Rat Race - Working your way up the gutter is harder than it looks
Episode #2 - The Vacation
FADE IN:
ROSCOE'S CUBE AT TASTES LIKE HEAVEN
(ROSCOE is seated at his desk, reading a book titled "Planning The Perfect Vacation." DREW sits on the floor, BRENDA on his desk. They are reading travel brochures, which are strewn all over the office.)
BRENDA:
Ireland. Explore your heritage.
ROSCOE:
I'm from Wisconsin.
DREW:
Amsterdam. Explore your sexual limits.
BRENDA:
All rats come from Ireland. Look it up on-line if you don't believe me.
DREW:
In Amsterdam there are live sex shows and hash bars on every corner.
BRENDA:
Didn't your cousin, Erica, go to Amsterdam?
DREW:
Yeah, for Spring Break her senior year.
BRENDA:
Didn't she end up becoming a hooker?
DREW:
I think her job title was Escort.
BRENDA:
Didn't your uncle have to fly over there and scrape her out of some germ-infested hovel littered with potheads and vagrants?
DREW:
You're taking all the glamour out of travel.
BRENDA:
Didn't she end up in rehab for ten months? In Grand Rapids, Michigan?
DREW:
(Dropping Amsterdam brochure)
Oooh. I forgot about Grand Rapids. Never mind, Roscoe. You don't want to go to Amsterdam.
ROSCOE:
I'm not going to Amsterdam.
BRENDA:
Good.
ROSCOE:
And I'm not going to Ireland.
DREW:
(Sticking his tongue out at BRENDA)
Nnnyahhh.
ROSCOE:
I'm going camping with Artie and his family.
DREW:
What?
ROSCOE:
And I'm going to Las Vegas with Stu.
BRENDA:
Oh, god.
ROSCOE:
Yep. For once in my life I am finally making a decision.
BRENDA:
(Pretending to look up Decision in dictionary)
"Decision: Shit-awful mistake you regret for the rest of your miserable life." You are definitely making a very big decision here.
DREW:
Camping? With Artie? Doesn't he have about six hundred kids?
ROSCOE:
I know.
BRENDA:
Vegas? With Stu? Doesn't he have about six hundred venereal diseases?
ROSCOE:
I know.
JONAS:
(Walking into cube with a steaming coffee mug that says, "Be Proactive!" on it)
Hi team. Having a start-up meeting?
DREW:
We are mapping a route to success through collaborative communication.
BRENDA:
(Still flipping through Ireland brochure)
We wanted to think outside the box, so we implemented a breakout session and formulated a task force whose primary objective is to spearhead a creative agenda replete with cutting edge ideas tempered by the flame of forward thinking.
JONAS:
Excellent! Excellent! Let me know if you need any donuts.
(Silence while JONAS looks around. Takes a nervous sip from coffee, smiles, looks around once more and exits.)
DREW:
How much coffee do you think he drinks in a day?
BRENDA:
How many donuts does he eat in a day?
ROSCOE:
How come he never even asks what we're working on?
DREW:
We're in advertising. Who cares what we're working on?
BRENDA:
So why are you taking two vacations, each brimming with looming disaster?
ROSCOE:
Like I said, I made the decision to...
DREW:
Artie asked you to go with him because you couldn't make up your mind again.
ROSCOE:
Well, he did ask me, but...
BRENDA:
Then Stu got wind of your Leave It To Beaver vacation plans and told you to go to Vegas with him.
ROSCOE:
I wouldn't really say that he told me. It's more like he...
DREW:
And then decision time came and you couldn't choose. So now you're stuck with not just one shitty vacation, but two.
BRENDA:
You'll get Lyme Disease from the camping trip...
DREW:
And a black eye in Vegas from some cross-dressing lounge singer.
ROSCOE:
(Admitting defeat)
Can I just stay here, instead?
BRENDA:
Jesus, don't be ridiculous. Vacation is supposed to be an escape. You're supposed to get away from the daily grind of work.
ROSCOE:
But we don't do anything here.
BRENDA & DREW:
(Talking over one another)
That's true. We really don't. You've got a good point there.
WILLARD:
(Sticking his head over the cube wall)
Lunch time!
BRENDA & DREW & ROSCOE:
Later.
(Overhead shot of the maze-like office shows rats scrambling toward all of the exits.)
INT: O'DONLAN'S PUB
ARTIE, ROSCOE and STU are seated at the bar, eating lunch. As usual, ROSCOE is sitting between his two friends.
LOU:
It's getting to be vacation time, isn't it boys?
ARTIE:
Sure is, Lou. Looking forward to a little peace and quiet in the great outdoors, eh Roscoe?
ROSCOE:
Yep.
STU:
Definitely looking for a piece. Don't care if she's quiet or not, eh Rossy?
