Never Ending Campaign

Tuesday, February 13, 1996


GETZ: The..the Bi-Satan-Eennial?
NIXON: Yes. A celebration of the true Amerikan Government.


OPEN: multiplane animation effect--the camera swoops down from above through
battered, postindustrial urban decay: the discarded skeleton of what could be
any once-great American city. We close in a glass-strewn alley where a tiny
little mouse is shivering: FEIVEL, alone, looking forlorn. Music up.

FEIVEL: (singing) Somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight...

An enormous, #17 army boot descends from above, stomping the rodent into
Feivel pate' -- pull back to show the DOLEMAN, looking forlorn.

DOLE: Dole alone and afraid in world Dole never made.

ROBOMONKEY: (from high above city streets) ROBO already use that line.

A can of pineapples bounces off DOLE's head. DOLE stomps on, not noticing. It
begins to rain. Drops spattering on, then sliding of, DOLE's grey, lifeless
skin like an infomercial demo for some new autobody sealant. Sound: thunder.
More rain. The drops begin hitting the electrodes in the sides of his neck,
sizzling, popping with blue sparks, as smoke begins to rise.

DOLE: Dole want Yvonne De Carlo.

His dead arm rises involuntarily, obscenely. We hear music: "I'm All Alone in
the World," from "the Mister Magoo Christmas Carol." DOLE begins singing.

DOLE:  Where am voice to answer Dole back?
            Where two shoes to click to my clack?
            Dole all alone in the world.

Cut to: another deserted street where a tiny little car is sputtering along
unnoticed. Yet another mouse, STUART LITTLE, is driving.

STUART: Fuck you, Margalo--eat worms and die. "I'll fly away. I'll fly away."
Fucking birds. They're all the same.

Cut to: Xtreme c-u of DOLE's hideous, inhuman boot stomping down ominously...

Cut to: DR. FRANKENSTEEN and EYEGORE (the pop-eyed Marty Feldman) on the roof
of an enormous highrise. Light rain, lightning in the sky behind them. DR.
FRANKENSTEEN is furiously cranking an old Victrola which is playing "I'm All
Alone in the World" from its ridiculously large horn. Indolently, EYEGORE is
leaning up against a wall reading the "National Enquirer." A few raindrops
spatter the pages, but he ignores it.

EYEGORE: Look at this, boss. Sez here a woman gave birth to a live mouse.
DR. FRANKENSTEEN: (cranking furiously) That's disgusting.
EYEGORE: Sez he could talk like the first week after. They made him like this
little suit and a little car and everything.
DR. FRANKENSTEEN: And you believe it?
EYEGORE: It's in the paper.
DR. FRANKENSTEEN: I'll tell you what--instead of filling your mind with the
rubbish of the gutter press, why don't you crank it for awhile? Do you think
you could crank it?

EYEGORE, smiling twistedly, begins turning the handle much too fast. The
music plays, Chipmunk-style:

            Where are two shoes to click to my clack?
            Where is a voice to answer mine back?
            I'm all alone in the world

STREETNOISES: (garbled) Turn shut that you fucking off fucking thing shit up!

EYEGORE: Thanks, and hope we passed the audition. Want me to urinate on them
FRANKENSTEEN: No, no, no--we can't do that until we're in power. How many
times have I told you?

(retardedly, EYEGORE begins counting on his fingers)

FRANKENSTEEN: I only hope he hears this--he's alone out there. Lost.
EYEGORE: Stomping on mice.
FRANKENSTEEN:  I only hope we find him. Before it's too late. (looking at
camera -- suddenly brightening with hope) Perhaps you could help us find him?
Do you think you could help? (looking away, disgusted) No. Forget it. What
was I thinking. Forget I said anything. (to EYEGORE) Just keep cranking.

Cut to: c-u twisted leer on EYEGORE's face.

Cut to: silhouette of darknened, dangerous city streets. The music plays. At
regular intervals, tiny mice squeek out in agony.


GETZ: My opponent is soft on crime. He thinks criminals have "rights." He
thinks criminals should be treated like "human beings." He coddles criminals.
Just take a look at what could've happened.

Exterior: Raiford Prison. We see a series of revolving turnstiles, one marked
one of them, notices CHILES' large, black limousine.

CHILES: Hello. Yoo-hoo. Mr. Criminal.

CRIMINAL reacts, not believing he's being addressed.

CHILES: Yes, you. I mean you. I'm here for you. Come here...

Childlike, the CRIMINAL runs over to the CHILES's open window, leans in.
CHILES begins stroking his head.

CHILES: Oh. You poor criminal. Oh--just look at you. Were they mean to you?
CRIMINAL: (crying) They yelled at me and did bad things.
CHILES: There, there...

The CHAUFFEUR lets the CRIMINAL gets into CHILES' limo. They drive off.
CHILES cuddles him, rocks him comforts him.

