Tag: Merrick

SCRIPT: Under Surveillance

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Disclaimer: This Story is a Work of Fiction, Except for the Parts that Aren’t.

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EXT: Daytime — A busy street in Bangkok, Thailand.

A short man with dark hair and a designer messenger bag strapped to his chest hops on a scooter and takes off across town. The scenery changes from local Thai apartments covered in hanging gardens to luxury high-rise condos surrounded by luxury malls to a suburban-style gated community full of large, spacious villas that require staff for upkeep. The guard checks the man’s ID and waves him through the gate. He eventually arrives at his intended destination and parks the scooter outside of an especially lovely-looking villa. As he makes his way towards the front door, a hurried-looking old man in a suit, clearly the BUTLER, comes rushing out the front door.

BUTLER: What are you doing here, Billy? Mr. Antony specifically commanded you not to come here. You know he doesn’t approve of riff raff like you anywhere near his family’s home.

BILLY: [nonchalantly pulls a flash drive out of his bag] Ah, yes, about that. I have some information he wants. It was far too important to be delayin’ now.

BUTLER: What is this regarding?

BILLY: The documents he requested regarding the Lady Elizabeth Catherine from the House of Horton.

BUTLER: Who?

BILLY: Better known by her pen name… Ms. Betsey Horton, Writer Extraordinaire?

BUTLER: And you’re certain this is important enough to visit the house for?

BILLY: Oh, yes. He’s going to want to hear this story. Trust me.

BUTLER: Very well, Billy. I’ll let Mr. Antony know you’re here. Please, wait outside.

BILLY stands outside on the front steps waiting as the gardening crew take turns giving him disapproving looks. He puts his hands in his pockets and starts whistling an old Irish hymn. A few minutes later, the front doors burst open. A handsome gentleman in his 40’s with dark hair and eyes like a storm at sea sticks his head out and glares at BILLY.

ANTONY: I told you to use the back door so no one would see you! Eejit!

BILLY: Well, top o’ the morning to you too.

ANTONY: Get the hell in this house right now before anyone else sees you! You’re lucky my wife isn’t home today!

ANTONY grabs BILLY by the arm and pulls him inside the house. He looks both ways outside before slamming the doors shut. He gives BILLY an annoyed look before leading him to the study, or as we say in the post-pandemic era, the home office. He is just about to slam the door before the BUTLER puts his hand out to stop it.

ANTONY: What is it, Jeeves? What do you want?!

BUTLER: Sorry, sir, just wanting to know if you’ll be needing any tea?

ANTONY: For god’s sake, man, this is no time for tea!

BILLY: You’re right. Better make it a whiskey. You’re going to need it after hearing this.

ANTONY: Very well. Make it a whiskey.

BILLY: Oh, and get us the good stuff, Jeeves. From the family’s private stock!

ANTONY gives BILLY a loathsome look and mutters something under his breath. He exchanges a look with the BUTLER but nods anyway. The BUTLER leaves and returns with the fancy whiskey. They wait until he is gone from the room before speaking to each other again.

ANTONY: Go on now, speak your peace. What did you discover about our Posh Irish-American Lady Friend running around with all that riff raff down by the docks?

BILLY: Generally harmless, as you suspected. She’s just another rich girl out here blowing her inheritance on some kind of Eat, Pray, Love journey. Travels a lot. LA, New York, London, Paris, Dubai, Doha, India, Hong Kong, Bali, Kuala Lumpur. She has a big thing for New Orleans in particular.

ANTONY: New Orleans?

BILLY: That’s right. New Orleans. There’s a large Irish population there.

ANTONY: Interesting. Who does she work for?

BILLY: She doesn’t work, for anyone, or at all in general, as far as I can tell. Her Daddy was taking care of her until he died. She just writes in her little blog and thinks it will make her a real author some day.

ANTONY: Yes, yes, we knew all of that. Tell me what else you found.

BILLY: Now, that’s the interesting part. She herself is not that interesting, but her collection of ex-lovers are.

ANTONY: Go on.

