Everybody hurts… in this apartment.

A couple walks into an unfurnished apartment filled with boxes.

Billy: I really think we made the right decision. Look at how high the ceilings are!

Jill: I know and all that light! Our last place was like a coffin compared to this!

They stop in front of a glassed cabinet.

Billy: That cabinet is kind of strange though. What did they keep in there?

Jill: I don’t know! It almost looks like a display for Emmy awards or something!

Billy: Oh well! Maybe we could use it as mini-bar.

Jill: Whatever. Want to start unpacking some of these boxes?

Billy: Sure.  He takes his phone out. Here, let’s listen to some tunes. Happy Shiny People by REM comes on.

Jill: Hey, I haven’t heard this in a while!

Billy: Yeah, I didn’t even know I had this on here!

Three months later.

Jill is in the bedroom listening to Everybody Hurts by REM. Billy walks in and Jill lowers the volume of the music.

Billy: Are you ok, honey?

Jill: I’m fine. Why?

Billy: I don’t know, it’s such a sad song.

Jill: Yeah but it’s so great. I’ve really been rediscovering this band.

Billy: They were pretty good I guess. I’ve always liked that song… Losing my reflection?

Jill: Religion! It’s Losing my religion!

Billy: Right. Anyway, I’m heading out, you need anything?

Jill: No, I’m good, thanks.

Billy exits the apartment and runs into the neighbour in the hall.

Billy: Oh hey, Mark!

Mark: Hey Billy! I see, well more like I hear, that REM is back and louder than ever!

Billy: What do you mean “back” ?

Mark: A couple lived in your apartment and the guy was obsessed with REM! He’d listen to them non stop!

Billy: Really?

Mark: Totally! I know all their songs by heart now!

Billy: That’s weird. My girlfriend just got into them.

Mark: Oh well, take it easy bro!

Two months later.

Billy enters the apartment and Jill is waiting for him with a bag.

Billy: Woah Jill, what’s going on?

Jill: Of course you ask me that. I’ve just been talking about it for the last six weeks!

Billy: What?

Jill: The REM reunion tour in South America!

Billy: Yeah so what?

Jill: I’m going, Billy. I can’t miss it.

Billy: So you’re leaving to go to a concert?

Jill: I quit my job. I’m going to be following them for the next year and a half.

Billy: How are you going to live?

Jill: I’ll figure it out. All I need is the music.

Billy: You’ve gone crazy. You’re bat shit crazy now.

Jill: Whatever. You wouldn’t understand. Goodbye Billy.

Jill walks out. Billy just stand there in complete shock.

Billy: That’s insane. Holy shit. He walks over to the couch and lies down. He closes is eyes.

Six hours later.

Billy wakes up screaming. He was having a bad dream. The apartment is completely dark. He hears something coming from the glass cabinet. He slowly gets up from the couch and walks over to it. He puts his ear against the glass. He faintly hears Man on the Moon by REM. He walks away from it.

Billy: Okay. I’m just tired. I’m going to go to bed and everything will be normal in the morning.

Six hours later.

Billy is awoken by a loud banging. He stumbles over to the front door while rubbing his eyes and yawning. He opens the door and sees the landlord.

Jim: Good morning Billy! Sorry to wake you but I just to need to check your bathroom ceiling. The toilet upstairs is leaking.

Billy: No problem, come in.

They walk past the glass cabinet and stop.

Jim: Oh I see you’ve kept this thing.

Billy: Yeah, didn’t see why I’d throw it out. I use it as a mini-bar now.

Jim: You know the guy who built it, Sean, he used it to hold his REM memorabilia.

Billy: What?

Jim: He had a bunch of limited edition LPs and he kept them in there.

Billy: And that’s the guy who lived here before my ex and I moved in?

Jim: No, not that guy. It was like two tenants ago.

Billy: But Mark told me that the guy before us was an REM freak?

Jim: Yeah that was Nick. Huge REM fan. He keeps walking to get to the bathroom.

Billy: Hey Jim, could I ask you for something?

Jim: From the bathroom. I am all ears, Billy.

Billy: Could I get a list of the people who have lived here since Sean?

Jim: Still from the bathroom. Sure.

Ten hours later.