GETZ: Is that what we want? Is that what they deserve? I don't think so.


Exterior: country road. Warm color values. Pine forrest one side, a lake on
the other. A little kid in a straw hat is fishing. We hear a fish jump.
CHILES walks into frame, notices us, begins talking in a casual, friendly

CHILES: Maybe you've seen that ad. Maybe it's supposed to be funny. They've
got an actor pretending to be me pick up some thug outside of Raiford.  I
don't know. I don't think it's funny. And it's not true. I don't like
negative campaining--and I hate to even respond to that kind of thing. But I
don't coddle criminals--I hate criminals. I have personally sent 5 of them to
the electric chair last year alone. (getting a weird look on his face) And I
liked it.

Interior: execution chamber at Raiford. Another CRIMINAL sitting in "old
sparky." CHILES looking in from the viewing window, rubbing his hands,

CHILES: How's it feel, huh? How's it feel? I might just go ahead and give you
a stay--not.* Haha! (looking off camera) Do it.

Sound: bugzapping noise. Light effect flashing on CHILES' face like something
in a Frankenstein movie. He laughs, gloating, relishing it.

Go to title effect: campaign logo.

VO: Vote Chiles for governor in '92. He send 5 killers straight to hell.

Cutaway square opens bottom right. CHILES face.

CHILES: And I liked it.


GETZ: Well Chiles says he's tough on crime. Chiles says he likes sending
people to the chair. Liked it, huh? Five in one year doesn't sound like he
liked it--or maybe he did. There's such a thing as quality, fine. But I'm
going to give you quantity, Florida. He did five a year. I'm going to do five
in one week, every week--that's my pledge.

...turning up the current in '92


CHILES: Getz points his finger at me again like that I'm gonna cut it
off--you hear me, boy? You're not from around here, are you? (nodding head) I
think he's from New York. And you say I don't wanna fry these people? What do
you know? Blame the State Legislature, not me. I swear, people--get rid of
the legislature, give me full dictatorial powers, and you'll start to see the
SPARKS fly. I'll do better than five in one week. I'll do more than that--and
I'll make sure the job gets done right, because I will personally pull the
plug on each and every one.

(We see CHILES' hand go to the switch and pull. Sound and light effect).

VO: Chiles for governor. Because the hand the signs the laws will be the hand
that pulls the switch.


GETZ: Now Chiles says he's tough on crime. Now he says he favors the death
penalty. He says he's going to personally pull the switch--but is that really
enough? Death
is nearly instantaneous in the electric chair. Their victims didn't have it
so good. Their victims suffered. Is that really fair?

Cut to shots of normal people.
WOMAN: I think the chair's too good for that human scum.
REDNECK: Gimme five minues alone. Just five minutes.

GETZ: I hear you people. I'm listening--and I'm going to kill them. I,
personally, will make them suffer. Not on the other side of a piece of glass.
Not impersonally, pulling a switch on the wall. One on one--with me. It's
going to be cruel. It's going to be unusual.

Cut to: interior, death cage chamber. Steel cage with rows and rows of
screaming people looking down. A CRIMINAL is ejected through a hole in the
wall. From another, GETZ emerges in a black gi. CRIMINAL reacts with fear,
but there's no way out. GETZ advances...

GETZ: (to the crowd) Remember my promise?

They cheer. GETZ leaps up in the air, does a wheelkick to the side of the
CRIMINAL's head. Bones crack. The prisoner falls, holding his head, blood
gushing out of his fingers.

GETZ: That's one...

GETZ leaps again. The prisoner begins screaming. Go to: extreme cu open


CHILES: (crouched in the shadows of an alley, dressed in black, Ninja style)
Getz says he's going to make them suffer--and we're supposed to be impressed.
Maybe he thinks people are stupid--but did it ever occur to him that killing
these people, however you do it, ain't gonna do a lot of good once they
already committed their crimes? That's why you've got to stop this kind of
thing...before it starts.

(Two thugs walk in: we hear sounds, vicious stabbing, bone-cracking, noises,
and then the thugs fall.

CHILES: Some people talk about a war on crime: I'm doing it, "Death Wish"
style, one criminal at a time on a one-man crusade. (smiling) And we're
saving money, too...

* a popular catch phrase of that era.

Dole Unleashed

Open: INT, Press Conference. DOLE staggers up to the podium led by DR.
FRANKENSTEEN. Vulture-like, the REPORTERS wait.