BILLY takes out the flash drive again and hands it over to ANTONY. ANTONY looks at it as if it is a piece of kryptonite glowing in his hand. He downs his glass of whiskey and immediately pours another one before plugging the flash drive into his desktop computer. He sits down in his chair as BILLY stands behind him and begins navigating the file with the mouse. He pulls up a video showing a montage of the writer in question making out with four different men in the same elevator over a period of four months. The first man featured is none other than ANTONY himself.

BILLY: Look, there you are!

ANTONY grabs the mouse and fast-forwards through his section of the montage. He pauses it when the next man comes up to look at his face.

BILLY: That’s the Englishman she was crying over the night you met her. You can see here he visited her there at least twice. I also got footage of them in the bar together from back in August. You can see they didn’t talk for very long before leaving together.

ANTONY: Who is he?

BILLY: No one, really. Just some freelance web developer guy who got roped into taking care of a local water buffalo farm.

ANTONY: [scoffs and shakes his head as he continues moving the cursor through the video] And who is this one?

BILLY: Ah, Panama Guy. I also have footage of her in the condo building down the street the same night, and at the bar all week. He’s some American military contractor type on vacation. Not in town long.

ANTONY: And this one?

BILLY: That’s her Mexican Guy. It was easy to track him down. He’s just some cruise ship sound tech guy. Also on vacation.

ANTONY: Also a no one. You came all this way to waste my time for THIS?!

BILLY: Now, now, calm yourself down there, buddy boy. There’s more.

BILLY clicks out of the montage and pulls up a new file. It’s a whole folder with the designated name, “Indian Guy.” BILLY opens it to reveal a series of photos of a young, handsome Indian man shaking hands with some of the biggest BJP Party leaders in India today. A video clip shows him riding in a brand-new Jeep with party flags being waved through a highway checkpoint somewhere outside of New Delhi. There is also a series of photographs of his mother, a former politician for the BJP Party, engaged in various political activities, surrounded by the same prominent collection of leaders. ANTONY stares at the computer screen in horror as his jaw drops open.

BILLY: According to her blog, this was the man she was engaged to marry.

ANTONY: Did she know about this when she entered into the agreement?

BILLY: I don’t think she did, no. It’s hard to say. It’s hard to tell what she knows, what she’s pretending to know, and what she doesn’t know. She’s a very good bullshitter. Americans are like that, ya know.

ANTONY: She told me she met him at a yoga retreat.

BILLY: She did. I believe she fell for Ye Olde Indian Marriage Scamme.

ANTONY: That’s… actually pretty sad.

BILLY: It really is.

ANTONY: She must be very lonely.

BILLY: She is.

ANTONY: How do you know that?

BILLY: I’ve been watching her Instagram stories the last few days.

ANTONY: I see. And just how many more of these gentlemen are there?

BILLY: See, now that’s where the story gets interesting. Everything I just showed you? That’s just from this year. The Personal Data Package I paid for got me the password to her blog archives. I could see everything she has hidden on there. Her website is ten years old! There’s thousands of stories on there.

ANTONY: Thousands?

BILLY: That’s right. Thousands.

ANTONY: And what about this other bar? This Bloody Mary’s place? What did you find out about this Andrew character?

BILLY moves the mouse and clicks on the file labeled “Bloody Mary’s.” A photo of a dingy old dive bar with a distinctly Irish name flashes up on the screen. It is followed by photos of the town of Vermillion and the University of South Dakota. A montage of photos shows Betsey Horton sitting in the bar with a frail old man wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, laughing as the handsome bartender looks on from afar with a saddened look. The next photo shows her and the bartender looking directly at each other from across the room, holding their gaze on each other a little too long to be considered proper or appropriate.

ANTONY: Is that her Andrew?

BILLY: Yes, sir. That’s her Andrew.

ANTONY: What did you get on him?

BILLY: His real name is [redacted]. He’s Big Money. Wife is a Doctor. He just sold the bar last year. Moved to a different state with his family. Here they are now.

The image on the screen changes to a wholesome family photo taken in front of a beautiful restored farm house out in a random field somewhere. ANTONY looks it over and makes a face.

ANTONY: She said they weren’t together. What did you find out?

BILLY: Again, it’s hard to say. What I can tell you is that she was writing stories about him and the bar every day for about two years before it became a ‘problem’ and he banned her for life from the bar.

