The Donahues Episode 253

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Ryan is invited to a group therapy session for prisoners so he can get his life together, while Jacob deals with a surprise visitor in Afghanistan and Madeline and Peter continue their friendship with the Rizzolis.

Submitted: September 06, 2016

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Submitted: September 06, 2016

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THE DONAHUES

 

“GOATMAN”

 

TV-MA DLS

 

“Towards a sunrise or a sunset, a scribble or a sonnet, they are really just the same. To the sunrise and the sunset, the master and his servant have exactly the same fate. It's a sunrise and a sunset, from a cradle to a casket, there is no way to escape”

  • Conor Oberst

 

(We start with Ryan and Alan sitting in the back seat of someone’s car, late at night, as it drives. There is a young man driving the car and another young man sitting in the passenger’s seat. Ryan and Alan are holding beers)

 

ALAN: (Surfer bro voice) Where are we going, dude?!
 

RYAN: You don’t have to speak like that just because you’re drinking beer.

 

ALAN: (Surfer bro voice, to Ryan) Jesus loves you, dude!

 

RYAN: You’re not gonna make me convert just because you sound white!
 

ALAN: Damn, nothin’ works.

 

DRIVER: We’re going to goatman bridge, just outside Plattsburgh.

 

RYAN: Who was goatman? Was that like a last name?

 

DRIVER: No, it’s this legend from 1938. Basically, there was this black sharecropper who raised goats near Cleveland Bridge. People loved him. They affectionately referred to him as “the goatman”. But there were racists in the city government.

 

RYAN: There were what?

 

DRIVER: Oh, sorry, there were alt-right people.

 

RYAN: Got it.

 

DRIVER: And they didn’t like seeing a black man so successful. At goats. So they went over to lynch him over the bridge. But when they checked the noose, he was gone. So they panicked.

 

RYAN: And went home?

 

DRIVER: And killed his entire family.

 

RYAN: Jesus!

 

DRIVER: From that day forth, people report seeing him in apparition near Cleveland Bridge and in the surrounding forest. People report being grabbed, having things thrown at them, and it’s usually only white people.

 

ALAN: And this is all true?

 

DRIVER: What? The legend?

 

ALAN: Yeah?

 

DRIVER: I mean, maybe. It’s really similar to a legend from Denton, Texas, but we’re pretty sure they stole it from US.

 

RYAN: So we’re going there? Fuck yeah, I wanna fight the goatman.

 

ALAN: Hasn’t he suffered enough?

 

RYAN: Throwing rocks hurts! You could get a big ol’ bump on your fuckin’ head, bozo!

 

ALAN: Damn, you’re drunk.

 

RYAN: I am!

 

(The driver parks outside the forest where Cleveland Bridge is. They get out to see Alejandro, Sammy and Jack standing outside their car. Sammy now has straight hair and hippie glasses)

 

ALEJANDRO: There you guys are! Where’d you go after the party at Shifty Old Teddy’s?

 

RYAN: That was Shifty Old Teddy’s party? The notorious public masturbator?

 

JACK: Yeah.

 

RYAN: Shit, we really need to do background checks on whose hosting these parties.

 

ALAN: We told you guys we would see you here.

 

ALEJANDRO: I know, but you didn’t let us know you were leaving.

 

SAMMY: Not cool, bietch.

 

RYAN: You look different, Sammy.

 

ALAN: But you’re not.

 

SAMMY: Never change, fam, I’m shook as fuck.

 

RYAN: You do realize that makes no sense?
 

(Mark Spadelli walks over with his friends in tow, smoking a cigarette)

 

MARK: Hey, friends.

 

RYAN: Oh my God hi Mark!

 

ALAN: So pathetic.

 

MARK: Come here!

 

(Mark opens his arms and Ryan hugs him)

 

RYAN: (Whispering) You’re my favorite fair-weather friend.

 

MARK: Alright, that’s good.

 

(Mark detaches from the hug and takes a drag on his cigarette)

 

RYAN: What are you doing here?

 

MARK: We decided, fuck it, let’s see if we can see the goatman.

 

RYAN: I’ll summon him for you-for us. Don’t worry.

 

JACK: Let’s go in there already, I’m already bored with everything.

 

RYAN: Alright.

 

(They all walk towards the forest. Cut to all of them on an old abandoned iron bridge over a muddy river. People are shining their cell phone lights)

 

ALAN: Is he gonna appear if we shine our cell phone lights?

 

JACK: No, ghosts hate cell phone lights, idiot.

 

ALAN: If ghosts are so scary, why can they be defeated by something as harmless as a cell phone?

 

(Mark has his phone out and is at the end of the bridge)

 

MARK: Hey guys, I found a Pikachu over here on Pokemon Go! (A possum runs by Mark) Nope, that was a possum and it was in reality.

 

(Everyone gets out of the possum’s way as he runs across the bridge. Alejandro, Sammy and Jack scream)

 

ALEJANDRO: This is why I don’t fuck with nature.

 

MARK: Geoff, lead us further into the woods.

 

GEOFF: Alright, guys. Let’s do it. Hold hands so we don’t lose each other.

 

MARK: Good idea. Or we could like, Elephant walk.

 

GEOFF: Yeah, let’s hold each other’s dicks.

 

(Mark laughs)

 

ALAN: (Whispering) Why do you like these people?

 

(Cut to Jacob and Renzi in their barracks in Afghanistan, in the common area, watching FOX News’ coverage of Donald Trump’s joint press conference with Mexican President Enrique Pena Nieto in Mexico City, Mexico)

 

DONALD TRUMP: It is a great honor, to be- (Trump faces Nieto) invited by you, Mr. President. A great, great honor. Thank you. (Trump faces the camera) We had a very substantive, direct and constructive exchange of ideas. I was straightforward, in presenting my views about the impacts of current trade and immigration policies on the United States. As you know, I love the United States. Very much. And, we want to make sure that the people of the United States are very well protected. You equally expressed, your feelings, and your love, for Mexico. (Trump turns to Nieto and nods, then turns back) The United States and Mexico share a 2,000 mile border, a half a trillion dollars in annual trade-

 

JACOB: The scariest thing about this clown going to Mexico to rub shoulders with a guy whose compared him to Hitler is that, at this moment, Donald Trump looks like a President.