REPORTER: What is your position on the abortion platform?
REPORTER #2: What is your platform on the abortion position?
DOLE: Dole stand on platform.
GAY REPUBLICAN: What about the Log Cabin Republicans?
GAY REPUBLICAN #2: (dressed as Aunt Jemima) What about the Aunt Jemima
DOLE: Dole change mind. Take check from anybody. That Republican way.
REPORTER: Do you believe in abortion in cases of rape or incest?
DOLE: (hitting head with fists) Dole confused!
FRANKENSTEEN: (whispering) Careful. He's got that Baptist haircut.
R#3: Certain members of the Christian Coalition believe it's a question of
DOLE: Dole Pelagian.
R#3: What about alien abduction? What about the Alien in "Alien 3."
WAYNE: Yeah. If you like, beamed it out with a transporter or something it'd
be like an alien abortion.
GARTH: Ewwwwwww.
DOLE: Depend if alien fetus have consciousness.
R#3: But fetuses don't have consciousness...they have souls.
DOLE: Dole don't know that. Only God know. But if Alien accept Jesus Christ
as personal savior and join Republican Party, then alien saved.

(the Reporters applaud)

DOLE: Alien act like Republican.
R#3: What about late term live fetal abortions?
DOLE: Dole no like--but doctor decide. Is sometimes only way.
R#3: When? When is murder EVER justified?
DOLE: Dole show. Look at diagram.

(DR. FRANKENSTEEN pushes a button. On a large screen, a slide is projected: a
cutaway drawing of the White House where, fetus-like, a naked CLINTON is
crouched in the womb-like cavity therein, hands balled-up in tiny little

DOLE: Must cut out or country die. Must have hard choices.
R#3: How?
DOLE: Next slide please.

(We see a large vacuum cleaner inserted into CLINTON's head)

DOLE: First, media suck out brains, then spine, then soul. White House saved,
country saved--better than truck full of dynamite.
R#3: You would do this?
DOLE: You do this.
R#3: It's still an abortion.
DOLE: Dole think of it as Clintonectomy.
R#3: I think you're avoiding the original question.
DOLE: Dole brain hurt.
R#3: What if an alien abducted YOU and made you pregnant?

FRANKENSTEEN: Please stop. You're confusing him.

R#3: What if you knew it had a soul--and you knew it was going to be a
DOLE: Brain hurt!
R#3: What's it going to be, Bob? What's it going to be when it really counts?
DOLE: (shattering podium with his steel arm) STOPPPP!
REPORTER #1: He's losing it--get this. Roll.

Cameras begin flashing furiously, chittering like the bug noises in "The
Right Stuff." Bulbs flashing like mad, REPORTERS calling out questions. DOLE
freaks--and leaps out the window.

FRANKENSTEEN: Now look what you've done!
R#3: He's a monster!
FRANKENSTEEN: (running out the window) He is not a monster--he is a good boy!

(Cut to: a little blonde haired girl alone in a field of daisies. She's
plucking one)

GIRL: 7...6...5...

Freeze frame.


DOLE runs into the frame.

DOLE: Run! Run! Bomb come! Run!

(DOLE scoops up the girl, runs off.)

TECH: 2...1...

(The bomb explodes.)

Saturday, February 10, 1996

Call it Conspiracy 8

Subj:  Conspiracy VIII
Date:  96-02-10 13:20:45 EDT
From:  JGetz          

BART: So am I, man--the future really sucks. I hate you. You ruined my life.
Everybody talks about Generation X, but what about my g-g-generation, huh?
Nobody talks about us. What about my generation, huh, huh, huh, why don't you
answer the question, huh, you don't want to talk about us, man--we don't even
have a cool name yet. My generation really sucks and it's your fault,
man--even the bad stuff is boring. What is there?
SMITHERS: Republicans. Talk radio.
BART: You suck, man.
LISA: Bart. I think he's experienced enough pain. Leave him to his private
BART: Like...that's so easy. What are we supposed to do?
SMITHERS: Watch television.

SMITHERS lifts up the clicker, clicks it to THE ITCHY AND SCRATCHY SHOW!
Title: "Howard's Endless." CAT in boat (as LEONARD BAST), rowing--wooing
MOUSE in drag. Hearts fluttering out of CAT. Go to INT, house. CAT kneels to
propose. MOUSE rips off dress. CAT shrieks, eyes bugging out of head. MOUSE
removes sword, hacks off both the CAT's buttocks...then pulls a bookshelf on
top of the CAT as blood leaks out and BART, LISA and SMITHERS laugh.


MUSIC: “Take a Walk on the Blue Bus” by the Doors. Music fades out & generic
radio announcer’s voice begins saying: “A barely-known unemployed
screenwriter was killed today in Dallas in a burst of triangulated crossfire
in Dealy Plaza, in a bizarre recreation of the Kennedy assasination. The
screenwriter was dressed as Oliver Stone as part of a directors look-alike
costume contest--there is speculation that Stone was the intended target.
(hurriedly) Not that we’re trying to say we don’t believe in the
single-bullet theory. I mean it’s not even a theory. We’re
not...mmmpph...(sounds of scuffling, thuds)

Music up again...