ROSCOE:
Yep.
ARTIE:
The kids are really excited you're coming with us on the camping trip.
ROSCOE:
It was really great of you to invite me.
ARTIE:
(Pulling out a spreadsheet from briefcase and unfolding it across food)
I had a few minutes to kill at work so I created an activities itinerary we can follow in order to maximize our time. Oh, and I have a supply list for you here.
(Pulls out laminated note card)
The card has been laminated in case you spill anything on it or in case one of the kids vomits on it. You'll note here on the supply list placard that there is a subset of information highlighted by a red box and titled Warning, in all caps, 14 point. Some of the children have a few minor allergies and this subset list points out the products to avoid. In case any of the items in the subset are your chosen brand of toiletry, I have also compiled an alternative selections menu to help you find effective and economical replacements. For example, Sure deodorant contains Dipropylene Glycol, which gives Omar pink eye when temperatures rise above 67 degrees Fahrenheit. Here is a metric conversion table so you can see what that is in Celsius. Suave deodorant, on the other hand, contains PPG-14 Butyl Ether, which doesn't irritate little Omar, but little Abby enjoys the taste of it. That is why Abby will be sleeping in tent 1D, which is at the opposite end of the compound from you, as illustrated in the sleeping diagram module I e-mailed you last Tuesday. That way you won't wake up with the unpleasant, albeit totally harmless, predicament of Abby licking your armpits.
ROSCOE:
My armpits?
ARTIE:
She doesn't care for Suave Al Fresco. She prefers the flavor of it when it is actually on someone.
(Dumps pile of information onto ROSCOE)
So that should do it. If there are any updates, just check the website I've created for the trip: www.artiefamilycamp.com. As I'm sure you've already noticed, the site contains weather reports -- updated hourly -- projected pollen counts, .wav files of anticipated night time woodland sounds and an emergency medical tips page for dealing with bee stings, tick infestation, a drop of more than 78 points in the NASDAQ, everything you need for a nice relaxing respite in God's Country.
ROSCOE:
Uh, thanks Artie.
(STU opens a book of matches from the bar and pulls a pen out of his pocket. Scribbling on matchbook as he speaks.)
STU:
I almost forgot, Roscoe. Here is an itinerary spread sheet for our three nights in Vegas. What will happen, basically, is a repetition of these events that should continue until we're broke, unconscious or dead.
(Hands matchbook to ROSCOE, who reads the list: Activity List -- Gamble. Drink. Sex with hooker. Repeat.)
STU:
Oh, and I almost forgot. I put together a supply list for you as well. It's fairly straightforward.
(ROSCOE looks at supply list STU has written on bar napkin: Things to Bring To Vegas: 1. Cash 2. Condoms 3. Penicillin.)
STU:
If there are any updates before our scheduled departure time, you can access that information at the website I constructed for our trip: www.blowjobsandgamblingtilyoupuke.com.
417B:
(Seated in his regular bar stool)
Vacations are for pussies!
ROSCOE:
No extra fingers today? No digestive tract made from rubber tubing? No experimental salve that causes your nipples to burst into flame?
417B:
I'll have you know I received a healthy settlement for that little flaming nipple incident.
ARTIE:
How much?
(417B writes a figure down on a bar napkin and slides it over to ARTIE. STU looks over at it.)
STU:
Are you shitting me? Why are you still working as an experimental lab rat if you have that kind of money?
417B:
It's who I am. It's a part of my identity.
ARTIE:
Identity? You changed your name to 417B so the laboratories could find your file more easily. Your fingerprints were eaten away by experimental hand cream. Your vocal chords were replaced with rubber bands, and your ears were reconstructed with skin taken from your ass. What identity do you have left?
417B:
You're just jealous because you little pinheads have to plot and plan your vacations to some butt-hideous tourist trap, and all I have to do is kick back and go on a virtual vacation.
ROSCOE:
What are you talking about?
417B:
Deluden. The dream drug.
ARTIE:
Huh?
STU:
I read about this in the Journal of American Medicine.
ROSCOE:
What? Stuart Ripley, Chicago's foremost psychologist actually reads the trade journals?
STU:
My two o'clock committed suicide, so I had a little time to kill. This drug allows people to control their hallucinations, to create their own virtual vacation without ever leaving home. More accurately, without ever leaving the office. It's still in the early experimental stages.
ROSCOE:
417B, are you on it right now?
417B:
Oh yeah.
ARTIE:
Are you hallucinating right now?
417B:
Oh yeah.
STU:
What do you see?
417B:
(Holding up a lit lighter and swaying back and forth as he sings)
It seems to me, you lived your life like a candle in the wind.
STU:
That's one of the side effects. Sooner or later, everyone on this drug thinks they're at an Elton John concert.