 

PRIVATE RENZI: Yeah. I mean, anybody who wears a suit and stands behind a podium near a world leader can look like a President, as long as they don’t compliment the women of Mexico on their 10/10 asses while they’re doing it. And there was some chance he was going to do that.

 

JACOB: But instead, he’s just calmly reading a prepared statement like a typical politician.

 

PRIVATE RENZI: Why do you think he flip flopped on immigration and basically adopted “low energy” Jeb Bush’s position?

 

JACOB: So he could still fuck Mexican models once he loses?

 

PRIVATE RENZI: No, he’s going for the non-racist white vote. He knows he’s not gonna get Hispanics. If he wanted to, he wouldn’t be seen with the second least popular person in Mexico. President Enrique Pena Nieto.

 

JACOB: If Nieto is so unpopular, why would he invite Trump over there? That’s like inviting Roger Ailes to a yoga class because you think he would really like it. It’s suicide!

 

PRIVATE RENZI: Maybe he insisted to Trump he’s not gonna pay for the wall.

 

JACOB: Really? Because before this loser started speaking, Nieto was just like “oh you know, I guess he’s Hitler, but hey, I’m sure he wants the best for us and we want the best for him-his children! Oh, his children as so fantastic!”

 

PRIVATE RENZI: Maybe he’s pulling a Trump to get out of being President. Do the worst thing possible and hopefully you’ll lose because of it?

 

JACOB: All I know is, hearing Trump speak from a prepared statement, he’s just about as eloquent as George W. Bush, and this guy might be my Commander in Chief come January. He might order me into battle. Christ, it sickens me.

 

(A young general comes in)

 

GENERAL: Ladies.

 

(Jacob and Renzi stand at attention)

 

JACOB AND RENZI: SIR, HELLO, SIR!

 

GENERAL: At ease.

 

JACOB: Just to let you know, sir, you’re not supposed to call us ladies.

 

GENERAL: WHAT’S WRONG WITH BEING A LADY, PRIVATE?!

 

JACOB: NOTHING, SIR! SORRY FOR TRIGGERING YOU, SIR!

 

GENERAL: DAMN RIGHT YOU’RE SORRY! MY BROTHER’S A LADY, YOU KNOW!
 

JACOB: PERMISSION TO SPEAK FREELY, SIR?

 

GENERAL: GRANTED!
 

JACOB: If she identifies as a lady, you should call her your sister-

 

GENERAL: SHE’S GENDER FLUID!

 

JACOB: Yes sir.

 

PRIVATE RENZI: General MaGarthur, Jacob and I have some concerns about the events of a few weeks ago.

 

GENERAL MAGARTHUR: My father was a good man.

 

JACOB: He was, sir.

 

GENERAL MAGARTHUR: You don’t need to worry about him coming back as a zombie.

 

JACOB: Oh-that’s not what we were worried about.

 

GENERAL MAGARTHUR: You should be. We train for that shit, you know.

 

PRIVATE RENZI: No, sir, we were just worried about the news getting back to our loved ones. We don’t want them to know we were involved in such a bloody incident.

 

JACOB: It would unnecessarily worry them.

 

GENERAL MAGARTHUR: Don’t worry, no one pays attention to this war anyway, you’re good.

 

JACOB: Oh. So, no letters are sent out?

 

GENERAL MAGARTHUR: No. Not a peep.

 

PRIVATE RENZI: Cool, then we’re done here.

 

JACOB: Yep, no further problems will come of this. (Cut to Jacob lying in bed in his barracks. He is tossing and turning at night as he hears sounds from the bloody incident that killed General MaGarthur Senior) No, please….don’t hurt us- we’re just-we didn’t do anything… (Jacob gets out of bed, while sleeping, and reaches under his bed to retrieve a handgun. He then walks into the bathroom with it drawn) I’m gonna shoot that smile right off your face.

 

(He points the gun towards the mirror and fires, shattering the mirror. Immediately, four soldiers come into the bathroom with their firearms drawn, including Renzi)

 

PRIVATE LUDWIG: JACOB, WHAT THE HELL!?

 

PRIVATE RENZI: Jake, are you asleep?

 

JACOB: …Screw you terrorists, I’m gonna go sleep inside a camel, bitches…

 

(Jacob drops the gun on the floor and sleep walks out of the bathroom, once the soldiers clear a way for him. Renzi grabs the gun and rubs it)

 

PRIVATE RENZI: Shhhh, it’s gonna be okay.

 

(Cut to Jacob, now awake, standing before General MaGarthur Jr. outside the barracks, in the hot Afghani sun the next morning)

 

GENERAL MAGARTHUR: YOU’RE TELLING ME SIR YOU SLEEPWALK SHOT YOUR OWN REFLECTION IN THE MIRROR!?

 

JACOB: YES SIR!

 

GENERAL MAGARTHUR: AND YOU EXPECT US TO BELIEVE THAT?!

 

JACOB: YES SIR!

 

GENERAL MAGARTHUR: Oh. Well, shit, you probably have PTSD.

 

JACOB: Whaaaat’s that!?

 

GENERAL MAGARTHUR: Donahue, you know what PTSD is.

 

JACOB: I know, but I thought you’d…explain it or whatever.

 

GENERAL MAGARTHUR: For who?

 

JACOB: Just forget it.

 

GENERAL MAGARTHUR: You need to see our counselor on base. He will change your life.

