h-word out”.
KESSLER: I see. Well, I think it is best to forget about this for now.
ED: With all due respect sir, these two are out of control. They mistook dry ice for a an actual fire and ruined Scorcese’s movie, and also cursed out the Directors of the Turtletaub film, drunk.
KESSLER: Listen, I don’t want my ass jammed up with lawyers pleading racism.
ED: But sir, the fact that Mr. Faulkner is African-American has nothing to do with his grounds for termination.
KESSLER: I’ve been the owner of Kessler Studios for six months. Mr. Faulkner has worked here since 1988. My father loved him, and if I fire him now, then people will think I have a racial issue with him, so unless he commits a punishable crime, he will stay here.
(Cut to Ed at his desk.)
ED: Okay, I can put a gun in his desk and frame him for possession of an unregistered firearm…or maybe hide some marijuana in there…where would I get any? Darn, I don’t know anyone. Why am I talking to myself?
(Cut to Studio 76, where a sitcom is being filmed before a live studio audience. There is a woman at a dinner table looking at bills, and a man in a suit sits down with her.)
MAN: What’s wrong honey?
WOMAN: Besides your cooking?
MAN: These bills are quite high.
(Faulkner walks in.)
FAULKNER: Higher than Lizzy’s stoner boyfriend?
MAN: What the hell?
(Director walks on.)
DIRECTOR: Okay, CUT! Who the hell are you?
FAULKNER: I’m an actor, I play the part of the security guard.
DIRECTOR: Jesus, did we add in another part? Writers?
(Pan to the writers.)
WRITER: No, there’s no cop.
DIRECTOR: Then what in god’s name is HE doing here?
FAULKNER: Sir, you need to calm down or I’m going to have to use my taser.
DIRECTOR: Excuse me? Are you f**king studio security?
FAULKNER: No, we’re just friends.
DIRECTOR: If you are building security, you can’t just walk onto a set and pretend to be a character, that’s incredibly unprofessional.
FAULKNER: More unproffesional than making a sh***y sitcom?
(Audience laughs and “ooohs”)
ACTOR: Okay, you get the hell out of here, buddy!
DIRECTOR: Now hold on one second. That is some banter I recognize. What’s your name, sir?
FAULKNER: M. Faulkner.
(Cut to a dusty reel room. The Director and Faulkner are in there.)
FAULKNER: What are we doing in here, mister director?
DIRECTOR: Please, call me Douglas. We’re in here because the banter we just exchanged is a trademark of my family. I’m Douglas Truesdale, and for generations, my family has pushed the envelope on comedic banter. My father was the first person to utter “piss” on television. Here are some audio recordings and tapes throughout the years.
1890 AUDIO RECORDINGS:
ALEXANDER TRUESDALE: You sir, hug your wife like a charleton! You’ve probably ripped her dress near the undergarment area! You bumbling fool!
JOHN SMITH: I am insulted!
1925 Radio Conversation:
ALEXANDER TRUESDALE: You half-witted scoundrel! Your mother smells of rancid meatloaf, and your father married out of his race!
JOHN: What vile accusations!
1945 CBS Television Exchange
DAVID TRUESDALE: Your mother was a harlet, and your dad cooks like a mother goose!
JOE: Good heavens! I am most angry at you, good sir.
1965 NBC EXCHANGE:
DAVID TRUESDALE: You damn fool! Your mother smelled of corn radish, and your father made a mistake when having intercourse with your mother and supplying the sperm needed to fertilize the egg and make you!
JOE: You phosphender! I am going to shoot you in the eye!
1985 TELEVISION EXCHANGE:
DANIEL TRUESDALE: You ass monkey! You piss me off to no end! Your mother was a slut-bag and she slept with your dad for cash, and yet you’re still poor!
JAKE: You son of a bitch!
DOUGLAS: You lying, cheating, douchebag! Your dick’s the size of a crayon and your mom only gives handjobs to family members!
JACK: You have spit upon my house, and implied that my mother only consents to incest? You asshole! I will shove my entire collection of books straight up your asstrap!
(The tapes stop. Faulkner stands wide-eyed.)
FAULKNER: Jesus, that’s edgy even for Comedy Central…
DOUGLAS: I know, I know.
FAULKNER: That last one was you?
DOUGLAS: Well you have got what it takes, Faulkner. How would you like to act?
FAULKNER: Really? For real and for true?
DOUGLAS: Hell yeah.
FAULKNER: Gee whiz, that’d be swell!
DOUGLAS: Great! In that case, we need a contract.
FAULKNER: Okay. Let’s discuss the details of my contract.
DOUGLAS: Oh, uh, okay. Shoot.
FAULKNER: Well, I want to be paid 200 million a year,
DOUGLAS: Oh, jesus…
VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
FAULKNER: And I would like a park named after me.
DOUGLAS: Yeah, no. The only thing we’re going to be able to do for you is pay you a thousand per episode for now, and provide you with a dressing room.
FAULKNER: Really? I would’ve gone for less. It’s a deal!
(They shake hands. Cut to the security room. Faulkner walks in and Bruce turns around in his chair.)
BRUCE: What are you smiling about?
FAULKNER: I just got hired as an actor on some crappy sitcom, THAT’S what I’m smilin’ about!
BRUCE: HOLT S**T, DUDE, THAT’S AMAZING!
FAULKNER: I know it. (They hug. Once they are done, Faulkner looks into Bruce’s eyes.)
FAULKNER: Bruce, you have been a good friend these last couple of years. But I am moving on to show business now.
BRUCE: (Sniffs.) I’m going to miss you, buddy. (Sniffs again.) Wait a minute, what the hell’s in my pocket?
(He takes a bag of weed out of his pocket.)
BRUCE: What the?
(Ed barges in with Kessler.)
ED: See? HE HAS POT, SIR!
BRUCE: He planted this on me. Plus, this isn’t pot, this is like, f**king crab grass.
KESSLER: Is this true?
ED: (Looks down in shame.) Yes, I planted pot on Bruce to get him fired.
KESSLER: No, is it true that you stole my crab grass?
ED: Oh, uh, yeah.
KESSLER: You are fired.
ED: Oh, gosh.
KESSLER: Not only are you fired, but you are a worthless, pathetic pussy.
KESSLER: By the way, I heard. Congratulations.
KESSLER: No, I’m talking to Bruce.
FAULKNER: Why? What did he do?
KESSLER: His wife is pregnant.
FAULKNER: But I was cast on a sitcom!
KESSLER: Oh, really? That’s cool. See ya guys. (He leaves.)
BRUCE: So are you going to congratulate me?
FAULKNER: F**k you.