ANTONY: Because of the stories, not because they had a relationship?

BILLY looks ANTONY up and down and clicks his tongue.

BILLY: I don’t know about that one, Boss. Like I said, it’s very hard to say. But I can show this video, which was taken about two years after she was banned.

BILLY pulls up another montage. This one shows Betsey sitting at a proper Irish Pub down the street, playing bar games with a bunch of local townie riff raff and taking way too many shots. By the end of the montage, she is clearly not herself anymore. She disappears from the bar and reappears in the next scene on police bodycam footage, standing behind Bloody Mary’s, clearly drunk out of her right mind and sporting purple hair.

OFFICER: Ma’am, we received a report that you were out her vandalizing the bar.

BETSEY: I’m just writing in my notebook.

OFFICER: Can we check the contents of your bag, ma’am?

Betsey sits down on the ground and promptly starts removing a pile of notebooks, folders, pens, and devices from her large suitcase-like bag. Even in her clearly blackout state, she still takes the time to explain the contents of each folder. The officers can be heard on the police-cam footage exchanging the following words:

OFFICER 1: I don’t see any spray paint in there. No chalk, no nothing. There’s no graffiti on the fence or the sidewalk or anywhere. I don’t see anything like the call we received.

OFFICER 2: No, the call clearly stated she was out her writing graffiti. I don’t see anything like that. It must be someone making a false report.

OFFICER 1: She is very drunk though.

OFFICER 2: Yeah.

OFFICER 1: Okay, ma’am, ma’am, it’s time for you to go home now. Can we take you home?

BETSEY: No, it’s fine, I’ll just get back there myself. Thank you!

The bodycam footage shuts off. The two sit together in silence for a moment.

ANTONY: Is there more?

BILLY: Oh, there’s more.

Right at the moment, the BUTLER knocks on the door and sticks his head into the study.

BUTLER: Sir, your appointment is here.

ANTONY looks at the computer, looks at the BUTLER, looks at BILLY, looks back at the computer, and then looks back at the BUTLER.

ANTONY: Cancel my meeting, Jeeves. It turns out this is an emergency after all.

BUTLER: But sir-

ANTONY: Don’t argue with me, Jeeves. Just go and get us another bottle of whiskey. The good kind this time, please.

BILLY: Ah, I knew ya had it in ya!

ANTONY: Shut up, Billy. Jeeves, the whiskey!

BUTLER: As you say, sir.

The BUTLER leaves again and returns with a second, better-quality bottle of whiskey. ANTONY practically grabs it out of his hands and pours himself a stiff glass before the next video plays.

BILLY: So this one was taken about two years after that one.

ANTONY watches as Betsey walks up outside the bar and sets up a bright pink fold-up chair in the middle of the street outside. The street has been blocked off to make outdoor seating for the pandemic. She sits downs in the chair, takes out her notebook and starts scribbling away with a smile on her face. In the background, he can see a crowd gathering inside the bar by the window, making a big commotion about her presence. In the next clip they watch as two police officers dressed in full military riot gear run up the sidewalk and grab her. They watch her fighting back with every ounce of her being as they drag her inside the police vehicle. Andrew steps outside the bar and starts ranting at the police officer about how she has been trespassed from the property. Inside the vehicle, they can see Betsey screaming as she tries to pull her wrists out of the handcuffs.

BETSEY: LET ME GO! LET ME FUCKING GO! THIS IS A VIOLATION OF MY FIRST AMENDMENT RIGHTS TO FREEDOM OF SPEECH, FREEDOM OF PRESS, AND FREEDOM OF ASSEMBLY TO AIR MY GRIEVANCES AGAINST THIS FUCKED UP BULLSHIT! YOU CAN’T DO THIS! YOU DIDN’T READ ME MY MIRANDA RIGHTS OR TELL ME WHY I AM BEING DETAINED. I WANT TO TALK TO MY LAWYER! GET ME MY LAWYER! GET ME MY FUCKING LAWYER RIGHT NOW! AHHHHHHHHH!!!! I WANT MY LAWYER!

BILLY watches as ANTONY’s jaw drops to the floor in total and complete shock. He pauses the video right at the perfect moment to capture Betsey’s face looking like a wild, wild cat howling at the moon.