Call it Conspiracy 7

Subj:  Conspiracy VII
Date:  96-02-10 13:19:12 EDT
From:  JGetz          

Fade out, fade in to INT: SMITHERS residence. Title effect: 1996.

SMITHERS:  Why did I do it? I keep asking myself. Why didn't I just walk
away? At any time. So many chances...
BART: Wow! Look at those backwards little numbers...right next to where it
says "XOF."
LISA: He's in pain, Bart.
BART: He is not in pain.
LISA: Can't you see? Just look at him. Think about his feelings.
BART: He's an adult. Adults don't have feelings.
LISA: Yes they do.
BART: (surprised) Adults have...feelings?
LISA: Oh, Mr. Smithers. That must have been so humiliating for you. The
SMITHER: Actually it was kind of...
LISA: (glancing quickly to cutaway of an old, framed b+w print of a young,
long-haired SMITHERS in a peace demonstration) But the guilt.
SMITHERS: Yes...the guilt. (burying face in hands, sobbing)
BART: Yeah, yeah, boohoo.'s like your fault that the country sucks,
LISA: And that's why the idealism of the 60's came to naught. Now I
understand. A conspiracy. Wait'll Oliver Stone hears about this...
BART: He's not going to hear about this.
LISA: What's that supposed to mean?

BART smiles smugly. 3-second, almost subliminal clip of STONE in limo in
Dealy Plaza, Dallas. A van marked “GRASSY KNOLL EXTERMINATORS” pulls up to
the book depository. Echoing sound of footsteps in stairwell, rifles cocking.
Cut back to--

SMITHERS: It's my fault. All my fault.
LISA: How can you live with yourself?
SMITHERS: (glancing sadly at shelf of still-packaged Barbies) I...I have my
LISA: Wow. A disturbing Philip K. Dickian metaphor for the alienation of
modern man.
BART: Philip K What, Lisa?
LISA: (mortified) Shut up, Bart.
BART: (taunting) Smithers is a...
LISA: Bart!
BART: Sorry. So the future is going to get like...
SMITHERS: (sadly) It gets worse.
BART: Are there gonna be killer robots like "Terminator"...?
BART: No killer robots?
BARTS: No killer robots at all, huh, not one, no killer robots, you can't
have any killer robots, huh, huh, how come there aren't any killer robots?
SMITHERS: No. I'm sorry.
LISA: He said "no" Bart. Drop it.
BART: What about guys in cool cars with guns and fire like "Mad Max"...? I
liked the first one best.
SMITHERS: Not exactly.
BART: Atomic war?
BART: Cryogenic freezing chambers and like these prison colonies where
everybody is like killing each other and the women don't wear any clothes?
LISA: Bart! That is so derivative!
BART: Judge Dredd?
SMITHERS: Nothing like that...
BART: New York City turns into a big prison for human scum?
LISA: Bart! It already is, OK?
BART: What about, like, assassins, like this woman with these big legs like
on "Aeon Flux."
LISA: You're not supposed to watch that.
BART: It's a cool show.
LISA: Disgusting.
BART: Cool show.
LISA: Disgusting.
BART: Same thing. You're not going to tell Mom, huh?
LISA: (insulted) No!
BART: (to SMITHERS) So what about it?
BART: No what?
SMITHERS: I forgot. What were we...
LISA: You're confusing him. Can't we just...
BART: Gotta keep up, man. No women with long legs and almost no clothes with
cool guns who kill people?
LISA: Bart you are so...
BART: Politically incorrect? (snapping fingers) That's my style, little
LISA: Agggghh! That's not what I was going to say!
BART: What were you going to say, huh?
LISA: Self-absorbed.
BART: Like that's a bad thing?
LISA: This isn't about you.
BART: "About" me? Oooh--like this is a "story" or something.
LISA: You sound like Dad when you say that.
BART: No I don't.
LISA: Yeah you do and it's his story.
BART: It's my story.
LISA: It's his story.
BART: My story.
LISA: His.
BART: Mine.
LISA: No it isn't. Can’t you see? Here before you is the pathetic broken
figure of the man who sold out the future. That's the story.
BART: Well it's my future so it's my story. And there's not even any killer
SMITHERS: I am so sorry.

Call it Conspiracy 6

Subj:  Conspiracy VI
Date:  96-02-10 13:17:06 EDT
From:  JGetz          

INT: Cabin hallway, Bohemian Grove. The conspirators walking away, BURNS &
SMITHERS together.

BURNS: Ah, the sauna--one of our more civilized legacies from the Vikings. A
bit of a sweat, a roll in the snow, and a good stiff birching. Quite the
thing, eh Smithers?
SMITHERS: (stuttering) Ye...yes, sir.

(They walk off down a hall. We still hear them, faintly, fading out.)

