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 !  The Perils of Janeane, part 11, the last ... again ... for now

The Many Misadventures of Little Myth JG
An Original Comic Adventure Series By

George "Rusty" Datt

** Note - Terms used in these adventure scripts:
O.S. = Off Screen
V.O. = Voice Over
EST = Establishing Shot
INT = Interior
EXT = Exterior
POV = Point Of View
INSERT = A Camera Shot Usually Focusing On An Object


PART 11.

SCENE I

INT. AIRAMERICA STUDIOS ­ LATE EVENING

Sam is at his microphone. Janeane is wrestling on the floor with Whitney Houston for the contents of Janeane’s knapsack.

JANEANE
(struggling for
control of a small item.)
For the last time, I told you,
those are only sugar packets
I lifted from Starbucks!
WHITNEY
(scratching at
Janeane’s eyeglasses)
Oh yeah, girlfriend, like that
line wasn’t new when Kevin
Costner still had a combover.
C’mon, don’t be bogartin’ on me.
I need some stuff real bad,
‘cause my man Bobby is in
the joint again, and he done
spent all our blow money on
bail and lawyers.
JANEANE
(gritting her teeth)
Listen, I’d spot you a couple
of Adderol tablets to get you
through the interview segment,
but you aren’t even supposed
to be on the show. How many
times do I have to tell you,
this isn’t the old WLIB, and
the convention is already over.
We support John Kerry for
president, not Al Sharpton.
WHITNEY
(grunting and panting)
Whatchoo talkin’ ‘bout? I’m
supposed to be on Sharp Talk,
singing gospel music for
National Action Network and
helping James Brown saw
through his ankle transmitter.
That damned Kerry ain’t nothin’
but a big, ol’ Franken-Honkie.
If his little richbitch wife
didn’t pay the servants to
keep tightenin’ the bolts in
his neck, he be breakin’ down
quicker than a Harlem jitney
in rush-hour traffic.
JANEANE
(growling)
Hey, anyone but Bush. I never
said he was Howard Dean, but
at least he’s in touch with
the issues.
WHITNEY
(pulling Janeane’s hair)
Dean?
(laughing hilariously)
That dude sounds worse than
Mariah Carey havin’ another
breakdown when she finally
figures out she inherited J
Lo’s ass.
And there ain’t nobody more
politically correct than the
Reverend Al. Hell, his hair
is even a renewable energy
source.
JANEANE
Yeeowww! You bony little slut!

Janeane bites down hard on Whitney’s forearm, and Whitney shrieks and recoils in horror.

They separate momentarily and collapse on the floor. Janeane points weakly toward the door.

JANEANE
Look, there in the hallway.
It’s Peaches. She’s still
wandering around the building
after our interview. Go see her.
She’s always got a stash.

Whitney vaults over Janeane and yells into the hallway.

WHITNEY
Hey, Peaches, you ho!
Wait up there! We’re both
on the New York Daily’s list
of “Ten Wildest Women in Music”.
How ‘bout gettin’ down and
sharin’ some junk with a sister?

She exits down the hallway.

Janeane staggers to her feet and wipes her forehead with a hand.

Then she sits down, lights a cigarette and puts on her headphones.

JANEANE
Thanks a lot, Sam. You
were a big help.
SAM
(shrugging)
Hey, at least I cut to
commercial break. Besides,
speaking as a member of
Reformed Judaism, we adhere
to a strict policy of non-
violent conflict resolution ­
unless we can still find an
HMO with reasonable copays.
(talking into microphone)
Okay, we’re back on the air
with Majority Report. I’m
Sam Seder, and sitting
across from me is Janeane
Garofalo, America’s Greatest
Patriot, who has just concluded
some aerobic activity with
pop diva Whitney Houston.
You know, you guys should
get your own exercise video
going.
JANEANE
(frowning)
Real funny, Sam. Okay, what
do we want to discuss in
this segment?
SAM
Well, first I want to put to
bed completely these rumors
about AirAmerica’s insolvency.
There is absolutely no truth
to this malicious gossip about
the network going broke. In
fact, I’m looking into some
stock options with the company.
JANEANE
(snuffing out butt)
Good for you. I didn’t know
you had that much spare cash.

Thinking momentarily, she leans across the desk and grabs Sam by the collar.

JANEANE
Hey, wait a minute. Did you
get paid this week? You’re not
holding out on me, are you?
SAM
(choking)
N-no, no, I just meant I was
considering the options of
burning my stock certificates
for heat or printing Evan Cohen’s
picture on the back and using
them for toilet tissue.
I swear, I had to pawn my
wedding gifts just to raise
the table stakes for Celebrity
Poker.
JANEANE
(backing off)
Sorry, sorry.
(into her microphone)
You know us, folks. We really
like to kid about this stuff.
SAM
(straightening his bow tie)
That’s right, Janeane. And we
have a related announcement
to make: We have responded to
your comments on the blog, and
tonight we will be taking
listener phone calls for the
first time.