 

JACOB: Alright.

 

GENERAL MAGARTHUR: I go to him because there’s this Afghani peasant who told me a riddle I can’t figure out, and it makes me feel really dumb.

 

JACOB: Hm. And because your father was murdered, right?

 

GENERAL MAGARTHUR: Right.

 

(Cut to Peter and Madeline sitting with Mr. and Mrs. Rizzoli in the Rizzoli mansion’s dining room. Peter and Madeline are drinking wine and laughing)

 

MR. RIZZOLI: So then I turn to my then-fiancé Myra and I say “this is the best jockey you could find in Rhode Island?”

 

(Madeline and Peter laugh)

 

MYRA: So I say to him, “he’s the only one who’s too gay to try to flirt with me”.

 

(Madeline and Peter laugh more)

 

MADELINE: That’s hilarious!
 

MR. RIZZOLI: He was either gay, or too intimidated by her height- she’s a very imposing 5’5.

 

(Madeline and Peter laugh)

 

PETER: You two are such a delight.

 

MADELINE: Yes, and you should definitely refer your jockeys to cryotherapy for their testicular injuries.

 

MR. RIZZOLI: They have many.

 

(A butler comes over)

 

BUTLER: May I take your plate, madam?

 

MADELINE: Please.

 

(The butler takes her plate. Peter takes out a pack of cigarettes)

 

PETER: Mine too, please. (The butler takes his plate as well, and then goes to the kitchen) Do you mind if I use your balcony?

 

MR. RIZZOLI: Not at all, in fact, I’ll join you. Myra lets me smoke my cigars for special occasions. And I think the third dinner party with our new best friends is a special occasion.

 

MYRA: I agree.

 

MADELINE: I only let Peter smoke for dessert. But then he’s not allowed to have ice cream.

 

PETER: I have to choose between the two every night.

 

MYRA: While the boys go smoke, Maddie, you and I could have tea in the living area.

 

MADELINE: Sure! I’ve never been in a living “area” before.

 

(Myra nods and the two leave the room. Peter puts a cigarette behind his ear)

 

PETER: Where are your cigars?

 

MR. RIZZOLI: A very special chest.

 

(Mr. Rizzoli goes over to a chest in the corner of the room and opens it to reveal a box of Cuban Cigars)

 

PETER: Wow.

 

(Mr. Rizzoli takes out one of the cigars)

 

MR. RIZZOLI: These cigars were hand-rolled by Castro when he first went into retirement.

 

PETER: They’re so perfect. How’d you get them?

 

MR. RIZZOLI: He gave them away, because they weren’t “good enough for him”.

 

PETER: My God.

 

MR. RIZZOLI: What do you have there?

 

PETER: Uh… (Peter holds up his pack of Newports) it’s a -it’s a pack of Newports.

 

(Cut to Peter and Mr. Rizzoli smoking Cubans on the Rizzoli balcony)

 

PETER: …Hmm, these sure aren’t swisher sweets.

 

MR. RIZZOLI: They sure ain’t.

 

PETER: Mr. Rizzoli-

 

MR. RIZZOLI: Just call me Vito, son, it’s easier.

 

PETER: Okay. Papa Vito-

 

VITO: Yes?

 

PETER: You know I admire you just as much as I admire the Rhode Island wilderness at nightfall.

 

VITO: This is actually Massachusetts wilderness. Wait. Oh shit, it might be Maine. Sorry, my house is really big.

 

PETER: Point is, I know you run more than just the most successful chain of Panera Bread rip-offs in New England.

 

VITO: Pandora Beats is in three major lawsuits right now, don’t remind me of it.

 

PETER: Well, Vito, you did piss of Dr. Dre, Pandora AND Panera Bread. Powerful folks.

 

VITO: I’m a survivor, Peter. And you’re right, I run more than just the most successful chain of Panera Bread rip-offs in New England. I also run a cell phone repair shop chain that turns your phone off and on for you.

 

PETER: Yeah, but Vito, come on, we’re friends here, you can tell me what’s behind all that.

 

VITO: You don’t wanna get into all that, Peter.

 

PETER: Come on.

 

(Cut to Madeline and Myra having tea in the wide open, expansive living area, which has a statue of a naked woman on her knees, covering her breasts with her hands)

 

MADELINE: Where did you get this magnificent sculpture?

 

MYRA: Some people were rescuing historical artifacts in Syria before ISIS got to them, so they sent one of them our way.

 

MADELINE: I don’t really like it.

 

MYRA: Yeah, it’s gaudy, we’re gonna throw it away soon.

 

MADELINE: So, not to be rude, but you guys have it made here.

 

MYRA: Yes, we’re very fortunate. But that’s what happens when you get married to a man you see as a business partner as much as you see him as a lover and a friend.

 

MADELINE: You guys work on the, uh, the race track together?

 

MYRA: Come on, honey. Don’t be so naïve.

 

MADELINE: What do you mean?

 

MYRA: You know what we do.

 

MADELINE: Oh, so we’re talking about this?

 

MYRA: Honey, we’re friends. We mix business and pleasure all the time. And that jockey of ours does too, when he puts those drugs up his ass.

 

MADELINE: Oh, so it is drugs?

 

MYRA: Of course it is, Maddie.

 

MADELINE: Listen, you don’t have to tell me-

 

MYRA: It’s marijuana.

 

MADELINE: YOU MONSTER-wait, what?

 

MYRA: It’s pot.

 

MADELINE: Oh…that’s it?

 

MYRA: Yes. You want to see some?

 

MADELINE: …Sure.

 

(Cut to Ryan, Alan, Mark, Geoff, Alejandro, Jack, Sammy and the rest in the goatman forest)

 

RYAN: …I think we’re lost.

 

ALEJANDRO: Bietch, humans weren’t made for this much walking.