ANTONY: Woah.

BILLY: [cheerfully] See, I told ya she was Irish!

ANTONY: [downs another glass of whiskey and pours them both another] Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. She’s Irish, alright.

BILLY: I respect her. She’s got that Irish fire inside. That lass wasn’t about to go down without a proper fight. I respect the fuck outta her for that.

ANTONY: And what became of this mess?

BILLY: According to the court documents, her daddy bailed her out. Again.

ANTONY: And how many times has he done that?

BILLY: Well, that’s the thing. She’s a good girl otherwise. Generally well-behaved. A right proper Lady, I would say, as she was raised to be. The only other thing I could find in the police files was this.

BILLY pulls up a series of PDF’s detailing the arrest of a man for assaulting Betsey. His identification page shows him to be the spoiled, arrogant son of a local businessman and politician. The police report describes an encounter where Betsey’s “sometimes boyfriend” threw her across the room into a wall during an argument they had while lying in bed naked together. The file includes a medical report taken from the hospital that morning, a protection order, and a court report detailing the case being dropped due to Rich White Male Privilege.

ANTONY: Wow. She really knows how to pick ’em, huh?

BILLY: So it would seem.

ANTONY: And what else is there?

BILLY pulls up the last file, labeled “Mental Health Report.”

BILLY: Some of this was harder to find, but I managed. It’s all from before she turned 21. She was hospitalized for multiple suicide attempts as a teenager and drugged up on pharmaceuticals for several years before and after. It seemed to stop when she became an adult, because there’s no records of her receiving any kind of significant treatment for any mental health conditions after she turned 22. Apparently she’s a yoga teacher now.

ANTONY: I see. And you’re telling me this is everything you were able to find out about this woman? There’s nothing more?

BILLY: Eh, a couple more boyfriends here and there. Most recently, a rich married guy who she helped get a divorce, a New York Times bestselling author who owns a restaurant she used to work at, and a secret one I couldn’t find any information about. Less recently, an older guy who took advantage of her when she was young, one of her teachers, some asshole who cheated on her a bunch of times and left her unable to love anyone the same way ever again.

ANTONY: I see. Sad.

BILLY: And what say you about this information, sir?

ANTONY: I’m not sure what to say right now, Billy. Thank you for bringing me this information. I’ll forgive your unwelcome intrusion into the family household. For now. Don’t think you’re welcome back here again.

BILLY: And what is it you intend to do, sir?

ANTONY: I have no idea. Just… mind after her for now.

BILLY: Pardon me for saying so, sir, but you know I have my own sick water buffalo to tend to at home. I can’t just be minding after your girlfriends for free.

ANTONY scoffs and rolls his eyes. He gets up from the desk, walks over to the bookshelf and pulls out the book that opens the secret door to the safe. He grabs a duffle bag full of cash and throws it at BILLY.

ANTONY: That should be enough to cover the cost of the data file your purchased, the information you brought me today, and whatever future work you do.

BILLY: As you say, sir. Thank you, sir. I won’t be disappointing you now, sir.

ANTONY: Just get out, Billy. You’ve given me enough information for today.

BILLY: Just one last thing, sir. The Lady herself requested I ask you one thing.

ANTONY: Oh? And what is that?

BILLY: [pulls out a post-it note from his messenger bag and clears his throat] “How does it feel to cancel a meeting to deal with me?”

ANTONY immediately freezes and looks up at BILLY in shock as the realization slowly washes over him that he’s been had.

BILLY: [smirks and looks back down at the post- it note] The Lady suggests that next time, you schedule an appointment specifically for her in order to avoid any unwelcome intrusions into your private time.

ANTONY: GET OUT!

BILLY laughs, folds up the note, and sticks it back into his bag. He finishes his whiskey, puts his hands in his pockets, and whistles as he walks out of the villa and back to his bike. He barely registers the sound of the door slamming behind him as he goes. He gets on his scooter with his giant bag of money and takes off into the mountains far away.

