INT. DFO PRODUCTION OFFICE – DAY. 

A pair of sleazy Hollywood producers emerge from an office.  The camera follows them in a classic Sorkinesque walk-and-talk.  

RIKKI-TIKKI-DEADLY: And so after the trailer bombed, Sony tried to push the narrative that everyone who said anything negative about the film was a misogynist…

DARKEST TIMELINE ZACH MORRIS: A misogynist?

RTD: A misogynist.  And they said that if you really wanted to stick it to those basement-dwelling, fedora-wearing, cheeto-dust fingered, manbaby misogynists, you should go see the movie.

DTZM: They want you to give them money.

RTD: They want you to go see the movie.

DTZM: But you have to pay money to see the movie.

RTD: Yes.

DTZM: And Sony gets some of the money that people pay to see the movie.

RTD: Right.

DTZM: So they want you to speak out against misogyny by giving them money.

RTD: Mmm, more or less, yes.

The pair turn down a long hallway, where the walls are adorned with movie posters: Hard Ride to Nowhere, Harder Ride 2 An Even Less Significant Place, The Hard3st Ride Yet, Hard Ride 4: The Hardening, Hard Ride 5: A Hard Day’s Ride,  Hard Ride 6: The Bigger They Come, the Harder They Ride, Hard Ride 7: Live Free or Ride Hard.  In the place where “Hard Eight” would be is simply an angrily scrawled note that reads “Fuck you and your stupid copyright Paul Thomas Anderson there’s no reason that two movies can’t be called the same thing.”  

DTZM: How much money did the movie make.

RTD:  The movie didn’t make any money.

DTZM: So how much money did the movie not make?

RTD: Publicly they’re saying $70 million, but realistically it’s more like $100 million.

DTZM: Another triumph for Old School Zero!

RTD: Ha ha ha ha ha!  But seriously I think he just got promoted.

DTZM: Damn, that guy fails up harder than Lane Kiffin.

They arrive at an doorway shrouded in heavy velvet curtains and pass through to enter a darkened space.  Their faces are immediately illuminated by the glow of a flashlight.

ASA GRUNDERSON: Who’s there, now?

DTZM: Oh, hey Asa, it’s just us.

ASA: [nods respectfully] Mr. Morris.  Mr. Deadly.

DTZM: All’s well?

ASA: Ayup.  It’s been mighty quiet.

DTZM: [sniffs] It doesn’t smell like pickles, or shoeshine anymore…Jim cleared out?

ASA: Yep.  Grabbed his bindle and hoofed it.  Last I heard he was in Texarkana, solving a mystery or some such.

DTZM: Would you mind firing up the lights?

ASA flips a set of switches and the interior lights come on.  The lavish interior is revealed – it is a magnificent screening room.  The room is pitched downward with stadium style seating – it’s much like a movie theater, but with fewer seats – much more comfortable and cozy. 

 

 

RIKKI-TIKKI-DEADLY: [looking around in wide-eyed wonder] The renovations are done?

DTZM: They are!  I wanted to surprise you.  What do you think?

RTD:  It’s PERFECT!  It’s…wait, I thought you said the renovations were done [points a corner of the theater].

 

 

EMPTY PAINT CAN: …

RTD: Oh!  Oh My God!  I’m so sorry, man.  I didn’t recognize you.  How have you been?

EMPTY PAINT CAN: …

RTD: Ouch.  Not even Cleveland?

EMPTY PAINT CAN: [sadly] …

RTD: That’s a shame, man.  Well, the world will always need painters.  And it’s better for your brain – at least you’ll retain most of your memory…[notices bottle of paint thinner and a rag in the corner]…capacity…

DTZM: So, hey, we’re having a bit of a party, you want to stick around?

EMPTY PAINT CAN: !

RTD: Yeah, man, it’s gonna be a blast.

— [door flies open] —

 

RTD: Karis! [sounding genuine for the first time in his life] Great to see you, darling!  You did a wonderful job at the draft in Chicago!

DTZM: You were splendid!

KARIS: [sweetly] Aw, thanks guys!  Did you know that Goodell actually had the gall to offer me an internship?  Wanted to keep me around as a permanent human heckling shield.

RTD: Yeah, that sounds like something he would do.