 

MARK: We could just camp out here.

 

RYAN: We’d have to go body to body for warmth.

 

ALAN: Okay, I’ll take Mark.

 

RYAN: (Whispering) You’re willing to jump on that grenade to prevent me from-

 

ALAN: That’s right bitch.

 

GEOFF: I’m just disappointed we haven’t seen goatman.

 

ALAN: I know! (Alan picks up a stick and starts banging it against a tree) GOATMAN, WHERE YOU AT?!

 

SAMMY: SHHH! Stop it! You’re gonna summon him!

 

ALAN: I thought that’s what we wanted!

 

(They hear goat sounds)

 

RYAN: HOLY SHIT!
 

(Alan drops the stick)

 

ALAN: Let’s get the fuck out of here.

 

(They begin running and continue to hear goat sounds as they run)

 

MARK: GO TOWARDS THE ROAD!
 

RYAN: WHERE IS THE ROAD?!

 

(The goat sounds get louder)

 

ALAN: FUCK, HE’S GETTING CLOSER!!

 

RYAN: I SEE THE ROAD!
 

(They all head towards the road and once they get to the road, they stop and begin to pant)

 

MARK: Jesus, I’m so out of breath…time for a cigarette.

 

(Mark lights up a cigarette)

 

RYAN: Fuck, was that the goatman?

 

ALAN: Sounded like it. Either that, or it was just goats.

 

GEOFF: Impossible.

 

RYAN: Let’s just keep walking. (They keep walking down the road, until eventually, they see a frat boy in the forest making goat noises and laughing) Fuck off.

 

FRAT BOY: Come on! You were so scared!
 

RYAN: It was really convincing!!!

 

FRAT BOY: I aced animal sounds in kindergarten.

 

JACK: What are you doing out here?

 

FRAT BOY: Oh, just, kickin’ it. Wanna come down here?

 

RYAN: No.

 

ALAN: Sure.

 

ALEJANDRO: Why not?

 

RYAN: Because! He’s a stranger, ALONE in the middle of a forest wantonly scaring people at like 3am! We don’t know what his intentions are!

 

ALEJANDRO: But he might have weed.

 

RYAN: Fine, whatever, go down there, but Mark, Geoff and I will meet up with you guys later.

 

MARK: I’m just gonna go and meet that guy.

 

RYAN: You know what? Okay, I guess we’ll say high.

 

ALAN: Oh my God.

 

(They all walk into the forest. Cut to Ryan sitting in a Spanish 3 class at SUNY Plattsburgh, looking at his phone. The teacher, a thirty-something cougar, walks in and writes “Ms. Gallagher”)

 

MS. GALLAGHER: Como estas? Mi llamo Senora Gallagher.

 

RYAN: Come estas?

 

MS. GALLAGHER: Muy bien, me divorcie hace poco, y tu?

 

RYAN: I don’t know, just keep talking.

 

MS. GALLAGHER: Uh… (Turns to the class) So, normally, today would be syllabus day, but the syllabus has not been finalized. The person who wrote the syllabus, Senora Martinez, is on one of her coke and stripper pole binges.

 

RYAN: What is this department?

 

MS. GALLAGHER: So instead, I will have you guys take out your books and partner up to do a Spanish practice activity, and yes I will count you off.

 

(Ms. Gallagher starts counting people off, one by one, in Spanish. Eventually, it gets around to Ryan)

 

RYAN: Tres.

 

MS. GALLAGHER: Nueve.

 

RYAN: Oh. Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.

 

MS. GALLAGHER: Okay. Well, pair up!
 

(A young man wearing a newsboy cap comes over and sits at a desk near Ryan with his book)

 

YOUNG MAN: Nueve, right?

 

RYAN: Yeah. I’m Ryan by the way.

 

YOUNG MAN: Mi llamo Steve.

 

RYAN: Good to meet you.

 

MS. GALLAGHER: Estudiantes, van al pagina tres en el Espanol libro, por favor.

 

(Steven turns to page three)

 

RYAN: Sorry, what’d she say?

 

STEVEN: She said “van al pagina tres en Espanol libro, por favor”.

 

RYAN: Oh, okay.

 

(Ryan turns to page three in his book)

 

STEVEN: So you understood what she said?

 

RYAN: Yeah, I just didn’t pay attention the first time around.

 

(Steven squints)

 

STEVEN: Work on that.

 

(Ryan looks at Steven, caught off guard)

 

RYAN: Yeah, I guess I should. That’s what X will do to you, long-term. Sometimes.

 

STEVEN: I think we’re supposed to do activity uno punto dos.

 

RYAN: How do you know?

 

STEVEN: She just said it.

 

(Ryan looks around)

 

RYAN: I didn’t hear shit.

 

(Steven squints)

 

STEVEN: I worry about you.

 

RYAN: A lot of people do. Trust me, it’s not worth your time.

 

STEVEN: I work at a prison.

 

(Ms. Gallagher comes around)

 

MS. GALLAGHER: Hey! Usas Espanol, por favor!

 

STEVEN: Lo siento. (Steven clears his throat as Ms. Gallagher walks away) Yo trabajo en una prision. Y, yo, uhhh, yo ve prisioneros y yo noticias-fuck it. I work at a prison, and I counsel the prisoners sometimes. And damn, these prisoners have short attention spans, and they act exactly like you do.

 

RYAN: Really?

 

STEVEN: Yes. Just rapier, more racist and with a more modern fashion sense.

 

RYAN: You’re wearing a newsboy cap!
 

STEVEN: Read GQ, man. That’s all I’m gonna say.

 

RYAN: So you’re saying I’m gonna go to prison?

 

STEVEN: You’re at a risk factor for it, man. Tell you what, you should come to my next group therapy session up at Clinton Correctional.

 

RYAN: You think so? I mean, my inattentiveness has kinda fucked up my grades recently. And countless times before that.

