Businessman's Lunch

EXT: Holiday Inn. One of the old fashioned signs with jittery neon star and marquee. Askew plastic letters announce: WELCOME FAUST & MEPHISTOPHELES. Rain pounding down. The camera closes. To the restaurant--

Another neon sign cries out: FLAMING PIT.

INT: FLAMING PIT. Preparations going on for a local-yokel civic gathering.
FLAMO, (a.ka. Jacques Flambeau, ex-circus performer, businessman, cannibal)
is storming about in red hood, red costume, red flowing cape. Barking orders
at the busboys and in general trying to micromanage everything. FLAMO walks
past one busboy, does a doubletake.

FLAMO: What did you just do?
BUSBOY: I jus kinda cleared offa table, y'know.
FLAMO: You cleared off the table?

BUSBOY: Whatever.

FLAMO: You mean--the crumbs? You cleared off the crumbs?

BUSBOY: Whatever.

FLAMO: Just sort of swept it off--like this?

BUSBOY: Yeah, like, y'know, it's like...messy eaters.

FLAMO: With your hand?

BUSBOY: Yeah, like...y'know.

FLAMO: Onto the floor?

BUSBOY: Yeah.

FLAMO: With your hand?

BUSBOY: Well, y'know.

FLAMO: (holding up odd-looking metallic intrument) Do you know what THIS is?

BUSBOY: (frightened) I'm REAL sorry, Mr. Flamo.

FLAMO: This is a crumber, hmmm? A crumber. And with the crumber we sweep the
crumbs off the clean white linen. Like this. (pantomiming)

BUSBOY: Cool. Didjoo invent that?

FLAMO: No. My second point. (hissing -- getting in his face) We do not EVER
EVER EVER sweep the crumbs onto the floor. We sweep the crumbs into our
HANDS.

BUSBOY: But that's like...it's been in somebody's mouth, OK?
FLAMO: What do we do with the crumbs?
BUSBOY: (muttering) Into our hands.
FLAMO: What?
BUSBOY: We sweep the crumbs into our hands.
FLAMO: Good. And then...what do we do with the crumbs?
BUSBOY: Uh. We uh, we like bring 'em back in the kitchen and put 'em in the
garbage.
FLAMO: Good. (brushing invisible, pantomime crumbs into his hands) Go and do
likewise.

DARTH VADER-like, FLAMO walks off, trailing cape behind him. BUSBOY watches
him go, looks down at his hands. Almost brushes invisible crumbs onto floor
-- but stops, afraid. Walks into kitchen, brushes invisible crumbs into
garbage can, then brushes hands together, wipes hands on pants, shudders.

Go to: long shot from above, INT of the restaurant. Sound quality has
changed: the get-together's just begun, folks are milling about, yapping,
sitting down. We see a huge fireplace and oversized video monitor at one end.
Bland decor, emphasis on red, phony-baloney sheet-rock on the walls and
ornately-carved pseudo-Spanish chairs with overstuffed vinyl seating. Lotsa
fat, cigar-chomping bidnessmen types (with a smattering of wimmin). Loud,
ribald, drunk--the SATANARIANS.

FLAMO: (taking the podium) Good evening, and WELCOME, my friends. How the
hell are you tonight? (they laugh) Yes, yes. I got my eye on you, Ralph.
How're you doing? OK, OK. Welcome to our 10th annual celebration of EVIL --
tonight's once-of-a-lifetime event will be featuring a live, pay-for-view
coverage of the Republican National Convention on our state-of-the-art video
monitor. This treat is on us, of course -- you've certainly earned your front
row seats. And you may notice another little gift...

Go to MED shot one of the tables. One of the BUSINESSMEN looks down. There's
a lucite chip (in the shape of an inverted-7) holding a digital clock. The
legend reads: "SATANARIANS: 1796-1996. The end is near!" He purses his lips,
nods to himself in a self-satisfied way, puts the clock down. It clicks to:
6:66.

FLAMO: Thanks to you, my dear merchants, we have succeeded in making Evil an
acceptable lifestyle choice both here in America and throughout today's
emerging global economy. We have moved from a world that thinks in terms of
"right and wrong" to one in which "winning and losing" are the only moral
categories. And, as the great poet Auden once pointed out, "the only two
sexes are the weak and the strong."

BUSINESSMAN: (Texas accent) What's that mean, exactly?

FLAMO: It means without power you're fucked.

(They laugh)

FLAMO: Hear now, the words of a great damned soul--Richard M. Nixon.

BIDNESSMAN: The bird is cruel!

(They all shield their eyes)

FLAMO: Channelled, in a gesture of hellish irony, through the possessed body
of Hillary Clinton. Behold -- Nixon's advice to the Republican media
handlers...