ARTIE:
(Holding his hand to his face in horror)
Dear god.
ROSCOE:
And to think I felt sorry for him when they gave him ass ears.
STU:
There's another weird side effect I read about. I wonder if it's true.
(STU walks over to juke box, puts in coin and makes selection after looking for a particular song. As he walks back to his bar stool, Hot Blooded by Foreigner starts playing.)
417B:
Nooo!!! God noooo!!!
417B begins clutching himself in pain and terror. He loses control and starts running around the bar, screaming at the top of his lungs.
Help me Elton!
(Passes out)
STU:
According to the Journal he'll be up in a few minutes. Won't remember a thing except the words to "I'm Still Standing." I'll see you Tuesday, Rossy. If you survive the weekend in the wilderness, it's off to the desert for the time of your life.
ARTIE:
Don't worry about survival, Roscoe We have a full emergency plan which I will outline in the car on the way to the campground.
ROSCOE:
I wonder what the weather is like in Amsterdam.
EXT: ARTIE'S FRONT PORCH
(ROSCOE, wearing backpack, is walking up to the front door of ARTIE'S house. Soft instrumental music is playing. ROSCOE has a carefree bounce in his step as he comes up the walk.)
INT: ARTIE'S HOUSE
(The front door is in center of the shot. Music is industrial and deafening. Kids are screaming and flying everywhere.)
EXT: ARTIE'S FRONT PORCH
(ROSCOE is just about to ring the doorbell and then stops to adjust his backpack. Soft music still playing.)
INT: ARTIE'S HOUSE
(Same shot. Same industrial music. Same chaos.)
EXT: ARTIE'S FRONT PORCH
(ROSCOE rings the doorbell. Soft music still playing.)
INT: ARTIE'S HOUSE
(In response to the doorbell, industrial music stops with the sound of a needle scraping across a record. Kids freeze immediately. All eyes on the door.)
EXT: ARTIE'S FRONT PORCH
(ROSCOE looks at his reflection in brass door knocker. Picks teeth and makes sucking sound. Soft music still playing.)
INT: ARTIE'S HOUSE
ARTIE:
(with bullhorn and speaking in a very calm manner)
Alright. Fall in place. Follow the drill just like we planned.
RITA:
(Holding up a large sign, like a pit crew member holding up a sign to the passing cars. The sign says: Armbands)
Quickly but confidently, folks. Quickly but confidently.
ARTIE:
(Through megaphone as children put on armbands)
Left arm, boys and girls. Left arm.
EXT: ARTIE'S FRONT PORCH
(ROSCOE adjusting straps on his backpack again. Soft music is still playing. ROSCOE is just about to ring the doorbell a second time when ARTIE opens the door. Soft music stops. ROSCOE walks in and sees dozens of orderly kids all lined up and looking anxiously at him. After a few seconds of silent observation, ROSCOE leans in to read one of the kids' armbands -- Name: Omar Age: 3.25 Weight: 79 grams Hobbies: model rocketry, skateboarding Allergies: Dipropylene Glycol. ROSCOE looks up at ARTIE and RITA with a mildly inquisitive look on his face.)
RITA:
(Quickly adjusting a crooked armband)
To help you keep track of who's who.
ROSCOE:
(Reading another armband aloud)
I see little Charlotte weighs 67 grams, she enjoys jump rope and surfing the net, and she is allergic to bread molds, whitefish and daylight savings time.
(ROSCOE stands up straight, a big smile on his face, and he claps his hands together to say in a very excited voice.)
Who's ready to go camping?!
(Kids explode in joyous chaos, instantly tackling a terrified ROSCOE and pulling him out of the camera shot. Loud industrial music comes back on.)
ARTIE:
(Looking at RITA calmly and talking through bullhorn)
I'll start the van.
RITA:
(Taking the bullhorn from ARTIE so she can speak, also calmly)
I'll grab the pudding packs.
(They exit in opposite directions, leaving a scene of kids running and screaming everywhere.)
INT: STU'S CONDO
(Hallway outside STU's condo door. ROSCOE rings doorbell and door immediately flies open. The same industrial music heard at ARTIE'S house is blaring. ROSCOE falls down in terror, anticipating an attack from hordes of kids. STU has remote control for the CD player in his hand and he clicks off the music. Throws remote off camera and enters hallway, looking down at ROSCOE who is out of camera shot.)
STU:
Jesus Christ, Rossy. I think you'd better make an appointment to see me. You're a mess.
(STU continues walking off camera. One or two seconds pause with no one in the shot.)
STU:
Come on!
(ROSCOE'S head pops up. A terrified look on his face as he looks around, brushing himself off. He jumps at an imagined sound, looks around and walks off camera.)