Billy is sitting at his desk in front of his computer. The apartment is all dark except for the screen, that casts blue light on Billy’s face. We see the screen – he’s on the REM fan page. He clicks on ‘Official REM fan club’ and a list of names appears next to some pictures. Beneath is written the person’s role in the fan club. Billy looks at list of names on a piece of paper on his desk. It is the list of previous tenants written by Jim. The list reads as follows:

Sean Temple

Joanne Cook and Robert Langley

Lyne Graham

Nicolas Pope

Billy looks at the computer screen. There is a picture of a man in his fifties who is listed as the fan club president, his name is Sean Temple. Billy scrolls down and sees a picture of woman, underneath is written: Joanne Cook, Treasurer. Billy gasps. He continues to scroll down and sees the smiling face of a blond – Lyne Graham, event organizer. Billy’s eyes open wide. He looks frightened. He quickly clicks on another page of the site, as if to find relief. He ends on the ‘Event photos’ page. He sees a bunch of people with REM t-shirt posing together. He scrolls down the page without much interest until he sees the face of someone he knows – Jill is staring back at him. He backs away from the computer in disbelief. A sound attracts his attention. Music can be heard, coming from the glass cabinet. He walks closer and closer to it until he can make out the lyrics: “It’s the end of the world as we know it…” He screams and buries his fist in the cabinet, shattering the glass. His hands collides with wall behind the cabinet as he has made a hole in the back of the flimsy piece of furniture. The wall gives in completely. Billy pushed the cabinet aside and investigates the hole in the wall. The music now seems to be getting louder. He puts his arm through the hole and feels an objet. He grasps it and pulls it out. He sees that is an REM vinyl. A sticker read ‘Limited edition. 1 of 25.’

Billy: Limited edition eh? I should probably sell it on Ebay! I’m sure one these freaks would pay big bucks for it. Maybe even Jill, now that she’s joined the… cult. He looks intently at the vinyl. Oh you know what? Fuck it! He break the vinyl in half. A loud scream is heard in the distance.

In the exact moment. Jill is at an REM concert in Panama. She shakes her head as if waking up and looks around, confused.

From us to you

You thought we had forgotten about the anniversary sketches, didn’t you?  Trouble in Napkin Writer paradise, you wondered?  Well, fear not, kids, there are no arms akimbo in our story.   No Barry White for one.  No candles burning down next to that unopened bottle of red.

Nope.  The Napkin Writers are still going strong (I guess your dreams of bunk beds in two separate houses is a bust.  Double bunk beds!  It would have been swell).

You see, the truth is, we didn’t forget, we were just making these sketches extra special.  With ornaments and confetti and maybe even a semi-colon or two.

So here they are.  Anniversary sketches.  We didn’t have time to wrap them though.  Maybe next year.

The Anniversary Present

Man and woman are walking together.

Sue: That meal was delicious. Exactly what I had in mind.

Todd: I knew that’s just what the doctor ordered: a romantic restaurant, candlelight, good food.

Sue: Ten out of ten!  Well, nine out of ten, at least. I’m still waiting on dessert, you know. I thought we were stopping for ice cream?

Todd: I had something else in mind.

They walk up the steps to their home.

Sue:  I’m glad it is just the two of us here tonight. We needed some alone time with no TV. Or HBO. Or Netflix. Or YouTube clips.

Todd (concerned): No YouTube clips?

Sue:  Just you and me, for once.

Todd:  But I cued up something really special. Something that makes me smile and think of you.

Sue:  Really?

Todd:  Really. You’ll love it!

Computer is on when they open the door. They pause for a moment.

Sue: Um, that’s porn, honey.

Todd:  Just give it a sec.

She watches for a moment.

Sue:  Wait? Is that us?!

Todd (beaming): Yep! That’s us. The first time we had sex.  Five years ago to the day.

Sue (in a crescendo of anger): You filmed us?

Todd (watching intently): It’s sweet. Look how far we’ve come.

Sue: You filmed us?! Having sex?!

Todd: Of course. It was a moment I wanted to cherish.

Sue (through her teeth): Tell me that you didn’t post this online.

Todd: Sure I did.  On a private channel, of course.

Sue:  How could you do that?

Todd: Friends and family only, Hun.  Just the people we trust.

Sue twitches at the word ‘trust’.

Todd (genuinely shocked): I thought you would think it was really romantic.

Sue: I think it’s despicable.

Todd: A little rough around the edges, maybe. But I wouldn’t go as far as to say that.  I mean, look how cute you look when you do that …Sue? Sue?

Door slams. Sue is gone. A voice from the darkness.

Voice: I told you she wouldn’t get it, dude. You should have just gotten the ring.

Todd: I guess. I just thought this was so much more special.