He slides a telephone across the table to Janeane.

SAM
And you can get us started, Janeane.

The phone rings, and Janeane picks up the receiver.

JANEANE
(reading from notes)
Hello, Majority Report. This
is Janeane Garofalo, and I
just want to ask you if you
are happy with your current
long distance carrier. For a
limited time, we will be offering
a special introductory package ­
Uh, no, we aren’t playing the
Caribbean music anymore, sorry ­
What’s that ­ you’re not interested?
How do you know you’re not
interested, when you haven’t
even heard my whole pitch?
(turning red-faced)
You know, it’s that kind of
disinterested, close-minded
attitude that empowers an
administration full of tired
old warhorses like Cheney,
Rumsfeld and Wolfowitz.
I’ll bet you’re even one of
those Nu-Metal Conservatives ­
yeah, that’s right, with an
umlaut over the “u” ­ the kind
of people who depend on ignorance
and apathy to keep the wheels
of the big military-industrial
machine greased.

She is standing in front of her chair and yelling into the phone.

JANEANE
You have to be that kind of
person to support George W.
Bush, someone who isn’t political,
has zero attention span, and is
just a nasty motherf****r who
admires the cruelty and coldness
and “kill ‘em all, let God sort it
out” Toby Keith-like ethic that
is turning this country into Archie
Bunker Nation.
For people like you, pal, seeing
is not believing: believing is
seeing. Facts are not at all in play.
(calm and sitting back in chair)
So is there anything else I can
do for you today, sir? Are you
currently enrolled in a credit
card insurance program?

She holds the receiver away from her ear as angry invective is heard coming from the earpiece.

JANEANE
All right, you have a nice day
now...douchebag.

Janeane slams the receiver down hard.

SAM
Uh, okay, maybe we’ll try that
again later. For our next guest,
we are honored to have on the
show Dr. Pedantica Leftkowitz,
author of the book “Why Republicans
Are So Mean, Greedy and Dull at
Parties “, which sold seven copies
its first week at Irving’s Booknook
in the Village.

Bill Crowley enters the recording booth and takes a seat at the table.

SAM
But first, a newsbreak with our
own Mr. Crowley.
BILL CROWLEY
(clearing his voice)
In the news:
Some tense moments occurred earlier
in the day when eighty one-year
old author, educator and historian
Howard Zinn was spotted standing
on a narrow ledge of a very high
building. SWAT teams were immediately
dispatched, but Zinn assured the
crowd he was not attempting suicide,
but rather, he was grateful to
Democratic candidate John Kerry for
providing him that thin ledge to
stand on; however, unidentified
sources within the Republican
National Committee were quick to
insinuate that the ledge was
actually bought and paid for
by Kerry’s wife Teresa with
funds she inherited from the
Heinz food processing fortune of
her late husband.
The Ralph Nader campaign was beset
with an unexpected crisis when it
was disclosed at a press conference
this morning that their candidate
is in critical condition and desperately
awaiting an emergency charisma
transplant. Gore Vidal and Christopher
Hitchins have reportedly volunteered
as “ego donors”, while Nader is currently
being kept alive via chutzpah transfusions
from Noam Chomsky. Former Vice-President
Al Gore was revealed to be the closest
tissue match, with head transplant team
physician Dr. Laura Schlessinger
commenting “Oh yeah, like there’s a
surprise.”
The Pentagon announced today that as
part of its ongoing efforts to reform
abuses at Abu Ghraib prison, a special
USO show has been scheduled for the
benefit of the prison population.
Entertainers anxious to participate
include Michael Jackson, Pee-Wee Herman,
Rob Lowe, Marv Albert, and Woody Allen,
with the show tentatively dedicated to
the memory of the late Rick James.

A knock is heard on the booth door, and a messenger enters.

MESSENGER
I have a certified letter ­
JANEANE
(scooping up her microphone)
Oh no, not more creditors.
Like I said before, you can’t
repossess this microphone. I bought
it myself with $150 of my own money,
and I have the receipt to prove it.
MESSENGER
(handing envelope to Janeane)
No, this letter is for you personally,
Ms. Garofalo.
JANEANE
(tearing open envelope)
Uh-oh. Looks official. Wonder if
my first husband finally decided
to file for divorce...
(gasping, as she reads letter)
Oh my god, I’ve been drafted!
I told you Bush was going to reinstate it!

Sam leans across the table and examines the letter.

SAM
No, this isn’t from the Selective
Service. It’s from Terry McAuliffe,
head of the DNC. You’ve been inducted
as an AI ­ activist instructor ­
for the Democratic Party, and you’re
to report to Camp Wellstone immediately
to commence training volunteers for
the final phases of the presidential
campaign.
JANEANE
Wow, what an honor! I guess you’ll
have to carry on without me for
a while.
SAM
We’ll really miss you, Janeane.
It won’t be the same, but we’ll
muddle through somehow.

(Janeane rises from her chair and embraces Sam and Crowley affectionately.)