INT: STU'S STATION WAGON
(ROSCOE is in the wayback of the station wagon, kids crawling all over him. There is a car top carrier holding all the stuff. Raffi music is playing in the car.)
JULIE (little girl rat):
I don't want to hear Raffi anymore. I want to hear the theme from Judy and the Beast.
VINCENT (little boy rat):
It's Beauty and the Beast, not Judy and the Beast. What a tool.
JULIE:
Dad! Vincent called me a tool!
ARTIE:
(Not looking up from GPS monitor)
Vincent, don't refer to your sibling as a tool. It's uncultured, offensive and it makes us all look bad.
(To RITA, who is driving)
Honey, given the added wind resistance of the items on the car top carrier, we will likely need to fuel up at exit 117 instead of exit 123.
RITA:
I anticipated that earlier, so I adjusted the kids' snack schedule. What time is it now?
ARTIE:
(Looking at wristwatch)
It is 2:31 and 50 seconds on my mark. Mark. Close enough, don't you think?
RITA:
Really? Do you think so?
ARTIE:
What the heck. We're on vacation. What's a few minutes here or there?
RITA:
Well, alright. Let's go for it!
ARTIE:
Life on the edge, baby.
RITA:
Oooh, I love it when you get whimsical and carefree like this. It's scary, but it's exciting, too!
(ARTIE reaches into duffel bag and pulls out a handful of snack-paks. Pulls bullhorn out and turns around to kids in the back.)
ARTIE:
Snack time.
(Scene cuts to ROSCOE, in the wayback, who is now overrun by kids scrambling to get their snack-paks.)
BEN:
Hey Roscoe, don't you want a snack-pak?
ROSCOE:
No. No thanks.
LORETTA:
Can I have yours?
ROSCOE:
Yeah. Yeah sure. Go ahead.
PENELOPE:
Pig!
LORETTA:
Bite me!
(They scramble over ROSCOE and towards the front of the car where ARTIE is handing out snack-paks. Shot is of just ROSCOE, staring blankly out back window. Suddenly the car jolts, causing ROSCOE to hit his head on the ceiling. Quick cut to show one or two bags flying off the top of the car from the bump.)
RITA:
Pothole. Nothing to worry about.
(Cut back to ROSCOE who is still sitting alone. He hears a sniffing sound and looks around before lifting up his arm to find little ABBY sniffing his armpit.)
ROSCOE:
You must be Abby.
(ABBY smiles and raises her eyebrows a few times. Suddenly the car swerves violently as a car honks and whizzes by.)
RITA:
Road rage mutant. Nothing to worry about.
INT: STU'S CORVETTE
(ROSCOE and STU are in the car. STU is smoking and listening to Candy-O by The Cars.)
STU:
(Yelling at car he has just passed, still laying on the horn)
Fucking turtle! Use the petal on the right, for Chrissakes! The petal on the right! Jesus, I can't believe how slow some of these idiots drive.
(ROSCOE has a confused look on his face, as though he might recognize the car they just passed.)
STU:
Forget about that campfire singalong shit. You're on a real vacation now.
ROSCOE:
How far away are we?
STU:
Beats the shit out of me. We're making great time, though.
ROSCOE:
Until we get pulled over for traveling at the speed of sound.
STU:
Live a little, buddy. You're on vacation. Life on the edge! Besides, the less time we spend on the road, the less chance we have of getting pulled over.
ROSCOE:
That's a well thought out philosophy.
STU:
(Punching the gas and throwing ROSCOE back in his seat)
Viva, Las Vegas!
EXT: UNLOADING ARTIE'S CAR AT THE CAMPGROUND
(Pulling into campground. Aerial shot of car as four doors swing open and a steady stream of kids pours out from all of them. ROSCOE is trying to get out of wayback, which won't open.)
ARTIE:
Hmmh. Rita, make a note to have the wayback door looked at when we return home.
RITA:
(Pulling out a Franklin Planner and writing)
Done.
ARTIE:
Hang on buddy. I'll try the window and you can crawl out.
(ARTIE goes back into driver's seat. Shot of ROSCOE sitting foolishly in wayback. ARTIE is in driver's seat. Electronic rear window comes down part way and ROSCOE starts to crawl through, anticipating the window continuing to open. Window starts back up. ROSCOE jumps back into wayback, escaping the killer window.)
ARTIE:
(Delivering line without seeing what happened)
All set.
(Turns to get something off front seat and sees ROSCOE still in the car)
What are you doing?
ROSCOE:
Narrowly escaping death.
ARTIE:
Let's try that again.
(ARTIE lowers window. ROSCOE starts to climb out. Window comes back up again. ROSCOE jumps back. Window goes back down. ROSCOE tries again. Window comes up. After several attempts at the window, which seems to react to any movement by ROSCOE, ROSCOE sits back in seat and crosses arms, sarcastically moving a finger to get the window to react.)