The End

SCRIPT: High School Reunion

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Betsey has recently been invited to the ten-year-reunion at her public high school. In spite of the fact that she switched to private school halfway though, she still grew up with all of these people and wanted to see them again. Unfortunately, the scheduled date is inconvenient for anyone whose family no longer lives in the area. In order to make herself feel better about missing the event that someone was kind enough to invite her to anyway, she decides to imagine how it would go if she was actually present.

First, Betsey goes to Andrew. She decides to bring up the subject when he is most amiable to granting requests. That is to say, when he is lying in bed naked and half-asleep after several rounds of hot sex.

Betsey: Darling, will you buy me a plane ticket to D.C. so I can go to my high school reunion?

Andrew: Why would you want to go to your high school reunion? I thought you hated high school.

Betsey: I did, but not all of my classmates were terrible. Some of them were really cool. Those are the people I’d like to see again. How often are they all going to be in the same room together? I mean, these are the people I grew up with, Andrew. I’ve known them my whole life. Facebook is cool and all, but it’s not the same as hanging out in person.

Andrew: Yeah, but everyone knows the cool people are too cool to go to those things. They moved on with their lives and never looked back.

Betsey: True, but I still want to go.

Andrew: What about Single White Female? I mean… Taylor. Aren’t you worried she’ll be there?

Betsey: Oh, I didn’t even think about that. Yeah, that would be awkward AF, especially since she named her baby Merrick after my nickname for my Vampire ex-boyfriend. But, it’s whatever. I still think it would be fun to go. Just so I could walk away with a story to tell.

Andrew: When is it?

Betsey: Two days before Christmas.

Andrew: Wow, that is really shitty planning.

Betsey: Yeah, I know. But you know how hometown people are. They don’t consider anyone outside of their own little insular group.

Andrew: True.

Andrew thinks about it for a moment.

Andrew: Does it really mean that much to you?

Betsey: Yes.

Andrew: Okay. I’ll buy you a plane ticket. But you owe me lots of hot sex in return.

Betsey: Done!

Andrew buys Betsey her plane ticket and puts her up in a Holiday Inn located within walking distance of a Potbelly’s, Starbucks, and Metro stop. On the evening of the reunion, Betsey gets dressed up and goes to the unbearably douchey bar the reunion is being held at. Betsey orders a glass of wine and starts circulating around the room.

Rich White Girls: We’re just as bitchy and cliquey as we always were. You can’t sit with us!

Rich White Boys: We’re just as douchey and superficial as we always were. Also, you got hot!

Cool People: We’re just as cool as we always were. We’re doing interesting things with our lives. We’re happy you came all this way just to see us. What about you, Betsey?

Betsey: I’m the same as I always was. I’m still sitting alone in the corner, writing in my notebook, causing trouble, and pissing everyone off. The only real difference is that I got hot and dress a lot better now.

Cool People: Haha, oh Betsey! Some things never change!

High School Crush: Hey, I never paid attention you ever, except to make fun of you along with everyone else! You got really hot! Do you wanna go bang?

Betsey: No, sorry, I can’t. My boyfriend wouldn’t like it. He gets really jealous.

High School Crush: Isn’t your boyfriend married with kids?

Betsey: [laughs awkwardly and puts on a huge, fake, plastic grin] Uhh… It’s complicated.

High School Crush: Doesn’t sound that complicated to me.

Betsey: Well, I tried to reject him multiple times but he was very persistent. He just kept showing up and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Finally I just gave in and stopped resisting.

High School Crush: That sounds messed up.

Betsey: It’s not so bad. It’s just… not exactly the situation I was hoping for.

High School Crush: Whatever. You should have a drunken, meaningless, totally unfulfilling one-night-stand with me instead. I won’t even take you out for brunch tomorrow morning. I’ll just leave right after we’re done.

Betsey: Uhh… no thanks.

Betsey goes back to the bar and orders another glass of wine. She continues circulating and catching up with the people whose lives she genuinely cares about. After she finishes her second glass, she orders another one and decides to confront Taylor. Everyone in the room is watching in excitement. They love a good public fight.

Betsey: So, how’s your baby that you named after my ex-boyfriend?

Taylor: [defensively] I DIDN’T STEAL YOUR NAME. I JUST REALLY LIKED IT, OKAY? IT’S NOT LIKE IT’S WEIRDLY UNCOMMON OR ANYTHING!