CROWLEY
In forty years of radio,
I’ve never met anyone like
you. That’s why they say,
“Luck be a lady.”
JANEANE
Oh, I’m going to take that as
the biggest compliment.
CROWLEY
That’s what I was hoping.
JANEANE
Okay, well, I better go, because
I’m starting to mist up...

She exits the booth as Sam and Crowley wave good-bye.

SAM
Hurry back! We’ll be waiting.
No one can ever replace you

As soon as Janeane leaves, Sam moves to the closet and opens the door to reveal Randi Rhodes, who rushes over to Janeane’s chair and sits down.

RANDI
Hey, what a rad mike!
SAM
Yeah, that’s all yours. We
bought it specially for you.
RANDI
(reaching for Janeane’s cigarettes)
Oh, and you even got my brand
of smokes ­ Virginia Not-So-Slims!
CROWLEY
(to Sam)
Remember, you said I could have her
booster seat for my grandchildren.
SAM
Yeah, right.
(to Randi)
Glad you were able to fill in
on such short notice.
RANDI
(shrugging as she lights up)
Hey, what’s another three hours
a day of air time, otherwise I’d
just be home kibitzing with my
niece over her hemlines and body art.
(blowing smoke ring into mike)
Okay, whaddaya say we start things
off by phoning Ralph Nader in his
hospital room. Yeah, I told you
we couldn’t afford this pair of
shoes, and now they already have
to be “resouled”.
(cackling and coughing)
Hey, Ralphie, Mommy gonna give
you another spankin’!

SCENE II

INT. DEEP WITHIN THE WILDS OF NORTHERN MINNESOTA ­
CAMP WELLSTONE, MAIN BARRACKS ­ MORNING

Janeane is pacing back and forth in front of a group of volunteers. She is clad in a pink sergeant’s uniform with shoulder chevrons and sporting an oversized trooper hat with chin strap.

JANEANE
(blowing whistle)
All right, maggots, listen up and
listen good!
We’re not here for a picnic. We’re
here to prepare you as lean, mean,
votegetting machines. It won’t be
easy, and it won’t be fun, but I
promise that each and every one of you spoiled little fancypants
liberal pussies will leave here a
full-fledged, totally kickass
political activist like myself.

A middle-aged man and woman with two small children approach Janeane timidly.

MAN
Miss, I’m sorry, but there has been
a big mistake here. We were just
passing through on vacation to The
Mall of the Americas when our Dodge
Caravan threw a drive belt. We only
came in here to call the auto club.
I swear, we’re even Republicans...
JANEANE
(stepping over to man and yelling
in his face)
I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOUR
LAME, CANDYASS EXCUSES!
(pointing to floor)
Drop down and give me twenty, right
now, or you’re all on report!

The frightened family kneels down on the floor and starts doing pushups, including the youngest toddler.

JANEANE
(bowing down to address infant)
Hike that diaper up, soldier! You
want to end up like Brittany Spears?

Janeane struts over to a table loaded with training items.>

JANEANE
Okay, time to familiarize yourselves
with your standard activist issue:
(holding up tin-foil packets)
First you have your MRRs ­ meals
ready to regurgitate.
The large packets are dehydrated
vegan quiche and soybean burritos,
the smaller one freeze-dried latte.
Just add water and some Napster music
for ambience. These meals are designed
to provide quick, low-carb energy boosts
when required to outrun riot police,
local hoboes or irate senior citizens
whose handicapped parking zones have
been infringed on by demonstration
activities.
(pointing to spray cans)
These non-aerosol, ozone-friendly
canisters dispense Rain-X, Massengill
and bactine respectively, in the
event that the authorities should
use water hoses, mace or attack dogs
to institute crowd control.>br> (moving down the table and picking
up palm pilot)
These PDA units are preprogrammed
with satellite maps, lyrics to every
known protest song, and over one
thousand standardized sound bytes
of militant rhetoric for access
during media interviews. They are
irreplaceable. Guard them with your
very lives.
(fingering miscellaneous plastic items)
Finally we have assorted fake wounds,
bruises and bullet holes to be utilized
for peak dramatic effect when
television cameras focus on closeup
encounters between yourselves and
arresting officers.
(tossing item aside angrily)
Okay, who’s the wise guy who threw
in the rubber vomit?

Janeane pulls out a laser pointer and walks over to a large map posted on the wall.

JANEANE
All right, this is our objective:
The Republican National Convention
in New York city, and here is our
strategy.

She points to areas on the map as she speaks.