Voice: The ring, dude, tried, tested and true.  You should just be happy she didn’t notice that you invited us over for the anniversary party.

Lights up. A group of people holding champagne glasses are crowded in the room. Awkward sex sounds persist.

Woman in the crowd: Happy anniversary?

Sound of a champagne cork popping. More awkward sex sounds.

The Sick Call

Medium shot of two men talking.  There is a still of dogs playing poker behind them.

Sam:  Good party last night?

Tommy: Really good party.  I couldn’t leave; I would never have forgiven myself.  So I said to myself “Fuck it, Self, sick days are my right.  Getting hammered on a Tuesday is my right.”   Besides, I was on my fourth pint and could already smell at least one Irish car bomb in my future.

Sam:  Ugh.

Tommy:  You said it.  There is no way I was going to go to work after that.  So I found a nice quiet little corner in the bar –

Sam:  The bathroom?

Tommy:  Exactly.   And I took a shot of whisky just before calling, and put on my best ‘I’m sick and I have to stay home’ voice and left what I believe was a very convincing message.  And then I hung up and took a victory shot.

Sam:  Well, that’s not so bad.

Tommy:  Yeah, but then I realized that I hadn’t mentioned which department I work in.

Sam:  Oh man.

Tommy:  So I called back again.  Mustered up another sick voice (which I’m sure was more of a tummy-ache voice than the sore-throat I had gone for previously).

Sam: And?

Tommy:  This time I forgot to mention my name.

Sam (impressed):  Good party.

Tommy (nodding in agreement):  Really good party.

Sam:  So, what?  You called back again?

Tommy:  You know it.

Sam:  Classy.

Tommy:  It took a few tries, a few more shots, a few slurred words and panicky hang ups but I finally left a coherent message with my name and department.   I even tried to  pause strategically and use some dude’s puking in a way that it made it sound like it was me.

Sam:  Ambitious.

Tommy:  Yep, got off to a rocky start but I nailed it in the end.

Sound of a water cooler.  Shot pans out to show they are in the office.

Tommy:  Except then I blacked out, forgot I called in sick and came in to work today anyway.

Sam:  Ouch.

Tommy:  Totally.   On the plus side, I got a promotion.  The big boss said he had received an inordinate number of sick calls and was so impressed that, when I woke up feeling a little bit better, I came in to work anyway despite calling in sick.  ‘That’s dedication, son,’ he said, “I wish more young men could behave like you.”   I did everything I could to smile  and not puke on his desk.

Sam:  Good party.

Tommy:  Really good party.

Pause.

Tommy:  Now, get back to work.  We’re not paying you to spend your day gossiping by the water cooler.

Tommy chugs the water in is dixie cup, spikes it into the trash bin, straightens his tie and saunters off to his office nearly knocking over the man painting THE BOSS on his door with an over-zealous back slap.  Sam looks bewildered.

Sam:  Why don’t I ever get invited to parties like that?

Women as Assholes

First off, Happy New Year! We’re not even a month late – we are definitely getting better at this whole blogging thing.

Now onto serious things. This is a blog written by two women which you may have noticed if you ever clicked on the ‘Meet the authors’ tab at the top of the page. That being said, this is not a ”Women’s blog” meaning, generally, we don’t come on here to tackle ladies’ issues and talk about serious stuff like stereotypes against women, inequality in the workplace or nipple warmers.

In fact, we kinda like to latch onto stereotypes and run with them. Especially when they’re about men. Men as assholes. Not sure what we mean? Need a list of examples? Here’s one:

1. Construction guys. Yes this is still a thing. If you’re a woman and you’ve walked by dudes doing construction, you probably know exactly what we’re talking about.

2. Mechanics. There’s a special tax that comes along with having ovaries and getting your car fixed. Everyone knows about it and no one talks about it so shhhhh.

3. Renovation dudes in a an office building. They need to paint. You’re trying to work. It’s not your fault that you work in a department that is open 24/7 and neither is it theirs. But they still need to paint and you still need to work. And so they paint away and you figure that they will keep it down since all the workers are on the phone. Instead they have a raucous discussion about how one guy’s wife is Mexican (how that becomes a discussion is still up for debate).

This may or may not have happened to one of the Napkin Writers very, very recently.