Betsey: You are the same as you always were. First you fuck around with my first ex-boyfriend Maverick behind my back, then you pursue my teacher/mentor, then you follow me to college and major in the same subject, then you go after my vampire, then you pretend you’re a writer and start a little blog. After I dropped out and you had no one to follow anymore, you decide you’re obsessed with another guy, obsessively stalk his ex-girlfriend’s social media and blog for years, literally become her, and then marry the guy! And now you’re naming your child Merrick after my Vampire ex-boyfriend?! YOU KNEW THAT WAS HIS NICKNAME. What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you even have your own personality?

Taylor: I’M NOT COPYING YOU. YOU’RE SUCH A FUCKING BITCH. I JUST HAPPEN TO LIKE ALL OF THE SAME THINGS RIGHT AFTER YOU’VE EXPRESSED AN INTEREST IN THEM. I’M THE REAL VICTIM HERE BECAUSE I WAS JEALOUS OF YOUR PERFECT LIFE.

Betsey: Ah, yes. The Perfect Life where I had a nervous breakdown, tried to kill myself, stayed in a psychiatric hospital where I was basically experimented on, and had to change schools. But I had forest green mini van and a credit card that I abused the shit out of, so my life was Perfect! Yeah, you’re still the same fucking crazyass bitch you always were. Like, you are literally The Single White Female. It’s creepy AF. So, I’m just going to tell you this straight-up right now: If you ever come to my town looking for my Andrew, my bar, or any of the other people in my stories, you are going to find yourself in a world of pain. Stay in your crazy little world of delusion and leave me the hell alone. You are not welcome in South Dakota. Do you understand me? Now kindly fuck off and die.

Taylor starts crying and runs into the bathroom. Everyone in the room cheers. Betsey finishes her wine and looks at the crowd.

Betsey: Well, I’ve had just about enough of this. Who wants to get stoned and go to Bob & Edith’s?

A small group of cool people catch a Lyft with Betsey to the next location. They party all night and get brunch in the morning. The next afternoon, Betsey boards her flight back to Omaha. Much to her surprise, Andrew is waiting for her at the airport.

Betsey: What are you doing here?

Andrew: I missed you.

Betsey: It’s Christmas Eve. Aren’t you supposed to be with The Family?

Andrew shrugs, looks at the ground, and shuffles his feet.

Andrew: Yeah… I mean… you know how it is.

Betsey looks at him sadly but takes his hand anyway. They walk through the terminal together.

Andrew: So how was your reunion?

Betsey: Oh, you know. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Andrew: That bad, huh?

Betsey: [shrugs] Not really. It was actually pretty fun. I’m really glad I went. It’s always worth it to go back there just to eat at Bob & Edith’s again. I’m just happy to be home.

Andrew: Maybe next time you can bring me.

Betsey: Okay, but you have to let me drive. You can’t handle the traffic out there. Trust me.

Andrew: I believe you.

Betsey: So what should we do now?

Andrew: Do you wanna get a hotel room and watch HGTV?

Betsey: Definitely.

They leave the airport and head on over to Downtown Omaha.

The End

SCRIPT: The Island of Lost Guys

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On today’s episode of Island Hunters…

BETSEY: Hi! My name is Betsey! I’m a Writer Extraordinaire from Washington D.C. I’m looking to purchase an island in Belize where all of my Lost Guys can live.

REAL ESTATE AGENT: What are you looking for in an Island Paradise?

BETSEY: When I think of the Island of Lost Guys, I think of space. Lots of space. I want them to be comfortable, you know? I see a nice big beach house with a pool and a dock for a boat. I definitely want trees so they can hang up their hammocks, and a huge dining room/chef’s kitchen so they have somewhere to eat. I won’t be cooking for them, of course. I plan to hire somebody for that.

As far as bedrooms goes, they’re boys so they can bunk up if necessary. I’m thinking maybe 10 bedrooms, 15 at the most. As many bathrooms as possible, because they are men, and men are just… disgusting. I fully plan on providing 24-hour on-site staff to clean up after them. I really want to make them to feel at home.

