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.
SMITHERS: No sir.
BURNS: And...when the dust finally clears on all this...I really can beat my
servants?
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
me.
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
with..."Rodney"...?
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!