 

STEVEN: This could really help you, man.

 

RYAN: Well, okay. I don’t wanna end up in prison, so I might as well get scared straight.

 

STEVEN: Are you straight, by the way?

 

RYAN: Not entirely.

 

STEVEN: Okay, just make sure prison doesn’t put you over the top.

 

(Cut to Jacob sitting outside a counselor’s office on base in Afghanistan. He is looking at the clock)

 

JACOB: Jesus, I really miss having a cell phone. (A general walks by) Sir, please give me a reaction face! (The General grimaces, huffs and cartoonishly marches away, swaying his hands and legs wildly) Okay, I liked that.

 

(The door to the counselor’s office opens, seemingly on its own)

 

VOICE FROM INSIDE: Alright, Donahue, come iiiiiin!!

 

JACOB: How the hell did this door open?

 

(Jacob comes in to see the back of a big office chair facing away from him)

 

COUNSELOR: Have a seat.

 

JACOB: Okay. (Jacob sits down, and the door slams behind him) Seriously, how is that happening?

 

COUNSELOR: Private Donahue, what’s troubling you?

 

JACOB: Um, well, I’ve been having constant nightmares ever since General MaGarthur was murdered by the Taliban, right in front of me.

 

COUNSELOR: Has it put you in a funk?

 

JACOB: …Yes. Quick question, why are you facing away from me?

 

COUNSELOR: Private Donahue, let me ask you something. Do you have a girlfriend back home?

 

JACOB: Yes.

 

COUNSELOR: A child?

 

JACOB: Yes, I do.

 

COUNSELOR: A mistress?

 

JACOB: What? No, of course not.

 

COUNSELOR: You’re right. You don’t have a mistress back home. Because- (the counselor turns around in her chair to reveal she’s Sheila Woods, wearing her fake beard and a military suit) SHE’S RIGHT HERE!!

 

JACOB: JESUS CHRIST! Sheila!??!

 

SHEILA: No, of course not. I’m Doctor Shawn Woods. But then again, I’ve also played classic characters like Dr. Harold Bornstein- (Sheila takes out a framed photo of Donald Trump’s gastroenterologist) and man, did I have fun with that letter.

 

JACOB: What the hell are you doing here?! How did you-what did-?!

 

SHEILA: I’m very resourceful, Jacob. Remember that poppy farmer from the village you fucked up in protecting?

 

JACOB: Don’t tell me-

 

SHEILA: That was me.

 

JACOB: What?! That dude had a kid!
 

SHEILA: I have had many illegitimate children, Jacob. I just happened to have been knocked up by a couple Afghani guys, too. It’s often useful.

 

JACOB: But then how did you get a job here?!

 

SHEILA: I followed you guys back to base, flashed my military credentials under an assumed name and they gave me the counselor’s job because nobody actually cares about this job.

 

JACOB: Okay, fine, but how did you get to Afghanistan to begin with!?

 

SHEILA: Ever heard of Lyft?

 

JACOB: What? You didn’t get to Afghanistan in a Lyft!

 

SHEILA: Yeah, I didn’t. I robbed a Lyft driver of his passport and flew to Tehran, and then drove to one of the bases I thought you might be at. It turned out to be the wrong one though, so I just went deep undercover until I tracked you down.

 

JACOB: That leads me to my final question. Why?

 

SHEILA: Because baby, you may not know it yet, but these thighs save lives, and you can conscientiously object to my pussy all you want, but you know you can’t resist the call of duty.

 

JACOB: Sheila, you have to understand. (Jacob puts his hand on Sheila’s hand) I came to Afghanistan to get AWAY from you. I have a wife and one-year old child at home. I can’t throw it all away for the best goddamn pussy I’ve ever experienced.

 

SHEILA: You don’t have to throw it away. We’re in the middle of nowhere, no one has to know.

 

(Jacob lets go of Sheila’s hand)

 

JACOB: You didn’t travel 6,500 miles for dick.

 

SHEILA: I didn’t. I traveled here for you. You’ve become a personal mission of mine. You deserve more than what you’re getting from Renee.

 

(Jacob stands up)

 

JACOB: I’ve been away from them so long. And you girls have the gall to parade around in fake beards and ties, knowing full well it turns me on.

 

(Sheila stands up)

 

SHEILA: Do whatever feels good in the moment, that’s how I live. You know, I cared about those poppies? You know why? Because in the moment, I WAS a poppy farmer.

 

JACOB: And because you were selling it, right?

 

SHEILA: Yes, absolutely!

 

(Jacob sighs)

 

JACOB: You traveled 6,500 miles for me.

 

SHEILA: Yes.

 

JACOB: My goal in life has been to feel needed.

 

SHEILA: I need you.

 

(Jacob breathes heavily)

 

JACOB: You need me.

 

(Jacob goes over and clears off her desk. Sheila and Jacob making out while undressing. Cut to Private Renzi sitting in the hallway outside the counselor’s office. He hears moaning)

 

PRIVATE RENZI: Whoa…is someone banging the counselor right now?

 

(Private Renzi puts his ear to the wall)

 

SHEILA: (Muffled) Ohh, Jacob…

 

(Renzi’s eyes widen with surprise)

 

JACOB: (Muffled) Don’t use my name, Sheila.

 

SHEILA: (Muffled) Oh, sorry, UHHHH! Jake!
 

(Renzi laughs)

 

JACOB: (Muffled) Not Jake either-OOhhhhhh my Gosh call me whatever you want bitch.

 

SHEILA: (Muffled) You’re the bitch.

 

JACOB: (Muffled) I’m the bitch.

 

SHEILA: (Muffled) You’re MY bitch.

 

JACOB: (Muffled) I’m YOUR bitch!