ROSCOE:
Artie?
ARTIE:
Yeah, buddy?
ROSCOE:
You can stop now.
ARTIE:
Stop?
ROSCOE:
Yes. Stop. I'll crawl over the seat.
ARTIE:
You got it.
(Sticking head out of car window to speak to RITA)
Honey, make a note to have the back window checked when we return home.
RITA: (O.C)
Done.
(ROSCOE falls over seat back and out of shot.)
ARTIE:
Okay. Time to unpack. Everyone pull out their campground diagram and their assignment sheets.
(Kids all pull out info and scramble about in organized chaos while ROSCOE stands in the middle of it, not sure what to do. Two children walk up to ARTIE with concerned looks on their faces.)
NICOLE:
Our assignments are missing.
ARTIE:
Missing?
STEPHEN:
Mom thinks the packs might have fallen off the car during the trip.
ARTIE:
Okay. Let's do an inventory assessment and re-evaluate our goals and objectives. Roscoe, just sit back and relax. You're on vacation. This minor snag shouldn't affect our timeline much. With a little nip and tuck on the old schedule we should have camp set up in, oh, no more than six hours.
(Grabbing bullhorn and walking O.C.)
Okay kids, follow your diagrams. Brett, stop doing that to your sister.
INT: UNPACKING IN VEGAS
(Hallway of hotel where STU and ROSCOE are staying. ROSCOE is holding a sizable suitcase, now decorated with campground bumper stickers. STU has a Playboy gym bag. STU opens the door and throws gym bag into the room, which we don't see. STU grabs ROSCOE'S bag and throws it in also. Something off camera breaks when it is hit by ROSCOE'S luggage. STU slams the door and claps his hands, the two of them still standing in the hallway. STU walks off shot as he delivers line.)
STU:
We're unpacked. Let's hit the bar.
(ROSCOE looks back at door, then in direction STU left. Looks back at door again.)
STU: (O.C.)
Let's go, Rossy. We don't want to miss the opening act.
(ROSCOE looks in STU's direction, back at the door, and then follows STU out of the shot. After a second of dead air, ROSCOE comes back into the shot, tentatively heading to the door.)
STU: (O.C.)
Rossy!
(ROSCOE quickly turns around and follows STU's voice.)
EXT: THE CAMPFIRE
(As ROSCOE and ARTIE sit by the fire, RITA leads the kids in a song that rivals the Mormon Tabernacle Choir in quality. RITA is up on a ladder, like a half-time conductor, conducting with a baton that is a branch with a hot dog on the end of it. ROSCOE is absolutely amazed by the talent.)
ARTIE:
Better kids, better. Tenors, you need a touch more inflection, like you just did with the Mendelssohn Oratorio. Roscoe, anything in particular you would like to hear before the kids cut loose with their Gershwin medley?
ROSCOE:
Jesus Christ, Artie. They're unbelievable.
ARTIE:
Credit goes to Rita on this one. Her Lotus seminar in Cleveland was canceled, so she spent the weekend teaching the kids a few little singalongs.
RITA:
(Taking bite of hot dog on baton and then tapping baton)
Okay kids, here's the surprise for Daddy. Do it just like we practiced at the rest stop when he and Roscoe were in the bathroom. Ready? One, two...
(Kids break into a riotous gospel number with tambourines and dancing and a Coco Taylor-type solo. Close-up shot of ROSCOE, who is dumbfounded. When close-up pans back, he is watching a show in Vegas.)
INT: THE NIGHTCLUB
(We see the same shot of ROSCOE from previous scene. Panning back he is now at a nightclub in Las Vegas, listening to the exact same song being performed on stage by glitzy Vegas entertainers.)
STU:
Not bad, eh Rossy?
(Pan back to see ROSCOE and STU sitting at the bar, watching the entertainment.)
STU:
Bet you never heard anything like this before.
ROSCOE:
Actually, I just heard a...
STU:
Vegas, baby! Ain't this the life?
(Cross-dressing waitress, who does not look like a male, walks by.)
STU:
Hey honey, two more scotch and sodas. And here's a little something extra if you show me your tits.
WAITRESS:
(In a deep, husky voice as he/she continues walking by without ever looking at STU)
Blow me, asshole.
STU:
Wow! I love this town! You never know what's gonna happen next. You think we'd ever get to see a he/she back home at O'Donlan's?
ROSCOE:
Would we want to?
STU:
I could live here. I could fuckin live here. This town is a psychologist's wet dream. Shit, it's almost as screwed up as L.A.
(Crowd claps for end of gospel song and the lights dim. Scene cuts back to the stage where EMCEE comes out.)