BURNS: Does this mean I can wear my top hat in public again?
SMITHERS: Yes sir.
BURNS: Beat them?
SMITHERS: Of course, sir.
BURNS: (singing) “Putting on my top hat...dusting off my tails.” (to
SMITHERS) I really can?
SMITHERS: You really can, sir.
BURNS: Any snowballs--and it's a public whipping? Like that Simpstone whelp?
SMITHERS: Only fair, sir.
BURNS: (singing) "This is justice...all sublime...that the punishment fit the
crime!" A public whipping just like Singapore--now there's a tightly-run ship
of state for you! None of that ACLU nonsense there.
BURNS: And...when the dust finally clears on all this...I really can beat my
SMITHERS: Of course, sir.
BURNS: Do I detect a note of hesitation, Smithers?
SMITHERS: No sir. In most cases...
BURNS: Most cases? A qualifier--a condition? You're hedging, Smithers.
SMITHERS: No sir. I mean, of course you can beat them--when they're bad.
(long painful moment of hesitation) Of course.
BURNS: Of course? That certainly sounds like a hedge to me, Smithers. I
thought you were getting the Almighty State off my back. That's what you told
SMITHERS: No sir. I mean, yes sir...
BURNS: (pulling out a cudgel) Do you play me for the fool? Perhaps it's you
that wants the beating. Would you care to continue this debate
SMITHERS: That's certainly up to you, sir--ow! I had that coming sir. And
that's the point.You can beat them when they're bad--ow!--or me! Thank you
sir! But that depends on how you choose to define "bad" --ow! I deserved that
sir! It's my fault!--however you see--ahhh!--fit and that's certainly
entirely up to your--"ow!"--whatever you...however you...

(SMITHERS collapses. BURNS sheaths his cudgel.)

BURNS: I think you've made your point, Smithers. The private sector is truly
private--my servants truly mine--Q.E.D. (putting away his cudgel) You're
quite the debater.
SMITHERS: Thank you, sir...
BURNS: Well, off the floor with you. The others seem to have left me behind
during our little forensic volley--but no matter. The so-called at this place
will probably have forgotten to heat up the sauna as per usual--it’s my
compatriots will endure the cold, not I. I'll go on--you fetch me my towels
and be quick about it. About ten minutes.
SMITHERS: (disappointed, groping, trying to get up) They...they already have
towels, sir.
BURNS: Not their towels, Smithers--think, man! My personal towels...with the
MB monogram--the ones in the autoclave in the back of the Silver Cloud.
SMITHERS: I thought I was...
BURNS: You thought...?
SMITHERS: Nothing, sir.
BURNS: You amuse me, Smithers. You remind me of that tricky rabbit in the
TRIX commercial. Trying to get the TRIX--when he knows TRIX are for kids. He
gets his comeuppance--pets or meat, as they say. What was his name?
SMITHERS: He doesn't have a name, sir. Just a rabbit...
BURNS: Hmmm. Well, enough idle chitchat. Off the floor with you. Towels in
ten minutes--no bleeding.
SMITHERS: Yes sir.
BURNS: (shouting, feebly running, in an arthritic shadow of his college
gridiron days) Monty's coming, gang! Make way for Monty Burns!