DTZM: I take it you turned him down.

KARIS: Damn straight.  If I wanted to be around cancerous assholes all day I’d go hang out in the rectal oncology ward.  Fuck. That. Guy.

— [door flies open] —

 

BEANSIE: Eek!

RTD: You made it! [bumps fist with Beansie] Who’s your friend?

 

 

MR. WINKLES: Snarlchompgrowl snarl snarl!!

RTD: Nah, don’t sweat it, buddy, any friend of Beansie’s is a friend of ours.  Welcome!

— [door flies open] —

DFO RADIO PRODUCER: [holding a clipboard] Oh, hey guys.  Just finishing up the surround sound.  Connor, are you almost done?

They all look up towards the ceiling, where one of the ceiling tiles slides open and a hand descends.  The hand forms a fist and then the middle finger is extended.

DTZM: Beansie, you wanna give him a hand up there?

BEANSIE: Eeek!  [scrambles up the wall and disappears into the rafters]

— [door flies open] —

Three robotic figures limp into the room.

 

 

BRONCO: [dazed] Shopping cart festival.  Company blackhat taco.  Lemon!  Lemon!

CHOMP:  THIS GUY BRONCO I CALL HIM CATEDRAL BASÍLICA MENOR NOSSA SENHORA DA LUZ CAUSE HE GOT HIS BELL RUNG REAL GOOD BY A BUNCH OF BRAZILIAN GUYS.

BAND LEADER BITE FORCE: THEY DO NOT HAVE A CONCUSSION PROTOCOL IN THE ROBOT FIGHTING LEAGUE.

— [door flies open] —

A burly figured covered all in black wheels a buffet table covered with tasty treats into the room.

 

YEAH RIGHT: Hey guys.  I’m here to make amends.

DTZM: For…?

YEAH RIGHT: You know, I honestly don’t remember.  But I checked the location tracking on my phone and it says I passed through here last week, so I must have done something. Please accept my humble apology.

RTD: Maybe that’s why Traycee called in sick every day this week.

— [door flies open] —

 

 

HENDRICK: I presume the word “punctual” would not be counterfactual to describe our arrival?

DTZM: Not at all.  No wait, I mean yes, you’re right on time!

WINCHESTER: [noticing and picking up the bottle of paint thinner and reading the label] Klean-Strip!  A fine vintage.  I see no expense has been spared.

RTD: You know it!  Those expense accounts won’t spend themselves!

— [door flies open] —

 

ASHLEY MANNING: What’s up, dickfaces? [makes fist, threatens to hit RTD, who flinches] Ha ha, you pussy!  The only person I’ve seen more afraid of contact is my husband.

DTZM: I…am a bit surprised you accepted our invitation.

ASHLEY: What, you don’t want me here?

RTD: No, no, no, no, no, no.  No.  He didn’t mean that.

DTZM: We’re delighted you’re here!

RTD: Thrilled.  We’re just…a little surprised you’re not watching the games with Peyton.

ASHLEY: Ugh, no thanks.  I can’t watch with him these days – he’s been working on his broadcaster schtick.  Take that single-minded focus, that laser-like attention to detail he displayed as a quarterback, and now imagine it being applied to the act of imitating Terry Bradshaw.

ALL recoil in horror.

DTZM: That’s unconscionable.

RTD: I feel sick.

ASHLEY settles into one of the theater chairs and pulls out a compact mirror, then a small vial of white powder.

DTZM: [sidling in next to her] Hey, what is that?

ASHLEY: You know, I’m not even sure.  Von Miller just handed it to me and said “make this disappear”.  And so here were are.

CONNOR: [from rafters]  It’s ready!

BEANSIE: Eeek!  Eek eek!

PRODUCER: Sounds good, let’s give this baby a test drive.  You boys got any music?

RTD: The man wants to know if we have music.

DTZM: Oh yeah, man.  We’ve got music.

KARIS: Good music?

RTD: You see that wall over there? [points]  This music will make you want to run through it.

XAVIER: Gentlemen, start your engines…[raises a brandy snifter filled with motor oil].

YEAH RIGHT: [doles out a set of shots] Just three more hours until kickoff.

DTZM: Let’s get this party started.

—