And sitting in that tiny office, with one ear plastered to the phone and a finger dug way deeper into her other ear than any doctor anywhere has ever recommended, the aforementioned Napkin Writer’s mind wandered back to an idea, an idea that had been catcalling her from the depths of her own brain for some time now: What if women were the assholes in these situations? What if some women were doing some work outside, a few men passed by and heard: ”Hey baby! Come give mama some sugar!” Wouldn’t that make a funny sketch? Like, so funny that it would make you feel uncomfortable to the point where you have to reroute your walk to work?

And so, this was the theme to the last napkin meeting that was held a particularly loud bar which explains why the napkin in only one-sided. But, on the bright side, first time brown napkin! We are mixing it up in 2013. We’re crazy like that.

Check in again in a week to read the sketch and we promise to work on our cat calls in the meantime. We’re already pretty confident that we can rock the hard hat look.

A Period Piece

Two men walking down a street on their way to the theatre.

Tom: I haven’t been to the theatre in ages. Has this show gotten good reviews?

Sam: Yeah, well, I heard it was really good…

Tom: What’s it called?

Sam: Honestly, I can’t remember. I just know that it’s a period piece.

Tom: A period piece? Shakespeare!?!

Sam: Maybe, I’m not sure –

Tom: How can you not be sure if it’s Shakespeare?! I LOVE Shakespeare!

Sam: It could be…must be one of his lesser-knowns, like “Love’s Labour Lost” or “Pericles” or something? All I know is that it is a period piece.

They approach the usher and give in their tickets. They take their seats while they continue talking.

Tom: Thank goodness. No avant-garde bard here – just the real deal. I put my faith in period pieces. No messing around. Just Shakespeare the way Shakespeare wanted it.

Sam: Think there’ll be cod pieces?

Tom: You can count on it.

Sam (with real concern): Think those will ever come back into style?

Tom: Good god I hope not. Keep the private parts private, that’s what I say.

They take their seats.

Sam: How much time do I have? I really have to go to the bathroom.

Tom (stifling nerdy laughter): To pee or not to pee, that is the question.

Both men giggle a little bit too much. Music starts to play.

Tom: Oh shoot. It’s starting. Did you get a program?

Sam: No, I wasn’t paying atten –

Tom: shhhhhhhh!

Lights come up to reveal a woman (wearing a plaid shirt and jeans) sitting on a chair, legs spread wide, staring intently at the two men.

Sam and Tom: What the devil..?

Tom (quoting Shakespeare nerdily): There’s something rotten in the state of Denmark…

Woman: It’s time to put the dirty tampons on the table, people. We’re talking menstruation here. Period. Dotted undies, bloody sheets, the whooolllle nine ounces…ok, ok, I guess that’s a really heavy flow. Let’s say two ounces. (fading out she continues to speak but is inaudible) Did you know…blah, blah, blah….

The two men look really uncomfortable. They are trying to think of a way out; talking over the performer but in a stage whisper.

Tom: What the darn is this? Shakespeare must be rolling in his grave.

Sam: I’m sorry. I really should have read the poster more carefully.

Tom: Where did you find this play?

Sam (sheepishly): My aunt suggested it….

Tom (accusatory): Your aunt the experimental video “artist”?

Sam: Sorry. I’m so sorry. Maybe we can sneak out…

Tom: And subject ourselves to the death stares of about 150 rampant, bloody feminists – I don’t think so. (He slouches down into his seat and blocks his ears) I’m just going to run through monologues from King Lear in my head. Let me know when it’s over.

Tom begins mouthing a monologue. The focus shifts back to the woman on stage.

Woman: And we’ve all been there. We have all been there, ladies. Naked from the waist down in a public bathroom with nothing but that pink liquid soap and lukewarm water repeating, as if it were a holy mantra, “…out damn’d spot, out I say..”

Both men perk up.

Sam and Tom: Now we`re talkin’.

Sam (whispering to audience with a grin on his face): All’s well that ends well…

All Tapped Out

In the style of a Public Service Announcement.

Sfx:   Da da daa daaaa.

Cheesy TV Guy is standing in an office setting.

Cheesy TV Guy: It’s 4:45pm and your annual Office Christmas Party starts in fifteen minutes.  You glance over at the lump that sits next you for 8 hours a day and you realize something…

You’re all tapped out.  For the past year you have sat next to this person and traded anecdotes for platitudes on a daily basis.

Shifts to an office setting for a re-enactment of a typical day in the office.

Bad actor: You’ll never guess what happened to me last night —

Cheesy TV Guy (cutting off bad actor): Insert boring anecdote.

Worse actor: You don’t say, well, —

Cheesy TV Guy (cutting off worse actor): And now pull something from the bag of platitudes.