Company A, First Divison, will
deploy from Central Park and proceed
down Broadway as a diversionary
tactic, drawing police protection
away from 8th and 42nd as they
scramble to protect Trent Lott
and Bill Bennett at the eight o’clock
performance of “Oh! Calcutta!”.
Companies B and C will then proceed
to disrupt transportation and
communication by hailing every cab
west of Park Avenue and hacking
into the local cell phone grid to
assess roaming charges on all
outgoing calls ­ Republicans
really hate that.
This will leave the second battalion,
led by yours truly, completely free
to penetrate security at the
convention site itself. Once again,
we will break into three divisions.
Companies A and B will engage in
acts of sabotage to demoralize
remaining repug resistance. Company
A will obliterate the caviar and
hors d’oeuvres tables with gout-
resistant cockroaches mutated from
Rush Limbaugh’s refrigerator, while
Company B disables rest room
facilities (with the help of
Teamsters Local 1511 coming off a
four-hour gorge at Taco Bell).
The resulting chaos will leave
Company C free to launch a direct
assault on the convention floor
and our final objective: President
Bush himself as he prepares to take
the podium to accept his nomination
at precisely 2205 hours EST. Before
he even has a chance to utter his
first malapropism, we will strike
quickly and decisively, pelting
him mercilessly with water balloons
symbolically filled with oil and blood.

Upon my signal that the objective
has been targeted, all units will
simultaneously cease engagement and
commence withdrawal by reporting to
the nearest subway terminal, thereby
insuring that no god-fearing conservative
or member of law enforcement will
dare to pursue us into the modern
day equivalent of Dante’s Inferno.
I hardly need to emphasize that this
is a critical operation, depending on
precise timing and execution, as well
as a concerted and conscientious effort
on the part of each and every individual
activist. Suffice it to say generations to
come will be immeasurably affected by
the results we achieve today. For their
sake, let us hold our heads high and
fear neither failure nor dishonor as
we enter the field of battle, inspired
by our common purpose and resigned to
the sacrifices necessary to attain our
ultimate goal:
(shouting)
ANYONE BUT BUSH!

The volunteers cheer raucously.

JANEANE
Any questions?

A female volunteer sheepishly raises her hand.

VOLUNTEER
Uh, Sergeant Garofalo, I have some
concerns about the oil and blood
water balloons. Isn’t that, like,
bad for the environment and just
plain ­ yucky?
JANEANE
No, I said it was symbolic. They’re
actually filled with Worcestershire
sauce and ketchup, courtesy of Teresa
Heinz Kerry. Totally biodegradable
and non-toxic. Any other questions?
(silence)
Very well, then. All units report to
transport points and await marching
orders. We will reconnoiter after the
attack, 2300 hours, at the Starbucks
in Flushing. A triage center for
casualties will be set up in the
Subway shop next door.
Ten-hut!

The volunteers snap to attention.

DIS-MISSED!

The volunteers scatter.

A thin, bespectacled young man in similar uniform to Janeane approaches her and salutes.

YOUNG MAN
(handing her papers)
Sergeant Garofalo? Corporal Max
Steinburg at your service, special
attache from Central Command. Here
are my transfer orders, straight
from Colonel Martin Sheen.
JANEANE
So how is the colonel these days?
STEINBURG
Just fine, Sergeant. Still on
probation and serving desk duty.
JANEANE
(sternly, as she reads papers)
You’re late, Steinburg.
STEINBURG
Yes, ma’am. Sorry. There was a fire
at my nephew’s bar mitzvah when
someone spilled manischewitz in the
karaoke machine.
JANEANE
Hmmph. Says here in your orders
that your most recent experience was
with the Lieberman campaign in 2000.
What were your duties there?
STEINBURG
Damage control. Every time the
senator attended a ball game or
weenie roast, it was my responsibility
to substitute the Hebrew Nationals.
JANEANE
A detail man. Good. We can always
use that.
(eyeing Steinburg critically)
Ever seen any real action, Corporal?
STEINBURG
(swallowing hard)
No, ma’am. Except for one little
skirmish when I was demonstrating
with PETA against Robin Williams’
fur coat ­ but that was all a big
misunderstanding.
JANEANE
Well, don’t let it get to you. The
first time you hit the front line
and see the riot police all decked
out like Robo Cops, hear the bullhorns
blaring, smell that hot mace wafting
through the air, it can tie your
stomach up in knots and make you want
to puke your guts out like a bulemic
sitcom star. Trust me. It’ll pass,
and you’ll do just fine.
STEINBURG
Yes ma’am.
JANEANE
Okay, has HQ procured any eco-friendly
transportation for us?
STEINBURG
Yes, ma’am, I signed out an EV1 from
the division motor pool.
JANEANE
Excellent. It’s mostly uphill to New
York City, so I’ll drive and you
follow behind with the extension cord.
(adjusting her hat)
Always remember, corporal:
"Igitur qui desiderat pacem, praeparet bellum."*
STEINBURG
Is that what the Jesuits taught you in college?
JANEANE
No, I learned that sitting across from Sean
Hannity at the Democratic Convention.
*(If you want peace, prepare for war.)

SCENE III

INT. MADISON SQUARE GARDEN ­ EVENING OF THE REPUBLICAN NOMINATION

Janeane and Corporal Steinburg are wearing camouflage helmets and strategically positioned, crouching behind a large plastic fern. Janeane is surveying the action through binoculars and communicating with the protestors via Nextel.