Call it Conspiracy 5

Date:  96-02-10 13:15:29 EDT
From:  JGetz          



Friday, February 9, 1996

Call it Conspiracy 4

Date:  96-02-09 14:13:41 EDT
From:  JGetz          

FRIEDMAN: These are "credit cards."
BURNS: a sort of cashier's check?
FRIEDMAN: No. It's a sort of credit line the bank establishes at a high rate
of interest.
BURNS: Letters of exchecquer?
FRIEDMAN: It's digital...done with computers. These have actually been around
for awhile...
BURNS: I'm a bit out of touch on that--gold's the thing for me. (tossing
coin--SMITHERS reflexively grabs it) But to the point...about these
SMITHERS: Credit cards.
BURNS: (to FRIEDMAN) You're loaning them money? I fail to understand. We
don't want them to have money.
FRIEDMAN: But it's easy money--very easy. It changes their buying pattern.
More impulse purchases...
BURNS: Ah, I see...electronic geegaws and playpretties. Ephemeral diversions,
soon discarded.
FRIEDMAN: Yes sir. As opposed to investing in houses, businesses, capital.
We'll dry that up.
BURNS: (doing a double-take) What? The one hand doesn't know what the other's
doing, sir. You're opening the Keynsian sluices with this...this wafer-thin
thing...and shutting down the flow at the other end. How ever shall you
justify it?
FRIEDMAN: We're combatting inflation.
BURNS: (snickering) Combatting...inflation?
FRIEDMAN: Yes. It's called Monetarism. We'll raise the prime rate to keep
people from spending too much...
BURNS: (waving credit card) And at the same time they'll be spending like mad
with this lozenge--but not on capital. Hahaha. No capital investment. I see.
banks won't be loaning money to small businesses, black people--but they will
be loaning money for comestibles, alcoholic beverages, clothing,
haircuts...why the lower orders might as well take their children's
inheritance, put it in a big pile and set it on fire! Why this is quite
FRIEDMAN: But...of course they'll wind up owing the bank money.
BURNS: Yes...and as the bumper sticker says.."I owe, I owe, it's off to work
I go"...there's a lot of wisdom in the bumper stickers, shouting in the
street, as it were.
SMITHERS: A very biblical metaphor, sir.
BURNS: Debt leads to industry...commendible. All those idle hands will be put
to work. None of that spare change encouraging hippies, drug addicts and
artists. But I forsee another problem...
SMITHERS: What's that, sir?
BURNS: If they're working...won't they be making something? All that wealth has to go somewhere, and if
everyone's making more of it, we can't help but distribute some to the lower
orders, now can we?
SMITHERS: We've anticipated that as well, sir. They won't be making
anything--most of them.
BURNS: If they're working, why aren't they making anything?
SMITHERS: We're going to call it a "service economy."
BURNS: Service economy?
SMITHERS: Yes, sir. Restaurants, cleaning services, window washing.
BURNS: But what know...the white collar set?
SMITHERS: We've got the Tofflers working on that--a nice little puff piece.
ALVIN TOFFLER: We're going to call it the "information age"...nobody makes
anything anymore...just ideas...information.
BURNS: I see. (flapping his arms) And we're all going to go flying away into
a big happy cloud--just like Peter Pan, haha. But...of course...if they
create those ideas in my factory, on my analytical engines...they are my
ideas, now aren't they?
SMITHERS: Absolutely sir.
BURNS: I think I'm beginning to like this service economy. You know what I
like about it?
SMITHERS: What sir?
BURNS: A service economy is an economy of servants...
SMITHERS: Hahahaha. Very witty. Very witty, sir.
BURNS: I think that will do. Meeting adjourned--now lets try out the sauna,
shall we?
(They push away from the table, walk out. Chatting, happy.)

BURNS: A bit of a sweat, a roll in the snow, and a good stiff birching. Quite
the thing, eh Smithers?
SMITHERS: (stuttering) Ye...yes, sir.

(They walk off down a hall. We still hear them, faintly, fading out.)

BURNS: Does this mean I can wear my top hat in public again?
SMITHERS: Yes sir.
BURNS: Beat them?
SMITHERS: Of course, sir.


Date:  96-02-09 14:08:31 EDT
From:  JGetz          

REAGAN enters, grinning, idiotic, like a post-lobotomy Jack Nicholson. Two
doctors lead him, holding him by either arm.

SMITHERS:'s the gipper! Our great white hype! Why is he grinning so?
C. EVERETT KOOP: (whispering) It's the operation.
BURNS: (shuddering) Most disquieting. I assume there is a point to
this...this unseemly spectacle...
BILL GATES: (a big, geeky grin on his face) Watch. (GATES pushes a TV
REAGAN: Oceania is at war with Eastasia.
GATES: Your reaction?
BURNS: I believe him.
GATES: Now watch. (pushing clicker)
REAGAN: Oceania is at war with Eurasia.
GATES: Your reaction...
BURNS: Why...yet again...I believe him. Strange. It's a contradiction--law of
excluded middle and all that--but somehow I believe. I believe...and I feel
good about myself! A warm sunshiny feeling...all over...a sort of glow! How
is this possible?
GATES: (whizkid showoff, eager) It's my new chip, Mr. Burns. Koop did the
wetware...I handle the hardware, now it's in--in all the new TV sets. Give us
another ten months and it'll be everywhere. We've got a carrier wave attached
to all his broadcasts...activates it.
BURNS: Which means...
GATES: Reagan can say anything, contradict himself, lie...people will believe
BURNS: Anything?
GATES: Anything.
BURNS: Quite impressive--and so we sell our deficit...our little bubble. But
any security leaks?
KISSINGER: Stockman...shooting off his mouth to the "Economist," spilled the
whole thing.
BURNS: (to REAGAN) You took him to the woodshed, I assume?
REAGAN: (grinning, bobbing head) Oh yes.
BURNS: And soundly thrashed him?
REAGAN: Well...let's just say...well...there you go again...
BURNS: Charming fellow--but not much upstairs. But how do you think he'll
stand in the debate with that peanut farmer?
BUSH: (holding up sheaf of papers) We've got his debate book, sir.
BURNS: Haven't lost it, have you Poppy? Boola boola. Mustn't let the side
down. Haha.
BUSH: Gonna win, sir. Gonna win.
BURNS: A "well-oiled" campaign, I assume?
BUSH: Yes. Very witty. Very witty. Good sense of humor. Incisive kind of
thing. To the point. Witty.
BURNS: Paronomasia, it's called--but I expect no rhetorical education from an
oilman, nor appreciate his flattery. Know your place sir!
BUSH: Sorry. Outta line, there, sir, outta line. Backing off...
BURNS: Next item...
SMITHERS: Destruction of the middle class.
BURNS: Yes, very good, very good. They irritate me with all their--what was
that Wolfe fellow was saying?
SMITHERS: "Status spheres."
BURNS: That's it. All these...little people...creating their own definition
of success, "I'm a surfer"..."I'm an aesthete"...and completely ignoring the
fact that Mongomery Burns is on top of the pile. Put them in their place, I
say. Let them know their betters, doff their hats.
SMITHERS: People don't wear hats anymore.
BURNS: It's the principle of the thing, man. So how do we break them?
FRIEDMAN: (holding up a credit card) With these sir...
BURNS: (taking it) A flat, plastic card? Why this looks perfectly harmless...