Both actors look really annoyed that he stole their spotlight.  Cheesy TV Guy then steps right out in front of them holding a wall clock that reads 4:50.

Cheesy TV Guy: And now, at that precious moment when you can usually smell that sweet smell of freedom, you suddenly remember that you get to stick around and mingle-bells with your co-workers at the Office Christmas Party.

Who the hell came up with this idea?!

Cheesy TV Guy shoots an accusatory look at the two actors. They are too busy shuffling papers and  acting like the are working to notice.

You have nothing to say to these people that you haven’t said before.  You’ve lied through your teeth looking at baby photos, you’ve mmmhmmmed your way through stories about bargain shopping and outlet malls, you held your tongue while they laugh-talked about that last episode of Whitney.

And now you’re expected to do it…off the clock.

Shifts to office party setting re-enactment.  The two bad actors are now wearing grumpy looks on their faces and Santa hats on their heads.  There are disco lights and Gangham Style is playing (it already played twice, you know).

Bad actor: …and then my son came home with his report card and we were just so thrilled –

Worse actor: Shut. Up.

Bad Actor shoots Worse Actor the look of death.  Worse Actor takes the tiny plastic glass of wine as a shot and promptly fills it up again.  Cheesy TV guy walks into the frame.

Cheesy TV Guy:  Just don’t do it.  Go home to your family.  Call your mother.  Watch mind-numbing Christmas specials. Go to your local watering hole and sit all by yourself.  Alone.

Anything.

In all seriousness.  Cheesy TV Guy gets up close to the audience.

Give yourself the best Christmas present of them all and boycott the Office Christmas Party.  Don’t let the man in the expensive suit squeeze another precious moment from your life.

Puts on a Mexican Wrestling Mask topped with a Santa hat.

When you’re all tapped out – tap out.  There’s no shame in it.

Voice-over (really quickly as if they are the deadly side effects of some new wonder drug):  This has been brought to you by the Party Planning Committee who spent too much money on crappy dollar store decorations and not enough money on food and booze to accommodate the whole office and would rather if you just didn’t show up so that they can have an extra piece of grocery store “cake” for themselves.

Sfx: Da da da–

Both actors: Shut.  Up.

Office Party Bonanza

‘Tis the season, as they say.

The Napkin Writers have mixed feelings about festive times because Holiday-themed napkins tend to make it hard to read the undeniably brilliant ideas scribbled on them.  Pictures of uniformly floating candy canes are very distracting; they are just begging for embellishments like a couple of hairy balls or strippers twirling around them like slutty sugar plum fairies.

Luckily, when one spends their time in dingy bars, that tends not to be a problem – these bars don’t stray from the classic cocktail napkin for any reason.  The only problem at these bars around Christmas time is the fact that your dark little corner of self-loathing and solitude ends up being lit up like a Christmas tree and you’re pretty sure that those lights do nothing for your complexion (except that your drunken tears are suddenly multi-coloured and blinking psychedelically).

Do you know what other lights do nothing for you complexion?  Office lights.  You can spend five hours preparing your face for the day but, you know what?  You just aren’t going to look good under those florescent lights.

Enter: The Office Christmas Party – usually not as shown on TV.

With both Napkin Writers’ office Christmas parties looming in the near future, they thought it would be a perfect setting for hilarity, embarrassment, confusion, miscommunication, mistaken identities, drunkenness and regret.  Oh and close-talking bosses.

In other words, the Perfect Sketch.

And so the Napkin Writers jotted a few things down:

And then they got distracted by their communal pipe-dreams, a heated discussion about UTIs and by the beer running down their legs (and creeping toward their iPhones with what can only be called determination) when the waitress managed to knock over a fresh pint of Black Velvet.

Is it possible that the Black Velvet is an inherently precarious drink, top-heavy like Pamela Anderson?   Perhaps the two writers will have to test this theory while working on their Office Christmas Party sketches.

The Man ate our sketches

Don’t even ask how we got them back.  Don’t even.

But here they are for your reading pleasure – just wash your hands when you’re finished with them.

There’s no O in club

Thomas walks into a book store and looks around. He seems to be looking for something. A store clerk goes to see him.

Linda: Hi there, can I help you find something?

Thomas: Hi, yes actually, I’m looking for your sections on conspiracy theories.

Linda: Oh, we don’t really have a section on that… Maybe you could look for books on the subject that interests you?

Thomas: Well, that’s the thing… I was looking for some general books on the matter. But it’s ok, I’ll start by taking a look around.

