“Home Movies” Spec Script – “To Write Or Not To Write?” – Scene 4

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EXT. SOCCER FIELD – DAY

Brendon sits on the soccer field alone with a pen, pad of paper, a copy of Coach McGuirk’s printed novel, and an empty ice cream bowl.  He flips through McGurik’s manuscript.

BRENDON

I just can’t follow Double Agent John McGuirk’s character arc.  He starts on a whaling ship, then the ninja assassins come out of no where, and somehow the Russian spy sub can pass through the marshmallow lava.  This source material is garbage!  I can’t work with this.

Brendon throws the manuscript a few feet away.  SHANNON walks over and picks it up and begins to read it.

SHANNON

After snapping the neck of the last ninja with a swift high kick, Double Agent John McGuirk grabbed Clara for one last kiss before he dove into the marshmallow lava.  Did you write this crap, Brendon?

BRENDON

No, I didn’t write it, Coach McGuirk did.  He paid me to finish writing it for him.

SHANNON

Oh, so you’re a prostitute.

BRENDON

A what?

SHANNON

A prostitute.  You’re a prostitute, Brendon.  You sell yourself to men so they can get off.

BRENDON

Is that what I’m doing?

SHANNON

How much did he pay you?

BRENDON

Twenty dollars.

SHANNON

Oh, so you’re a cheap prostitute.

BRENDON

I don’t think you’re using that word correctly.

SHANNON

Oh, I’m using it correctly.  You think you’re the only one Coach asked to write for him?  He practically begged the entire basketball team.  You’re the only pretty woman who said yes to him.

BRENDON

I really don’t appreciate that reference.

SHANNON

How does it feel to know that you’re helping an old desperate man get his rocks off?

Shannon picks up Brendon’s empty ice cream container.

SHANNON

And what’s this?  Ike Dream’s Ice Cream and a receipt for exactly $20 in ice cream?  How did it feel, Brendon, going down your throat?  Did it feel like guilt?

BRENDON

Ok, Shannon, I’ve had enough of this conversation.  Unless you can help me write this, you’re wasting my time.

SHANNON

Unlike you, Brendon, I’m not a prostitute.  So, no, I can’t help you write McGuirk’s jizzfest.  But what I can do is give you advice.

BRENDON

Advice?

SHANNON

Don’t write it.

BRENDON

But Coach McGuirk already paid me.

SHANNON

You’d think he would have learned by now not to pay a hooker until after she’s finished.

BRENDON

So you’re saying I shouldn’t write it?  I’d have to feign my death, grow a mustache, learn French and move to Canada.

SHANNON

You’d really go through all that?  What’s the worst he could do to you?  He’s just a soccer coach.

BRENDON

Yeah, but he gets that look where his eyes go all black, like a shark about to strike, but instead of rows of teeth, it’s smells of vodka.

SHANNON

He’s not a shark, Brendon, he’s a whale.  Didn’t you see the title?  Moby McGuirk.  He’s a big fat white whale.

BRENDON

I don’t think I want to anger that whale.

FADE TO BLACK.

Continue to: “To Write Or Not To Write?” – Scene 5

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