JANEANE
All divisions, synchronize watches
to 2150 hours and prepare to deploy
on my order...Now!

A few seconds pass.

JANEANE
Divison 1, Company A, report!

After a moment, a voice responds on the phone.

VOICE
May Day, May Day! When we got
to Broadway, “Oh! Calcutta!” had
been pre-empted for “West Side
Story”. Every street gang in
the city has a free ticket and
a brand new bicycle chain.
We are currently engaged ­ oof ­oww!
(static and screams in background)
Company in retreat, repeat, company in retreat!
JANEANE
Rats, we must be compromised.
Division 1, Companies B and C, report!

More garbled voices are heard.

VOICE2
Ambush! Ambush! Every cab is
full of skinheads, and they’re
calling us “girlie-men”!
VOICE3
We can’t access the computer links
to the cell phone networks! Someone
just installed a new firewall that
diverts us to porn sites! Our
hackers are neutralized ­ I mean
mesmerized!
JANEANE
Damn, there has to be a mole
somewhere. If it turns out to be
Kathie Griffin, I’m gonna bitchslap
her right back to “Suddenly Susan”!
Division 2, Companies A and B, come
in, come in! Situation critical!
Pull back! Pull back!

More voices report in.

VOICE 3
Too late, Sarge! The refreshment
tables are covered by Orkin men
with bug sprayers, and we had to
fall back to the rest rooms. Now
they’ve locked us in with the
Teamsters, they disabled the
exhaust fans, and they’re playing
VH1 over the muzak speakers.
Ahhh! Oh my god, we can’t take
it anymore!
JANEANE
(solemnly, to Steinburg)
Put them all in for commendations.
Sacrifices like that should never
be forgotten. That’s it. We’ve lost
our tactical advantage. We’ll just
have to go in fully exposed.
VOICE4
Roger, Sarge.
(to troops in background)
Everyone, strip down to your Axis
of Eve panties!
JANEANE
No, no. That’s not what I meant.
We’re just going to have to make
an all-out assault.
Company C, break out the oil and
blood balloons.
VOICE 5
No can do, ma’am. All of
the balloons were shipped to
MacDonald’s by mistake and packed
into the Happy Meals.
STEINBURG
Wow, I need to call my uncle. He’s
a trial lawyer with John Edwards’
firm. That could be bigger than
the hot coffee.
JANEANE
(sternly)
Never mind. All remaining personnel,
get ready to fall back on Contingency
Plan A.

Janeane turns off her Nextel and jumps out from behind the plants. The rest of her troops emerge from their hiding places as well.

JANEANE
(to Steinburg)
Quick, break out the Super Soakers!
It’s gonna be a firefight ­ I mean
a waterfight!

Cpl. Steinburg dumps over a nearby trash receptacle, revealing a large cache of water pistols.

He and Janeane quickly pass them out to the protesters.

JANEANE
(aiming Super Soaker toward podium)
Show the world that the repugs
are all wet! Charge!

As everyone triggers their weapon, the guns backfire, soaking the activists.

As they step onto the convention floor, they all begin to convulse uncontrollably.

JANEANE
W-what’s h-happening?
STEINBURG
(chuckling evilly)
The floor was mined with water-
activated joybuzzers.

The protestors begin to drop, and security forces rush in to apprehend them. Janeane turns back toward Cpl. Steinburg, who hasn’t advanced.

JANEANE
(still shaking, with teeth clenched)
Y-you little t-traitor!

Cpl. Steinburg removes his helmet, and then unpeels a rubber life mask, revealing his true identity.

JANEANE
B-Bill O’Reilly!
O’REILLY
At your service.
JANEANE
(starting to collapse)
W-why?
O’REILLY
Because, you’ve been a pain in my
duodenum for too long. Oh sure,
it was fun at first to harass you
on my show and get you to say those
ridiculous things, but then you
turned out to be right about Bush
and the WMDs, and I had to suck
wind and apologize. Even worse,
you’ve been playing those recordings
of my sleazy detective novel on your
radio show to humiliate me. I had
to do something to vindicate the
Bush administration and myself, or
pretty soon my journalistic image
will rival Geraldo Rivera.
Nothing personal, kid. Just business.
JANEANE
C-c-curse y-y-you, S-snorkel M-m-man!

She collapses.

SCENE IV

INT. LAGUARDIA AIRPORT, AIRCRAFT HANGAR ­ LATE NIGHT

Janeane is in a back room of an airport hangar, strapped to a chair and unconscious. She is surrounded by Karl Rove, Condaleeza Rice and Dick Cheney.

ROVE
We’ve waited a long time for
this day, but it will all be
worth it soon. Just look at her.
(shaking his head)
She’s barely more than a midget.
Hard to believe one little female
like this could cause so much
trouble. Her mouth must be the
biggest part of her body.

Janeane begins to stir.