Budget wise, I’m looking to spend about $13 million. I know it’s Belize and the exchange rate is cheaper, so I’m willing to take on a fixer-upper. I have a feeling it’s going to take some time to get all of them together anyway.

REAL ESTATE AGENT: Well, that’s all very reasonable. After some searching, I’ve found the perfect Island Paradise for you! It has everything you’re looking for, and it’s only $1 million. It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, but it’s got everything you need. Doesn’t it feel good to take advantage of third world tax havens?

BETSEY: It sure does! I love Capitalism! Now let’s update this mansion! I’ll paint it some bright colors, get some nice furniture, hang up some hammocks, install a home theatre with surround sound and all the latest video game systems. Servants to cater to their every whim, a chef to cook them whatever they want, a maid to clean up after their mess. Whatever these guys want! Their wish is my command!

REAL ESTATE AGENT: Say, just what are you planning to do with your Island Paradise anyway?

BETSEY: Now that I have this Island Paradise, I’m going to invite all of my ex-boyfriends, muses, and former love interests to stay here. There’s only one catch… none of them have any idea they’re secretly being filmed for America’s Next Great Reality TV Show™. Let’s tune in and see what happens next…

The opening credits roll. A private jet lands on a remote island somewhere off the coast of Belize. Off step a bunch of wildly different but equally attractive men. Area Codes by Ludacris plays in the background.

THE LOST GUYS, in order of appearance:

  • THE GENERAL, a sexy former Jedi Knight, played by Ewan McGregor
  • THE PERSIAN, a greasy used car salesman
  • HENRY WILLIAMS, a handsome young French teacher
  • MERRICK, a seductive, gothic vampire
  • BEAR, Merrick’s First Best Friend
  • RYAN, Merrick’s Second Best Friend
  • TEA, an alcoholic
  • DOUBLE D, a drug addict
  • TOM, an actor specializing in villainous roles
  • THE FRENCHMAN, a suave rando picked up on the streets of Paris
  • THE PRINCE, a scoundrel and a cad
  • DUKE, Tom’s cranky older brother
  • LEO, a washed-up, old actor
  • ANDREW, the sexy Owner of Bloody Mary’s Bar

THE LOST GUYS arrive on the Island and get settled into their rooms. They break into the open bar by the pool and begin their ceremonial rituals of fraternal bonding.

After a round of Halo gets a little too heated, THE PERSIAN gets voted off the Island. After an intense, rum-fueled argument escalates into a fight in the backyard, THE PRINCE gets escorted off the Island by the police. TEA and DOUBLE D choose to leave in order to make better lifestyle choices. BEAR and RYAN follow MERRICK around everywhere he goes. THE FRENCHMAN and HENRY WILLIAMS were just here on vacation. DUKE is only here for the food. LEO couldn’t make it due to scheduling conflicts.

That leaves THE GENERAL, MERRICK, TOM, and ANDREW. They all get along harmoniously, until the subject of BETSEY comes up. That’s when the real contest begins.

TOM: I’m her favourite! She loved me so much, she was stalking me!

MERRICK: Oh, please. She was “stalking” all of us. That doesn’t count. It’s part of her job.

ANDREW: I think we can all agree that I’m her favourite. Just look at the way she writes about me. It’s so obvious she wants me the most out of anybody.

MERRICK: Woah there, pretty boy. You’re not her favourite. I’m her favourite.

ANDREW: Yeah? You think so? She comes into my bar almost every single day.

MERRICK: Just because she likes your bar doesn’t mean she likes you.

ANDREW: You think just because you sparkle in the sun you’re some kind of hot shit?

MERRICK: I am hot shit. You wouldn’t even believe how much money I make.

ANDREW: You wouldn’t even believe how much money I make.

MERRICK: You think you’re a big deal just because you own some bar in Small Town, South Dakota? Who are you, anyway?

ANDREW: I’m a bigger fucking deal than you are. I own my own business, mother fucker. I oversee a historic property. Meanwhile, you’re up to some kind of shady shit doing military contract work. Your job only exists because my hard-earned tax dollars are paying for it.

MERRICK: Sounds like the joke’s on you, asshole.

ANDREW: Yeah? You wanna dance, douchebag? I can take on some East Coast pussy like you.