EMCEE:
(Little old Jewish rat with combover)
Welcome ladies and germs.
(Rimshot)
I just flew in from the Catskills and boy are my arms tired.
(Rimshot. Silence. EMCEE taps microphone)
Hello? Is this thing on?
FEMALE AUDIENCE: (O.C.)
You suck!
EMCEE:
(Looking in direction of the comment)
Mother, so glad you could make it out to the show. Wow, lady are you fat. Who's your friend in the chair next to you? Oh, it's your ass.
(Rimshot)
But seriously, lady. That's a lovely housecoat you're wearing. I just hope the house doesn't get chilly without it.
(Rimshot. Cut back to STU and ROSCOE.)
STU:
Housecoat! Holy shit this guy is killing me!
(STU pounds another drink. Slaps ROSCOE on the back, knocking him off the bar stool. Looks around for waitress.)
STU:
Hey, beer wench! Drinky, drinky. And how about a nipple for my sissy friend here?
Drink up you pussy! Wow, look at that!
(Points toward stage)
EXT: THE CAMPFIRE, ACT II
(Children are bowing on the makeshift stage by the campfire. They are dressed in Shakespearean costumes, having just finished their performance of King Lear. RITA is on stage with clipboard in hand, taking a bow as director along with the kids.)
ARTIE:
Bravo! Bravo! Not a bad production of King Lear, eh Roscoe?
ROSCOE:
(Clapping, with a stunned look on his face)
No. Not bad at all.
ARTIE:
I thought Abby was a bit one dimensional as Cordelia, but I think your deodorant made her groggy. Not bad, though. Not bad at all. Tomorrow they're doing Midsummer Night's Dream. Wait until you see little Omar as Puck. I think he's a natural thespian. Oh wait. There's one more surprise.
(Points to stage)
INT: THE RAT PACK
EMCEE is still on stage, covered in flop sweat and wiping his brow. Room is silent.
EMCEE:
So I said to him, 'Doc, if I could walk that way, I wouldn't need the talcum powder.'
(Rimshot. Silence. Nervously takes a sip of water)
Hey Freddy. Somebody put water in my vodka
(Rimshot. Silence)
Jesus, it's so quiet up here you could hear a career drop.
(Looks stage left)
Freddy, I'm dying up here.
(Back to audience)
I'd love to stay all night and chat with you but my doctor says my diet is too high in humiliation and I need to cut back. Our next act comes to you direct from the bar of the Sands Hotel. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Dean Martin
(Loud applause as a rat who looks like DEAN MARTIN comes out, drink and cigarette in hand. This scene is a spoof of legendary Sands shows performed by the Rat Pack during the filming of Oceans 11.)
DEAN:
(Standing at microphone and looking into audience)
How did all these people get in my room?
(Laughter, music playing throughout. Walks up to conductor and gargles with drink)
Maestro, how long have I been on?
(Laughter)
STU:
(As SAMMY DAVIS JR., PETER LAWFORD and JOEY BISHOP rats come on with their pants draped over their arms, wearing tuxedo jackets and boxer shorts)
Where are you gonna find high-end entertainment like this, huh? Not in some lousy campground, I'll tell you that. Hey, hey! Here he comes! The Chairman of The Board!
(Whistles and claps as FRANK SINATRA comes out pushing bar cart amid wild applause)
By the way, what did you do for fun at the campground?
ROSCOE:
Oh, the kids slapped together a little skit for us, and they sang a couple of songs.
STU:
Kumbaya shit? Stuff like that?
ROSCOE:
More or less.
STU:
That's sweet. It really is. But it's no Sammy Davis Jr. You know what I'm saying?
SAMMY:
(To FRANK)
Ouch, babe. I didn't know she was your sister.
FRANK SINATRA:
(Doing his James Cagney impression)
You dirty rat.
(PETER slaps SAMMY on the back, knocking his false eye out and into DEAN'S drink. DEAN holds up the glass.)
DEAN:
Here's looking at you, kid.
(Takes a drink as crowd goes crazy)
STU:
(Visibly drunk)
You tell 'em Dino! Woo-hoo! The night is just getting started Rossy. Hey, hey, don't look now but I think that waitress is giving me the eye.
(Cross-dressing waitress is picking up drinks at bar, looks up to see STU leering and gives him the finger.)
ROSCOE:
Stu, you know she's a...
STU:
I think I'm in love.
EXT: THE CAMPFIRE
ARTIE:
That about wraps up the night's festivities. Roscoe, I'm really sorry about losing your tent and sleeping bag on the highway. I think the alternative arrangements we have made should be just fine
INT: INSIDE THE TENT
(Five kids in the sleeping bag with ROSCOE. ROSCOE is in the middle and all the kids are staring at him, scared of the night. A twig snaps outside and all the kids scream, running over ROSCOE and down into the bottom of the sleeping bag.)