RICE
Look, she’s coming to.
JANEANE
(blinking)
Wha ­ Where? Oh no...
(tugging at her restraints)
Let me go!
ROVE
All in due time. First we need
you to assist us with a little
project.
JANEANE
Go freak yourself, douchebag. I’m
totally familiar with international
law pertaining to captured celebrity
activists. All you’ll get from me
is name, rank and Screen Actors
Guild registration number.
ROVE
No, I’m afraid we’re going to need
a little more than that. There is
still the matter of that overdue
apology you promised President Bush.
JANEANE
Are you nuts? Some of your brain
cells must be falling out along
with that hair.
I’m not going to apologize for
something I wasn’t wrong about.
The entire war in Iraq has been
an unmitigated disaster.
CHENEY
(crossing his legs)
Stop dawdling around. Get to it.
I’m on so much lasix I need to
whiz again.
ROVE
I believe we may have just the
thing to persuade you to our
point of view.

He reaches behind the chair and produces a large yellow object for Janeane to see.

JANEANE
The GodHelmet?
(laughing deliriously)
That overpriced hunk of science
fair junk? That’s supposed to
brainwash me into becoming a
religious zealot like the rest
of your sheeple?
Sorry, I already tried that on
my show, and it had no effect at
all. After twenty minutes, I
still felt just as strident and
heathen as ever.
RICE
Yes, but that’s because you were
only hooked up to a measly iPod
player. I did some research with
the engineering department at MIT,
and I determined that it is possible
to increase the overall efficiency
of the GodHelmet by a factor of 86.7
to 1 by utilizing this alternative
input generator of my own design:
A five-thousand watt, 200 decibel
Ghetto Boom Box Quadrophonic Blaster!

She holds up an incredibly large sound unit.

JANEANE
(gasping as she eyes Boom Box)
YOU made that? I don’t believe it ­
you really ARE black!

Condaleeza Rice bristles with anger and slaps Janeane smartly across the face.

JANEANE
(recoiling)
Ouch! What? What did I do?
I didn’t say “House Negro”...
CHENEY
(impatiently)
Come on. Hook her up before I go
flatline again and miss it all.

Condaleeza Rice and Karl Rove proceed to make the necessary connections between the God Helmet and the Boom Box.

Then Condaleeza Rice places the helmet on Janeane’s head.

As a final step, Rice pops a CD disk into the Boom Box and pushes a switch. A small red light on the GodHelmet flashes rapidly, as all of the captors cover their ears and back away.

JANEANE
(screaming, trembling and sweating)
AHHH! No! I can’t take it! Turn
it off! Please, have some mercy!

Finally Janeane goes limp, and her eyes begin to glaze over, in a trance-like state.

Soon she begins to sing to the music emanating from the Boom Box in a flat alto voice, in unison with Attorney General John Ashcroft.

JANEANE
(singing)
Let the Eagle soar,
Like she’s never soared before;
From rocky coast to golden shore,
Let the mighty eagle soar...

Condaleeza Rice reaches over and turns the Boom Box off. They all remove their hands from their ears and approach Janeane.

KARL ROVE
(chuckling fiendishly)
She’s ready now. Get her prepared
for the ceremony ­ and keep her
away from any calico cats.

SCENE V

INT. THE SAME HANGAR ­ THE FOLLOWING MORNING

Janeane is sitting on a stool, bedecked in a designer evening gown and high heels, with the same vapid, clueless gaze in her eyes. She is attended by the Bush twins, who are doing her hair, nails and makeup.

Barbara Bush is frowning, as she applies blush and pancake to Janeane’s shoulders.

BARBARA
Can you still see the tattoos?
JENNA
(fumbling through cosmetics on table)
Who cares? Just paste Bush/Cheney
bumper stickers over them like I
do every time I wreck the limo.
Why do we even have to do this,
anyway?
BARBARA
Because, it’s like some big surprise
party, and Uncle Karl said he wanted
her all dolled up like us in the
Vogue spread.
JENNA
(sipping from tiny bottle)
Oh well, at least someone else has to
play Scarlett O’Hara for the cracker
boys this time around.
BARBARA
Jenna! Don’t drink all of the nail
polish remover!
JENNA
I can’t help it! I need a beer
fix so-o-o bad...
BARBARA
(gesturing toward Janeane)
Did you check her for contraband?
JENNA
(sneering)
Yeah. Some Hollywood liberal.
All I found were a few of those
Adderol tablets.
BARBARA
Huh?
JENNA
You know, like they used to give Uncle
Neil every time he crashed another bank.

Karl Rove approaches.