MERRICK: You think so, Pretty Boy? One punch in the face and you’re straight outta the game!

ANDREW: Not if I rip your dick off first! What have you got left after that? Your charming personality?

MERRICK and ANDREW get into the Classic Alpha Male Struggle for Dominance.

Meanwhile, BETSEY and 20 of her closest friends are watching the scene unfold from her home theatre on the island next door.

BETSEY: This was the best investment I’ve ever made. Worth every penny. 10/10, would buy again.

ALL 20 OF BETSEY’S CLOSEST FRIENDS: Agreed.

Cut back to MERRICK and ANDREW fighting.

MERRICK: You don’t even know her that well! You’re too busy talking to everyone else in the room!

ANDREW: I know her plenty well! You wouldn’t even believe how drunk I’ve seen her get before! That’s when her real personality comes out!

MERRICK: That may be, but you don’t know her the way I know her. I’m The Best She’s Ever Had. I got two words for you, bro: Vampire Sex. You don’t even know what that means.

ANDREW: I don’t want to know what that means. I’m sure I can show her plenty of things she’s never seen before. She doesn’t even know anything about South Dakota. I could show that bitch The World.

MERRICK: Sounds like a whole lot of Talk and not a whole lot of Action. Pretty typical for a Politician if you ask me. You don’t even know what you’re missing, bro.

ANDREW: Just looks like I’m missing a bunch of Crazy.

MERRICK: You don’t even know. She is tame around you. All she does when she’s around you is sit down, shut up, and write in her fucking notebook. I’ve never seen her act like that around a man before. You should’ve seen what she did to me. She lay waste to the small town in Maryland where I’m from. She dated both of my best friends. And on top of it all, she was the best sex I’ve ever had. That bitch is fucking crazy, but if I could fuck her again, I totally would. She’s just that good.

ANDREW: [raises one eyebrow with intrigue] Really?

MERRICK: Really.

TOM: Hey now, don’t talk about her that way.

EVERYONE: Shut the fuck up, Tom!

MERRICK: Don’t even get me started on you, Farm Boy. I could kill you after what you did to her. You’re lucky she asked me to spare your life, or you wouldn’t even be standing here right now. You’re not even worth my time. At least Pretty Boy here would put up a decent fight.

ANDREW: I’ll show you what a real man looks like, you little vampire bitch.

BETSEY: Okay, everybody, that’s enough fighting over me for now. My ego has been stroked enough. It’s time for everyone to cast their vote for the winner of Last Muse Standing.

Everyone casts their vote. The results are placed into an envelope and delivered to BETSEY. She flies to the island next door and makes a spectacular entrance in a stunning evening gown. MERRICK and ANDREW look at her with sparkling eyes. Both are equally confident they are going to win.

BETSEY: Gentlemen, thank you for coming to my island. This has truly been one of the most entertaining stories I’ve ever dared to write. I want to thank both of you for continuing to inspire me every day. Merrick, thanks for the hot sex! Andrew, thanks for letting me back into your bar. But there can only be one.

The tribal drum music grows louder and more intense. MERRICK and ANDREW look at each other tensely. BETSEY enjoys watching them fight over her a little too much. Finally, after a painfully long commercial break from our corporate sponsors, the suspense is over.

BETSEY: And the winner of Last Muse Standing is… THE GENERAL!

ANDREW and MERRICK are equally shocked. THE GENERAL smirks and struts to the front in black leather pants. BETSEY fawns over him for awhile before presenting him with a pair of golden panties.

BETSEY: Congratulations, sir. You really are my ultimate inspiration.

MERRICK: I don’t understand! Why the hell did this guy win? He’s not even real!

THE GENERAL: Fool! She’s been writing my screenplay since she was 13 years old. She’s gone through at least 20 drafts. It’s only now just getting good. You think she’s not using every minute of her limited spare time to plot ways to use her family Hollywood connection to J.J. Abrams? She’s writing it for Ewan McGregor. There’s no way he’s gonna say no.

ANDREW: Now that’s Crazy.

THE GENERAL: We’ll see who’s got the last laugh, Pretty Boy.

THE GENERAL takes BETSEY by the arm and leads her back to the helicopter. They take off and fly away into the sunset, together at last.

The End.