Date:  96-02-09 14:06:42 EDT
From:  JGetz          

BURNS: But what of the legacy of that horrible crippled Jewish man?
SMITHERS: I'm afraid I don't understand...
BURNS: Roosevelt. The Welfare state. Think, man...
SMITHERS: Roosevelt wasn't Jewish.
BURNS: You're contradicting me? I'm not prejudiced against Jews, of
course--am I, Milton?
BURNS: Henry?
KISSINGER: Of course not, sir.
BURNS: (snapping fingers) Enough bibble-babble. What's your plan? Specifics,
not generalities. Snap to.
FRIEDMAN: We're going to bankrupt the government.
BURNS: I see. I see. (brightening) A sort of..."Atlas Shrugged" strategy.

(in a sudden fit of enthusiasm BURNS runs over to the large globe in the
corner of the room, strains, attempts to lift it.)

BURNS: Smithers!

(SMITHERS runs over, removes globe, tosses it across the room.)

BURTNS: Hahaha! That felt good. Kicking up my heels, a bit. On top of the
world, Ma! Haha.
SMITHERS: (clutching himself) I think I hurt myself.
BURNS: (striding back to table, slapping SMITHERS on the back as his
underling limps behind him) Buck up, man. You'll live. I feel young again!
Global domination--quite the tonic, eh? If only Ayn were here, my Ayn--quite
the number she was--there was a jewess with fire--and she knew the value of a
dollar--what are you laughing at?
FRIEDMAN: Nothing, nothing...
SMITHERS: As to...the plan.
BURNS: (singing) Nightmoves...
FRIEDMAN: We'll spend the government into the ground--maintaining a massive
military buildup while retaining the...discredited social programs. We'll
build up the deficit to the point of fiscal collapse. Something will have to
BURNS: (waving hand)'ll be all those chutes and ladders and safety
FRIEDMAN: Exactly.
BURNS: But how do we sell this?
FRIEDMAN: We'll run a president on a platform to eliminate the deficit--and
then have him quadruple the deficit.
BURNS: And who will perform this act of prestidigitation? No one's going to
be so gullible. Not even Joe Punchclock. They'll see this game of three card
monte for what it is, sir--and raise the hue and cry.
SMITHERS: They'll believe it when they see...him. Bring in the test subject.


OPEN: "Simpson's" intro. BART at blackboard writing "WE DO NEED THOUGHT CONTROL. WE DO NEED THOUGHT CONTROL." Intro continues, standard bits of biz ending with SIMPSONS converging on couch as, at their feet, identical SIMPSONS burst out of pods and move towards them as we cut to:     

EXTERIOR: Some kind of rustic, log-cabin retreat in a redwood forrest somewhere in California. Title effect: 1980. Place is unidentified, but probably Bohemian Grove--that famous retreat for the rich and famous
originally created for writers and artists. An owl flies by. We hear a gunshot. Go to...

FLAG: Stylized pyramid with floating eye in capstone. Caption: THE ILLUMINATI GROUP...we've got our eye on YOU! Go to...

INTERIOR: a rustic cabin. Everything polished, oiled. A globe, chairs, a long wooden table. Rustic...but much too clean, much too upscale. Arcane symbols on the wall. Antlers, bleached skulls and various severed, stuffed 'n mounted animal heads in assorted ricti on various plaques on the wooden walls. Subliminal flash of human head. MR. BURNS, SMITHERS, BILL GATES, KISSINGER and others are seated at the table. BURNS rings a bell...

BURNS: Meeting called to order, and, to dispense with formalities we shall procede posthaste to item number one: keep the black man under our iron heel. As I recall we were pursuing a pharmacological angle. Any progress on that?

NORIEGA: Oh, yes sir.

BURNS: You really should do something about that horrible acne, you know.