ROVE
(smiling approvingly)
Excellent, excellent. She almost looks
like a real female.
BARBARA
Yes, but she’ll never be able to
walk in those shoes...
ROVE
No matter. She’ll be on her knees
most of the time anyway.
Is her programming intact?
(speaking directly in Janeane’s face)
Miss Garofalo, good morning.
JANEANE
(in a lifeless monotone)
Good morning sir.
ROVE
So what do you think of President
Bush?
JANEANE
He is a great president and a man
of deep spiritual conviction.
ROVE
Good, good. And what is your
ambition in life?
JANEANE
I seek to find a man to dominate
and protect me so I can bear his
children and fulfill my God-given
role as a wife and mother.
ROVE
Perfect. Now to tend to a couple
more little details.
(dialing on cell phone)
Hello, FTD? Send a dozen red roses
to this address.
That’s right, and bill them to
Janeane Garofalo, with a card.
Yes, the card should read,
“Sorry. I was so wrong.”
Thank you very much.
JENNA
Can we go now? I am so-o-o bored.
ROVE
Not yet, princess. I need you two
to keep an eye on her until the
ceremony. Besides, I still have to
look for a fruitcake and some cut glass.
Maybe I can get Ollie North to root
through Martha Stewart’s garbage can...

Rove walks away, still talking to himself.

JENNA
(sulking)
This blows. At least we can have some music.

Jenna reaches for a radio on a high back shelf and turns it on. The radio begins to play a newscast.

RADIO
(Announcer Voice)
...and the big story today is the
special post-nominating festivities
at the Republican Convention in New
York City. President Bush will be
celebrating his renomination with
a ceremony that will include his
circling the city in a fighter jet
and landing on an aircraft carrier
harbored near the Statue of Liberty.
In a surprise development, actress
and political activist Janeane Garofalo,
long critical of the Bush administration,
is expected to appear on the carrier
and offer a personal apology to the
president as well as her support for
his reelection bid. A full press
conference and luncheon will follow
the ceremony on board the carrier.
JENNA
Did you hear that? A press conference
and luncheon. You know what that means ­
open bar! Those journalists all drink
like fish.
BARBARA
(shaking her head)
No, don’t even think it. We’re still
on probation...
JENNA
(pulling a pin from her hair)
C’mon, we can hot wire a Jeep and
be there in time for cocktails!
BARBARA
I don’t know. Uncle Karl said to
watch her..
(looking at Janeane)
JENNA
She’s a freakin’ space shot. Just
leave the radio and night lite on,
like the nanny used to do for us.
(teasing, as she pretends to leave)
Oh well, guess I’ll have Shepard
Smith all to myself...
BARBARA
(jumping up)
Shotgun!

Barbara adjusts the radio dial, inadvertently knocking over a Starbucks coffee cup positioned on the same shelf.

Then Barbara exits the hangar with Jenna.

The spilled coffee slowly trickles off the shelf and down onto Janeane, first wetting her forehead, then her nose and finally her lips.

The radio begins to blare Billy Bragg’s “All You Fascists” as the rich, invigorating flavor of Grande Hazelnut Latte stimulates Janeane’s gourmet palate.

Slowly but surely the combination of familiar stimuli penetrates her subconscious, and she is aroused from her catatonic state. Janeane leaps to her feet, blinks quickly and pounds her chest with her fists.

JANEANE
Eeeeeyah! I’m back! Look out,
neocons. Here I come, ready
or not!

She takes a couple of steps forward and trips on her high heels, falling face first into a laundry hamper.

SCENE VI

INT. LAGUARDIA AIRPORT HANGAR ­ MIDDAY

Janeane fumbles around in the laundry hamper and finally surfaces with a pair of military issue underpants on top of her head.

She removes the shorts and begins to root through the laundry. Realizing that it is all military apparel, she smiles smugly.

CUT TO

EXT. LAGUARDIA AIRPORT TARMAC ­ MIDDAY

Former President George H. W. Bush Sr. accompanies his son President George W. Bush, as he walks along the runway toward a waiting military fighter jet. George W. Bush is outfitted in full pilot’s regalia and holding a helmet under one arm.

BUSH SR
Son, I’m really proud of the
way you’ve handled this situation.
BUSH JR
Thanks, Dad. You mean the way I
accepted the nomination at the
convention?
BUSH SR
No, I mean the way you handled this
little Garofalo girl. Ruthlessly
double-crossing, abusing and degrading
your helpless enemy ­
(wiping back a tear)
why, I’ve never been more proud of
you, boy. In fact, I’ll never again
question your mother about those
maternity blood tests. Now I know
you’re a true Brush.
JR
(grinning)
Thanks, dad. That really says a
lot coming from you.
SR
I mean it. Hey, tell you what.
After this is all over, what say
you and I jet over to Iraq and take
turns plucking Saddam’s beard and
photographing his naked genitalia?
JR
(jumping for joy)
Oh boy! And then can we get ice
cream?

Bush Sr. shrugs and puts his arm around his son.

SR
Sure, why not. You’ve earned it.
Just be careful with this plane.
Remember, don’t be touching any buttons
or switches, no matter how pretty they
light up. Let the pilot do the flying,
and I’ll meet you on the carrier.

(Bush Jr. dons his helmet and nods.)

JR
Sure, dad.
SR
Okay, you’re all set now.
You’ve got your oxygen mask,
you took your dramamine, and
you remembered to go wee-wee back
at the terminal, right?

Junior nods and starts off in the wrong direction. Bush Senior turns him back toward the plane and waves good-bye.

