Scene One

Place: a coffee shop, or some restaurant, around 10 am, sunny weather, 
with a cool breeze, you may want to put a sweater on later on that 
night.  Sitting at a table are Bill and Mike, two guitarists who both 
used to work in a band called Carcass.  Bill is skinny with straight 
blonde hair, Mike is not and frankly we don't care.  The camera zooms in 
on the pair, making sure to knock over the meals of the other patrons in 
the shop.

Bill: Uh uh, no way, forget it.
Mike: Forget what?
Bill: The music, man, I ain't playing that shit anymore.
Mike: What shit?
Bill: (stirring his coffee) you know, what we've been playing all this time.
Mike: Death metal?  Grindcore?
Bill: Yeah, that stuff I wasted my life on for 8 years.  I won't have 
anymore of it, fuckin' forget it, it was an absence of life, a monotonous 
palate, a murky spectrum.... 
Mike: You know what you sound like?
Bill: What?
Mike: You sound like Jeff.  Put the fuckin' theasaurus away.
Bill: Fine (closes book, puts it into his bag).  I'm just tired of 
playing this crap.
Mike: well then, what, what are we going to do then?
Bill: I dunno, just anything but this Death shit we've been catagorized into.
Mike: (puts head on table) well then, what then?  Alternative?
Bill: Not in this fuckin' lifetime.  No way.  That's just as bad.
Mike: Grunge?  
Bill: Same thing, and before you say Punk lemme remind you that the Sex 
Pistols have reunited, and I would not want to risk being anything like that.
Waitress (played by George Bush): More coffee?
Mike: (smiling at the ex-president) sure...
Waitress: (begins sounding like the duke) Any creme with that?
Bill: Is it non-dairy?
Waitress: Non-dairy?  Boy, this country was raised on one thing, meat.  
Meat makes us strong.  Meat makes us dominate all the weak, making us 
superior to all.  Meat is good food, the cow is here to serve us...
Bill: um, that's okay, I like mine black thank you.
Mike: I'm fine (waitress leaves).
Bill: We need to find something to do, something that we can't get 
generalized into right away.  (drinks coffee) I mean think about it, 
we're guitarists, it doesn't matter how heavy our sound is, if we sing 
we're automatically fucking into the Death Metal crowd.
Mike: ooh, I hate that crowd (watches Bill finish off the rest of his 
coffee).  I'm sick and tired of having such a selective audience.
Bill: I know what we need to go in to, something that guarantees success, 
something involving nostalgia...(looks around real fast) Garcon! Coffee! 
(turns back to Mike) Disco!
Mike: Disco?
Bill: Disco!
Waitress: What the hell is a Garcon you commie pinko non-meating pieces 
of limey shits?  (pours coffee, walks away muttering something about a 
single term).
Mike: Disco?
Bill: See, I got the idea from that classic rock project we wanted to do 
a year ago.  The problem was that too many frat people would be listening 
to us, and if that were the case they wouldn't know what the fuck to do 
if we played something offa Heartwork.
Mike: That would be bad.
Bill: See, now, if we played Disco, we could play something everybody 
could get into.
Mike: That would be good.
Bill: I mean who doesn't like Disco?  The Village People are still 
fuckin' touring, it's the closest thing to that techno shit you hear in 
the bars, why not?
Mike: Let's do it.  Right here...
Bill: here...?
Mike: Right now.
Bill: Okay, (pulling out tight polyester bell bottoms), I'll be the 
guitarist and you be the bassist. 
Mike: (pulling out mood rings and shoes with really big fuckin' heels) I 
love you Bill (reaches over and kisses Bill on the lips)
Bill: (a little more than pisses) What the hell was that for? (slaps Mike)
Mike: Oh, sorry, I fergot about that.  Let's go.
Bill: (gets up on table) Okay everybody, listen up, (holds up really 
tight pants) we're about to have a pot luck dinner here.
Mike: (gets up pointing extremely gaudy gold chains at patrons) Any one 
of you fuckin' pricks MOVE and I'll show a disater flick!!!

end of scene, TITLE, credits, music in background: Ever Increasing Circles

(more later, sorry for the spelling errors)

Ron R.


Anyway, the missles are on their way.  It's too late to stop them, we're
not gonna win, somebody must be allowed to survive.  Remove the warheads,
replace with cheese.  Press the button, go ballistic.  The other side may
survive, but just think of the MESS!!!!

the InterContinental Ballistic Cheese.