NORIEGA: I am sorry, sir. But as to the--our labs have come up with a promising development. We shall be making a new kind of cocaine...(laughing)...we shall make it the "people's drug." A drug for black people...

BURNS: Cocaine. That's quite pricey, isn't it?

NORIEGA: But we have a new process.

BURNS: "Freebasing," of course. I read the penny dreadfuls you know.

NORIEGA: No sir. That did not prove...

BURNS: That's what happened to that black fellow, you know, the comedian -- he's got quite a mouth on him, hasn't he? Quite blue. What's his name, Smithers?

SMITHERS: Richard Pryor, sir.

NORIEGA: But that is not the process, sir--that was "freebasing." We call this "crack." A crystallized form which is inhaled--in these much more potent. Cheaper. (holding out a crack pipe)  They will smoke it with this.

BURNS: (taking pipe) And we can sell them these...alembics, or whatever the term is.

NORIEGA: Crack pipes.

BURNS: Yes, yes.

NORIEGA: The result will be social disruption in the black community...

BURNS: A tranquilizer dart for those horrible "Black Panthers" as it were.

SMITHERS: ...and we'll confirm the perception in the white community that young black men are dangerous criminals.

BURNS: Yes--which will keep everyone apart, afraid--a boost to the police while the lower orders shant be passing crib notes--quite standard. But what of the white backlash? Norman Lear's made that quite unpopular, hasn't he? Racism's the sin that dare not speak its name these days--something wrong Smithers?

SMITHERS: (blushing) No sir.

BURNS: (on a roll) You're stirring the pot, as it were, but how to we bring this pot to market and get all and sundry to eat from it--why is everyone looking at me like that?

(Nobody gets what he's saying. They all look at him blankly, like a bunch of dull students)

BURNS: You haven't a clue amonst you, do you? My rhetorical tropes leave you quite behind -- that's what happens when you don't teach Latin.

NORIEGA: My teacher was most cruel. The gerunds...

BURNS: Damn it, to speak plainly, we're stirring up certain racist impulses! How do we make the public expression of these impulses acceptable?

SMITHERS: We've found a way.


SMITHERS: (picking up a large bible) With this sir.

BURNS: Some sort of tent show sort of thing...tub-thumping...

PAT ROBERTSON: We'll be calling it "family values"

BURNS: Ah! Inherit the Wind" meets "Ozzie and Harriet." Squeaky-clean, but demagogic. I like it!

Friday, February 2, 1996

Campaign 666

Date:    96-05-02 :44 EDT
From:    Reba31
To:    JGetz


If you weren't so forgetful, maybe the Republicans *would* hire you.




Camera opens on blue sky, panning down.

Background music: John Lennon's "Imagine."

VO: Imagine a world without technology.

Camera pans down to Eden-like grove of trees and grass.

VO: Some people do.

(Go to: montage of clips from the sixties: Woodstock, signs saying "Back to
Nature" etc. Hippies lying around on the ground, conspicuously not working.)

RADICAL: (doing power-to-the-people salute) Fight the machine, man!

Freeze-frame, then go in tight on RADICAL's fist. Cut to: quick clip, Army
Math Research Center exploding. Freeze frame. Dissolve to and hold on
posterized face of Ted K.

Sounds: "Imagine" still playing, faintly, in background. Chaos, street
fighting, gun-shots, explosions, "the whole world is watching" etc.

VO: Back to Eden, that's what they imagine. No machines. No jobs. No

The sounds of destruction intensify. The poster starts to burn.

Quick cut to CLINTON at an Earth Day rally.

CLINTON: Imagine what it would be like if all of us made every day an Earth
Day. If all us put Earth first...

Jump cut to quick, almost subliminal flash of fire, destruction,
screams--then go to total black.

VO: But they can't really imagine what it would be like.

"Imagine" still playing softly, then cuts off with a screetching record
effect. Hold on black, no sound. Title effect, reverse:

                                   CRUSADE AMERICA '96
                                  this time, we're going to win

My name is Getz. Jack Getz. I'm a writer, comedian. Used to have
everything--wife, well sortof, a good job, lots of beer in the fridge. Then
one day they took it from me--everything. All because of a videotape. I have
it, they want it. And they'll stop at nothing to get it...

THUG: Gimme the video.
THUG: Aw pleeeeeease????????

I'm keeping this voiceover diary so I'll know these events are true. I know
they are. They...have to be.

VOICE: There you go, man. Keep as cool as you can. Face piles of...
GETZ: Aw, shut the fuck up. I HATE the Moody Blues.

And after that build-up, you know it's gonna be I mean just, some kinda
powerful kosmic revelation outta the 9th Emanation from the Zephiroth or your
money back, friends, a monster, a monster with a bullet, and at any rate uh.

"The Simpsons"...
                            ...the "lost episode."

Roll tape...