 

PRIVATE RENZI: (Whispering) This is so pathetic. (The general from earlier walks by, and stops to listen to the screwing. His eyes dart around, then he snickers and scurries off. Private Renzi laughs) That guy’s way better than my phone.

 

(Cut to Myra turning on the light of an underground warehouse, housing hundreds of pounds of marijuana, to Madeline’s amazement)

 

MADELINE: Holy fuck!

 

MYRA: There’s 1200 pounds of marijuana in this room.

 

MADELINE: How much is that worth?

 

MYRA: Around five million dollars.

 

MADELINE: Holy shit. (Madeline goes over to a pound of Marijuana and touches it with her hand) This is almost enough weed to overdose on it, as long as you get it down in three minutes.

 

MYRA: I’ve seen some junkies try.

 

MADELINE: So is this trade safe?

 

MYRA: Yeah. It’s actually pretty boring, really. Ever since medical weed was legalized in Rhode Island, our business has been slowly ticking down.

 

(Peter and Mr. Rizzoli come in)

 

MR. RIZZOLI: Damn right it’s boring! I’ve sent guys to colleges to deal to these basic-ass freshmen with curly hair and boat shoes and it’s about the dullest thing you can imagine.

 

MADELINE: Oh, so I guess you guys had a similar conversation.

 

PETER: I just asked if he had any weed we could smoke and HOLY FUCK, he does.

 

MADELINE: So you guys are really losing business to medical weed?

 

MR. RIZZOLI: Yeah! Because anybody can get a doctor’s note for the green stuff these days. I knew a guy who got medical weed because he was double-jointed.

 

MADELINE: You know, I have regular vaginal bleeding, so I might need some of this stuff too.

 

PETER: Gross, Maddie.

 

MADELINE: It’s a serious medical condition. Just like how your balls haven’t dropped yet.

 

(Mr. Rizzoli laughs)

 

MR. RIZZOLI: No balls.

 

PETER: Wait, she didn’t say-

 

MADELINE: Maybe we could help you guys out.

 

MR. RIZZOLI: How so?

 

MADELINE: Have you ever run a legitimate business before?

 

MR. RIZZOLI: I ran the studio that produced Mermaids: The Body Found.

 

MYRA: So, no.

 

MADELINE: Just abandon the illegal market, and join the legal market as a medical marijuana dispensary. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. And then I’ll recommend you guys to anybody who receives cryotherapy for pain. Or anxiety. Or depression. Anything, really.

 

MYRA: …So you want us to go legitimate?

 

MADELINE: Why not, right? Aren’t you tired of having Mayor Elorza and Governor Raimondo breathing down your neck?

 

MR. RIZZOLI: Yeah, they do talk way too close to our faces whenever they come over for dinner parties.

 

MYRA: They’re close-talkers.

 

MR. RIZZOLI: Yes!

 

MADELINE: You guys have them over for-whatever, just, take it into consideration. Because I’ll help you guys.

 

(Mr. Rizzoli and Myra look at each other)

 

MR. RIZZOLI: We’ll consider it.

 

MADELINE: I assure you, you’ll make tons of money. Obama used to be a Nazi about raiding dispensaries, but now they’re backing off.

 

PETER: Yeah, Obama decided marijuana was just another good way of making us complacent so he can eventually transform us into chattel.

 

MR. RIZZOLI: You want to smoke some?

 

PETER: Yeah, go ahead and pack a bowl.

 

(Cut to Madeline sitting on a roller stool in the cryotherapy chamber room of Cryo Self To Health. An old woman is in the cryotherapy chamber)

 

MADELINE: How do you feel, Mrs. Partridge?

 

MRS. PARTRIDGE: Capital. How about you, dear?

 

MADELINE: Oh, I’m fine. My boyfriend is a man-child. My budget’s gotten to the point where I have to choose between dinner and Netflix most nights. And I usually choose Netflix. But, I’m getting along. I have some new friends, which is always nice. I’m in my last semester at NEIT, and I’m so eager to devote my full attention to-

 

MRS. PARTRIDGE: Sweetheart, I gave a succinct answer, I expected one from you

 

MADELINE: Oh, sorry.

 

(Peter comes in with a bag of Chik-Fil-a)

 

PETER: Hey, babe. I brought you lunch.

 

MADELINE: God bless you, Peter, put it on my desk.

 

PETER: Did you say it yet?

 

MADELINE: Oh, right. (Madeline clears her throat) On a scale of one to ten, how bad is your back pain?

 

MRS. PARTRIDGE: Real bad.

 

PETER: Do you want weed for it?

 

MRS. PARTRIDGE: What?

 

MADELINE: Peter, you were on my good side just a minute ago, don’t ruin it. Listen, Mrs. Partridge, our friends are starting a medical marijuana dispensary. Marijuana can treat chronic pain. Would you be interested in being referred to that?

 

MRS. PARTRIDGE: Do I have to smoke it? Because I’d rather drink it in a tea.

 

(Madeline looks at Peter)

 

PETER: There must be. I mean, someone must’ve thought of that.

 

(Madeline looks back at Mrs. Partridge)

 

MADELINE: I’m sure it can be arranged, Mrs. Partridge.

 

MRS. PARTRIDGE: I’ll consider it. Do they have a card?

 

MADELINE: I don’t have one, but-

 

PETER: I do.

 

(Peter takes out a business card and puts the card in Mrs. Partridge’s mouth, since her hands are in the cryotherapy machine)

 

MRS. PARTRIDGE: (Muffled) Thank you.

 

MADELINE: Mrs. Partridge, I can just hold that for you until we’re done. (Madeline takes the card. Madeline turns to Peter) Where’d you get this?

 

PETER: That’s part of the reason I came here. I wanted to tell you that I got a job.

 

MADELINE: Really?!

 

PETER: Yeah!
 

MADELINE: I thought you said you didn’t want a job because employers install chips in your hand before you can work there!