Linda: All right, well let me know if you need anything in particular.

Thomas: Ok, thanks.

Thomas continues to look at books on different shelves. Another clerk walks around him. He sees to be sizing up Thomas. Finally, he makes contact.

Paul: Psst! Hey.

Thomas looks around and doesn’t see Paul right away. Paul makes another attempt at getting his attention.

Paul: Pssssst. Dude. Hey.

Thomas finally sees him.

Thomas: Yes? Are you speaking to me?

Paul: I don’t know. Maybe.

Thomas: Ok… So what it is?

Paul: Oh, I don’t know. You tell me.

Thomas: Do you work here?

Paul: Maybe. Depends.

Thomas: Depends on what?

Paul: If you’re ready to discover what’s really going on.

Thomas: What?

Paul: Just follow me, my friend.

Paul takes Thomas to the ‘Oprah’s official book club selection.’

Thomas: Okay. Oprah’s book club selections.

Paul: Yeah, you were looking for the section on conspiracy theories. Well there she is.

Thomas: What are you talking about?

Paul: Oh you mean, you don’t know? And I thought you had your eyes open…

Thomas: What?

Linda walks by and smiles at Thomas. Paul runs behind a book shelf, he then continues to talk to Thomas through it.

Paul: The conspiracy, man. The book club.

Thomas: There’s an Oprah’s book club conspiracy?

Paul: What, you mean you’ve never noticed?

Thomas: Noticed what?

Paul: The whole thing, dude. Oprah and her book club. You think it’s all just a coincidence? I mean, who’s in the book club?

Thomas: I don’t know, anyone who wants to read the books? My wife is in the book club.

Paul: Exactly man. Your wife.

Thomas: What about my wife?

Paul: She’s a woman.

Thomas: Yeah. She is. So?

Paul: And who else is in the book club with her?

Thomas: Her friends, her sister, their aunt, a bunch of ladies!

Paul: Bingo.

Thomas: Bingo what?

Paul: Ladies, man. It’s women. The book club is for women.

Thomas: So what?

Paul: And what do ladies have?

Thomas: Well… A bunch of things! What are you talking about?

Paul: What makes a lady, a lady?

Thomas: Her lady parts.

Paul: That’s right. More precisely, her ovaries.

Thomas: Yeah… And a bunch of other parts that only ladies have…

Paul: So ovaries, Oprah, what’s the link?

Thomas: Those are just two words that begin with the letter O.

Paul: Oh man, you are right on the verge. You’re burning hot. Let me help you. Who’s the president of the United States?

Thomas: Obama.

Paul: Righto daddio. Obama, Oprah and ovaries.

Thomas: But Obama is a man.

Paul: Obama is a puppet and lady Obama is the puppet master. Oprah and Michelle are like two eggs in an ovary.

Thomas: Oh my god, what in the world are you talking about?

Paul: Are you sure you want to know?

Thomas: Please, I give up.

Paul: Comes out from behind the book shelf. Ok, let me put it this way. No man can be a part of this book club for a reason. Oprah’s planning a woman revolution. There going to take over the world. One book at a time.

Thomas: You are completely crazy.

Paul: That’s what they said to Galileo, man. His eyes were wide open and they called him crazy.

Thomas: You’re not Galileo. You’re a clerk in a book store who’s afraid of Oprah and ovaries.

Paul: Who ever said I was scared, man? I know it’s coming, I’m prepared. You should be the one who’s afraid. Your own wife is in on it.

Thomas: And Oprah has a boyfriend; Stedman!

Paul: No man, that guy is just a hologram. You’ll never see him except for a on a 2D image. Oprah’s real boyfriend is Gale.

Thomas: You think they give each other o’s?

Linda walks around them. She seems worried that Paul is talking to a customer.

Linda: Excuse me sir, hi again, I think I found a book on the JFK conspiracies, would you like to see it? She turns to Paul. Hey, Paul thank you… For bringing yet again a customer to Oprah’s book club selections. Could you reorganize the calendars please?

Paul: Yeah, Linda, I’ll reorganize those calendars just fine.  He looks at Thomas and taps his nose in a ‘you know what’s going on’ style. He then walks away.

Linda: To Thomas. I’m sorry, he does this all the time. Just this way to the JFK book. Thomas walks ahead and Linda lingers back for a moment. She then takes out a walkie-talkie and speaks into it. Mother O, this is Sky Dancer. We have a situation. It’s Paul again.