ROSCOE:
That better be a cup of warm tea somebody spilled down there.
OMAR:
(From inside the sleeping bag)
Sorry.
ALL OTHER KIDS:
(Screaming)
Pee-pee! Pee-pee!
(Kids come running out of the sleeping bag, out of the tent and into the night. Silence. A twig snaps in the silence.)
ROSCOE:
(Looking at his wristwatch)
This shouldn't be long.
(Kids come screaming back into the tent, running everywhere and down back into the bottom of the sleeping bag.)
What happened?
KIDS:
(From inside the sleeping bag)
Monster!
ROSCOE:
A monster?
KIDS:
(Still inside the sleeping bag)
Huge fangs. Green fur. Giant horns. And there was a trail of white smoke behind it.
EXT: RITA COMING FROM THE OUTHOUSE
RITA has a green make-up mask on, curlers in her hair and is carrying a roll of toilet paper from the outhouse, the paper streaming behind her. She trips over something.
RITA:
Shit!
INT: THE TENT
ROSCOE:
You saw it? You actually saw a monster that looked like that?
ALEX:
(Still inside the sleeping bag)
Omar said he saw it.
OMAR:
No I didn't!
PENELOPE:
Yes you did.
ALL KIDS:
(fighting inside sleeping bag)
No I didn't, you retard! Don't call me names! Wait til Dad finds out you lied about the monster. You're gonna get it! Shut up! Ummmhh, you're gonna get it. Wait til Dad finds out you told me to shut up!
ROSCOE:
Hey!
(Kids fall silent)
You kids sing like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
KIDS:
Yeah.
ROSCOE:
You perform Shakespeare like Broadway veterans.
KIDS:
Yeah.
ROSCOE:
Arite Jr. built a combustion engine out of popsicle sticks and apple butter.
KIDS:
Yeah.
ROSCOE:
And you're afraid of a twig snapping in the forest?
KIDS:
Yeah.
ROSCOE:
How is that possible?
OMAR:
(Sticking his head out of the sleeping bag and looking at ROSCOE)
We're just kids. What do you expect?
(Crawls back into sleeping bag)
ROSCOE:
(Close-up of ROSCOE as he rolls over and closes his eyes)
Okay, let's try to get some sleep here.
INT: THE VEGAS HOTEL ROOM
(ROSCOE is still sleeping. Shot doesn't give away the fact that he is now sleeping in Vegas hotel room.)
STU:
(Out of the shot, and in the throes of getting a blowjob, is STU. Shot remains on ROSCOE'S face throughout.)
Oh yeah.
(ROSCOE wakes up)
Right there. Right there. Ouch! Heh-heh, watch the teeth, baby. Go all the way down the...Oh yeah, yeah. That's it. That's it right there. Oh Lordy, here we go. Here we go. Who's your daddy? Who's your daddy. I am! I am!
(ROSCOE looks disgusted as we hear STU's heavy breathing afterwards)
You were wonderful. How much do I owe you?
WAITRESS:
(Cross-dresser from the bar)
Fifty.
(ROSCOE'S eyes get big)
STU:
How much more if you stay and cuddle?
WAITRESS:
My break is over. Shit, where are my fucking high heels?
(Sound of rustling and then walking across the room)
STU:
Can I call you?
WAITRESS:
Fuck off.
(Door slams. ROSCOE rolls over and shot moves to him looking at STU, who has a sheepish grin on his face.)
STU:
Heh-heh. When in Rome...
(ROSCOE gets up, disgusted, and heads for the door.)
ROSCOE:
She has to work. She doesn't have time for you. You stay away from her! We have something special!
INT: THE HOTEL BAR
(ROSCOE walks in and sits at the bar.)
BARTENDER:
What'll it be, sir?
ROSCOE:
7-Up.
BARTENDER:
Yes sir.
(ROSCOE turns around and a velvety lounge singer is singing Billie Holliday's Lover Man. She catches ROSCOE'S eye and the shot goes back and forth, showing that the two are interested in one another. BARTENDER brings drink and notices the chemistry.)
BARTENDER:
I think she likes you, sir.
ROSCOE:
Yeah?
Singer finishes song and the few remaining people clap, including ROSCOE. Singer comes over to the bar and sits a few seats from ROSCOE.
BARTENDER:
Another great set, Summer.
SUMMER:
Thanks, Charlie. Could I have a 7-Up, please?
BARTENDER:
That seems to be a popular drink tonight.
(Nods in ROSCOE'S direction)
ROSCOE:
Hi.
SUMMER:
Hi.
ROSCOE:
(Staring at her chest)
Nice set.