 

PETER: Apparently that policy hasn’t been enacted yet!
 

MADELINE: That’s great, babe! (Madeline hugs Peter, and then releases him) Where are you working?

 

PETER: I’m working for Rizzoli.

 

MADELINE: Oh. Wow.

 

PETER: Yeah. He really looks what he described as my “spunk” and “childlike innocence” and paradoxically, my “borderline unhealthy paranoia” which he said was good because “you can’t trust nobody”.

 

MADELINE: Just to be clear, I know he-well, let’s leave the room. (To Mrs. Partridge) We’ll be right back, ma’am.

 

MRS. PARTRIDGE: Thank God.

 

(Peter and Madeline leave the room and go into the hallway)

 

MADELINE: Okay, so he JUST sells marijuana right?

 

PETER: Yes, all that stuff I said about speed and bath salts, it’s all bogus propaganda spread by anti-legalization advocates.

 

MADELINE: And he doesn’t order people killed?

 

PETER: I’ve never seen any evidence of that. But he kills at improv!
 

MADELINE: Peter, I don’t want you working for a murderer.

 

PETER: He’s not a murderer! I know him, I know his heart. He’s never even been accused of killing anybody.

 

MADELINE: So he’s just a big time drug dealer who doesn’t use illegal means to stifle competition?

 

PETER: He has his turf, and since everybody likes him as a person, none of them infringe on it.

 

MADELINE: Yeah, he is great, isn’t he?

 

PETER: Goddamnit, he is.

 

(Madeline nods)

 

MADELINE: Well, I’m happy for you.

 

PETER: Thanks. (Madeline kisses Peter on the lips and pats his cheek. Madeline then grabs Peter’s balls) Ow-

 

MADELINE: Don’t fuck this up.

 

(Madeline lets go and goes back into the room. Peter breathes heavy and crouches. Cut to Private Renzi and Jacob on patrol, walking through an Afghani village together, holding heavy weaponry)

 

JACOB: …God, this is way more boring than COD suggested.

 

PRIVATE RENZI: I don’t know, COD was pretty boring.

 

JACOB: I just want something to happen. And I want fewer fruit stands with a guy claiming his oranges are better than everyone else’s.

 

(They walk past a fruit stand with an excited merchant holding out an orange)

 

MERCHANT: ?? ????? ?? ????? ???? ??? ????? ????! ????? ??????? ?? ??? ??? ?? ?? ?? ???? ??? Genie ??? ??!

 

(SUBTITLES: This orange will make your lovers obey your commands! Your children will be strong, and there is a genie in this shit!)

 

JACOB: No thanks!
 

(Jacob smiles)

 

PRIVATE RENZI: You know what might break up the monotony?

 

JACOB: What?

 

PRIVATE RENZI: Some juicy gossip. Jesus, I hate myself for saying that.

 

JACOB: What is it?

 

PRIVATE RENZI: You fucked your counselor, my man. Honestly impressed. Although, you were a bit too subby for my taste.

 

JACOB: Dude, how did you-

 

PRIVATE RENZI: I was next in line to see her- I assume it was a her, right? Although her name was Shawn?

 

JACOB: It was a girl, dude, it was Sheila!
 

PRIVATE RENZI: What?

 

JACOB: She’s fucking crazy, she came here to find me!
 

PRIVATE RENZI: Holy shit. And she posed as a counselor?

 

JACOB: YES!

 

PRIVATE RENZI: And you fucked her?

 

JACOB: YES! HELP ME! Maybe I can run away? Again?

 

PRIVATE RENZI: To where? The mountains? Are you gonna live with the, the, well, the Taliban!

 

JACOB: Ugggh. No. She’s so fucking enticing, bro, you have no idea. When we were screwing, she started speaking Pashto. And it was the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. What do I do?

 

PRIVATE RENZI: You could sell her as a wife to some of these people.

 

JACOB: How about we try something I could live with?

 

(Private Renzi sighs)

 

PRIVATE RENZI: You said she spoke Pashto right?

 

JACOB: Yes. At least in sexual situations.

 

PRIVATE RENZI: We need a translator for our missions, right?

 

JACOB: Yeah?

 

PRIVATE RENZI: We could recommend her.

 

JACOB: But then she’d just be around us all the time-

 

PRIVATE RENZI: Until the missions scared her into quitting. She was in the Air Force right? She’s not used to this kind of thing.

 

JACOB: That’s true. She is a tough bitch, though.

 

PRIVATE RENZI: Do you have a better option at this point?

 

JACOB: No.

 

PRIVATE RENZI: Then there you go. Worst case scenario, you have to periodically screw her for a couple of tours. I mean, that’s a good problem to have.

 

(Jacob sighs)

 

JACOB: Yeah, I’m a lucky man, aren’t I?

 

(Cut to Jacob sitting in General MaGarthur’s office. Sheila comes in, wearing her disguise)

 

SHEILA: You called me down here, General?

 

GENERAL MAGARTHUR: Yes, go ahead and have a seat, Shawn. (Sheila sits down) Do you speak Pashto, Shawn?

 

SHEILA: ?? ?? ???? ????? ????? ? ?? ????? ???? ? ??????? ??? ???? ????

 

(SUBTITLES: “Yes I do, what’s your point you spoiled fuck wit?”)

 

GENERAL MAGARTHUR: What’d he say, Jacob?

 

JACOB: Something about…”slam it daddy”?

 

SHEILA: He doesn’t know Pashto.

 

GENERAL MAGARTHUR: Well, I’m just gonna assume that was perfect Pashto. Shawn, we need a translator for our soldiers’ missions. We’d like you to be that translator.

 

SHEILA: Oh, I’m not really interested in-

 

GENERAL MAGARTHUR: We’re not asking, Sheila. We need a translator, because Google Translate has really screwed us up. Did you know the word for “orange” sounds like the word for “bomb”? Crazy stuff.

 

SHEILA: That’s not-that’s not accurate.

 

(General MaGarthur extends his hand)

 

GENERAL: Either you take this job, or we send you back to America.

 

(Sheila sighs. Sheila shakes his hand and looks at Jacob, who is smiling. Cut to Steven sitting in his prison group therapy, with a bunch of prisoners)

 

STEVEN: We’re expecting one more person.

 

PRISONER: If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll be honest with himself during this session and express his feelings.

 

STEVEN: That’s good, Andrew. I’ll tattoo your back later, just remind me.

 

ANDREW: Thanks, bro.

 

(Ryan comes in)

 

RYAN: Sorry I’m late, I lost track of time.

 

(Ryan sits down)

 

STEVEN: See, Ryan, that’s just more evidence of your problems.

 

RYAN: Fuck, I didn’t even think of that.

 

STEVEN: What were you doing when you realized you were running late?

 

RYAN: I was compiling a file of porn I could look at later. Shit, I don’t even think about the things I do anymore!

 

STEVEN: Ryan, relax. There’s nothing wrong with that. But it’s your priorities that is the problem. Who wants to share with Ryan how they ended up in prison?

 

PRISONER 2: …I’ll go.

 

STEVEN: Sure, go ahead Leon.

 

LEON: I was uhh, going to high school when I tried to buy ecstasy from a teacher. He reported it immediately, and I got three years.

 

RYAN: Oh, wow.

 

STEVEN: Ever done X, Ryan?

 

RYAN: Yeah, I actually tried to buy X from a teacher once, but I didn’t go to prison for it, damn!

 

LEON: Where’d you grow up?

 

RYAN: Hansbay, Vermont.

 

LEON: Of fucking course.

 

STEVEN: Anybody else?

 

PRISONER 3: Me!
 

STEVEN: Go ahead, Nicholas.

 

NICHOLAS: …In 2012, I worked at a Chuck-E-Cheese. You know, in the band. One night I showed up to work piss drunk, and I stripped off my Chuck-E costume, along with the rest of my clothes, and I got arrested for public indecency in the presence of minors.

 

RYAN: Holy shit. I once also stripped naked during a live set. Although, no children were there and so I still judge you.

 

NICHOLAS: Fair.

 

RYAN: Anyone else?

 

PRISONER 4: I killed my landlady.

 

RYAN: Okay, yeah, that doesn’t apply to me.

 

STEVEN: Ryan, you have to focus your mind and soul on getting better. At life. Because you suck at it.

 

RYAN: Easy there, man, you barely know me.

 

STEVEN: I can tell a man’s character within seconds of meeting them. It was a gift I was born with. I had the opportunity to be friends with Mario Lopez, but I turned it down for this very reason. Now. We’re going to do an exercise called the Miser. Two people are going to sit across from one another, and make observations about the facial expression of the other person. And then that person will repeat it back to the other person, if it’s correct. For example. (Steven faces one of the prisoners) You look murdery.

 

PRISONER 4: I look murdery.

 

STEVEN: You look murdery.

 

PRISONER 4: I am murdery.

 

STEVEN: You are murdery.

 

PRISONER 4: You look like a geek.

 

(Prisoner 4 turns to his fellow inmates and breathily laughs while chewing some gum)

 

STEVEN: So that’s basically how it works, Derek, spit out your game or it’s the hole again. (Derek spits his gum out in his hand and puts it in his pocket) Okay, so, Leon, Nicholas, you’re up first.

 

(Leon and Nicholas pull up chairs and sit across from one another. They begin to look at each other’s faces)

 

LEON: …You look scared.

 

NICHOLAS: I am scared.

 

LEON: You are scared.

 

NICHOLAS: I am scared.

 

LEON: You look…dehumanized.

 

NICHOLAS: I am dehumanized.

 

LEON: You are dehumanized. You look…like you’re not content with your prison wife.

 

NICHOLAS: I surely am not.

 

LEON: You want a new one, I got ‘em for cheap.

 

STEVEN: Enough! Ryan, Larry, you guys go.

 

(Nicholas and Leon pull their seats back, and Ryan and Larry pull up chairs and stare at each other)

 

RYAN: You look…oddly content.

 

LARRY: I am oddly content.

 

RYAN: You are oddly content.

 

LARRY: You look…uncomfortable.

 

RYAN: I am uncomfortable.

 

LARRY: You are uncomfortable.

 

RYAN: …I am uncomfortable.

 

LARRY: You are uncomfortable.

 

RYAN: You look…smart.

 

LARRY: I am smart.

 

RYAN: You are smart.

 

LARRY: You look…scared.

 

RYAN: I am, I am scared.

 

LARRY: You are scared.

 

RYAN: …I am scared.

 

LARRY: You look lonely.

 

(Ryan’s hand starts to tremble as he squints)

 

RYAN: …I am lonely.

 

LARRY: You are lonely. You look nervous.

 

RYAN: …I am nervous.

 

LARRY: You are nervous.

 

RYAN: I am nervous.

 

LARRY: …You look disappointed.

 

RYAN: I am disappointed.

 

LARRY: You are disappointed….

 

RYAN: I am disappointed.

 

LARRY: You are disappointed. (Ryan starts grinding his teeth) You’re…you’re unsure.

 

(Ryan takes a deep breath)

 

RYAN: I am unsure.

 

LARRY: …You’re trying too hard.

 

(Ryan grinds his teeth for a little while)

 

RYAN: …I’m trying too hard.

 

(Ryan puts his head in his hand and starts tearing up)

 

STEVEN: Oh.

 

(Ryan gets up and leaves the room. They all look around at each other. The song “Sunrise, Sunset” by Bright Eyes comes on as we cut to credits)

 

THE END


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