SUMMER:
Thanks, I think.
ROSCOE:
Songs. Nice songs. Not your...not that they aren't nice...I mean...
SUMMER:
(Putting her hand out to shake)
Leslie Dawkins.
ROSCOE:
Roscoe Taylor. I thought your name was Summer.
SUMMER:
Stage name. Leslie is the name I grew up with. Before I moved out here.
ROSCOE:
Where's home?
SUMMER:
Tinley Park. It's a...
ROSCOE:
Right outside Chicago! I'm from Chicago.
SUMMER:
Get out!
ROSCOE:
Two blocks from Wrigley Field.
SUMMER:
No wonder I noticed you. I can spot that Midwestern charm a mile away.
ROSCOE:
Do you have to go on for another set? Of songs?
SUMMER:
All done for the night. Now all I have left to do is check on my grandmother, get a bite to eat and curl up with a good book. Maybe I'll even make it past page seven before I fall asleep. You know, I've been out here for four years and I still can't handle staying up half the night.
ROSCOE:
It's that Midwestern common sense.
SUMMER:
You're probably right.
ROSCOE:
Would you like to get a bite to eat? I mean, I know you'd like to get a bite to eat because you already said you were going to get a bite to eat, but would you like to get a bite to eat with...me?
SUMMER:
I'd love to.
ROSCOE:
Charlie, what do I owe you for these two pops here?
SUMMER:
There's a Midwest word for you. Everyone out here calls it soda.
ROSCOE:
But it's pop, right? It pops when you open it. Doesn't that make more sense?
SUMMER:
Nothing in Vegas makes sense.
BARTENDER:
The "pops" are on me. You two go have a nice time.
SUMMER:
See you tomorrow, Charlie.
(SUMMER gets up from her chair and stretches in a manly way. ROSCOE notices this masculinity and suddenly hears DREW's voice, and other voices, in his head.)
DREW:
You're going to get a black eye from some cross-dressing lounge singer.
STU:
(Also in ROSCOE'S head)
Heh-heh. When in Rome...
DREW:
(Also in ROSCOE'S head)
Cross-dressing lounge singer.
STU:
(Also in ROSCOE'S head)
Can I call you?
WAITRESS:
(Also in ROSCOE'S head)
Fuck off.
DREW:
(Also in ROSCOE'S head)
Cross-dressing lounge singer.
SUMMER:
"Come on, Roscoe. I'm so hungry I could eat an ox.
ROSCOE:
Uh...
SUMMER:
What is it?
ROSCOE:
Uh...
SUMMER:
Don't worry. I won't bite you.
STU:
(Again in ROSCOE'S head)
Watch the teeth, baby.
ROSCOE:
(To SUMMER)
You're a man, aren't you!?
SUMMER:
What?
ROSCOE:
Fess up, buddy. You're a guy. You're sporting a package under there aren't you?
(Grabs SUMMER's crotch)
SUMMER:
What the...
(Punches ROSCOE once, knocking him out cold)
Freak!
INT: ROSCOE'S OFFICE
ROSCOE is sitting at the computer with sunglasses on. DREW and BRENDA saunter in. BRENDA lifts up ROSCOE'S sunglasses to get a look at his black eye.
BRENDA:
Boy, she's a beauty.
DREW:
The question is, was he a beauty?
BRENDA:
Looks like you had yourself one hell of a vacation.
DREW:
Another brilliant decision by our most creative mind. How do you do it, Roscoe?
BRENDA:
This never would have happened if you had gone to Ireland.
DREW:
Yeah. Instead he would have had the shit kicked out of him by a bunch of drunk Irish rats. He should have gone to Amsterdam.
BRENDA:
Great idea. Send him into a hash house where he can pick up social diseases and drug addictions all at once.
DREW:
What's so terrible about that?
BRENDA:
You're an idiot. Where do I begin telling you what's wrong with that?
ROSCOE:
I'm trying to concentrate here.
DREW:
On what?
ROSCOE:
On my vacation.
BRENDA:
You just had one.
DREW:
You just had two.
BRENDA:
Not that you had fun on either one of them. Lord only knows why you would want to dwell on such tragedy in your life.
ROSCOE:
Not this vacation. The next one.
DREW:
Your next vacation is six months away.
ROSCOE:
I know.
BRENDA:
You're planning your vacation six months in advance?
DREW:
No, he's just worrying about his vacation six months in advance.
BRENDA:
Atta boy. That's the Roscoe we all know and love.
JONAS:
(Walking into ROSCOE'S cube with coffee mug and donut)
Great news, team! I just received the agenda for this year's department retreat. Are you ready for this? Three days of camping in the great outdoors followed by three fabulous nights in Las Vegas!
ROSCOE'S head drops onto desk.
END OF SHOW