Before he gets to the other side of the plane, Bush Jr. Is accosted from behind by a figure dressed in military fatigues with a camouflage cap pulled down over its face.

The figure quickly pushes a sharp object into the small of Bush’s back and speaks gruffly in a low, muffled voice.

FIGURE
Okay, hold it right there, Mr.
President. If you want to live,
do what I tell you.
JR
(freezing)
Uh, I wish you’d have given me this
written question ahead of time so
I could plan for it...
FIGURE
(incredulous, in higher-pitched voice)
What? Are you crazy?

In frustration, the figure’s hat pops up to reveal it as Janeane in disguise, holding a high-heeled shoe to Bush Jr.’s back.

JR
Well, I’m sure something will pop
into my head here, with all the
pressure of trying to come up with
an answer...
(pause)
but it hasn’t yet...
JANEANE
No, stop thinking. That’s not
your strong point. Just do what
I tell you. We’re going over to
that plane, and you’re going to
fly me out of here.

They walk to the plane where the pilot is waiting.

PILOT
Okay, Mr. President. Are you ready?
Who’s this, your bodyguard?
Wow, when did they start waiving the
height requirement in the Secret
Service?
JANEANE
(in disguised voice)
Never mind. You haven’t
been cleared by Homeland
Security. You need to go
back to the main terminal
and go through a security
check.
PILOT
But I already did that -
JANEANE
Yes, but you forgot to do butt
cheeks. Go straight back to the
main baggage screener, bend over
and drop your drawers. That’s
a presidential order, airman!

The pilot studies Bush. Janeane jabs the stiletto heel deep into his back.

JR
Oooh! Eh, do what she says ­ I mean he says.
PILOT
(saluting Bush)
Yes sir, Mr. President. I’ll be
right back.

The pilot leaves.

Janeane and Bush quickly scamper into the jet and belt themselves in. Bush stares vacantly at the instrument panel.

JANEANE
What are you doing? I thought
you were supposed to be a
trained fighter pilot?
BUSH
Uh, yeah, but I’ve never flown
stick shift before...
Everything sure looks different
from 1971. Especially since I
don’t remember anything about
1971...
JANEANE
Oh, great.
(jabbing Bush with the heel)
Get this bird in the air,
doughnut hole!

CUT TO

EXT ­ HUDSON RIVER WHARF ­ MIDDAY

A stretch limousine pulls up to the docks flanked by black security vehicles. Secret Service agents emerge from the support cars, and one agent opens a rear door of the limo. George Bush Sr. steps out just as several police cruisers come whizzing past with lights and sirens on.

The police cruisers screech to a halt further down the wharf in front of a docked Coast Guard cruiser. Two soaking wet figures wrapped in blankets disembark from the ship and are immediately surrounded by police and Secret Service personnel.

BUSH SR
What’s going on here? I’m
going to be late for the
ceremony on the carrier.
SECRET SERVICE AGENT
(listening to walkie-talkie)
Not sure, Mr. President.
Seems to be a disturbance
on the aircraft carrier, and
some passengers were brought
ashore.

The drenched passengers approach the limousine.

SR
Jenna! Barbara! What the dickens
are you doing here?
JENNA
(waving and staggering)
Hiya, Poppy!

A Coast Guard officer approaches.

OFFICER
(to Bush Sr.)
We found these two inebriated and
skinny-dipping alongside the carrier
with a couple dozen sailors. We put
the crew members on report, but
someone identified the girls as your
granddaughters, so we brought them
ashore.
SECRET SERVICE AGENT
Thanks a lot. We’ll take it from here.
SR
(angry)
Well, isn’t this a fine kettle of fish?
I thought you were supposed to wait at
the hangar until the little Garofalo girl
was ready to load up. So where is she now?
BARBARA
(giggling)
I am to-o-o-tally wasted!

She stumbles into her sister, and they both almost lose their blankets.

SR
(still fuming)
Doggone it, isn’t there anyone I
can count on in this family?
JENNA
(swaying with tongue out)
Thish family can’t count ­
Thash how we got to the White
Housh!

Both girls titter uncontrollably, as George Bush Sr. continues to fume.

A police officer approaches with the pilot from the plane, handcuffed and with his pants around his ankles.

POLICEMAN
We arrested this one for indecent exposure
when he mooned a lady screener at the
main gate. Says he needs to see you about
something.
PILOT
I was only doing what your son told me to!
He told me to bend over and spread my cheeks!
SR
(grabbing pilot by collar)
That’s a damned lie! My boy is not gay!
He sends gay people to jail, because
he loves Jesus!
(pointing to tipsy twins)
Those two are living proof he isn’t gay ­
just alcoholic and stupid. This has to
be some sort of scandal started by the
Democrats. Mister, you’re making a big
mistake.
PILOT
No, no! That’s not what I meant!
He told me to go through a body check!
He and that little security man with
the funny voice and horn-rimmed glasses.
SR
(wide-eyed)
Little security man? With glasses?
Uh-oh.
(shaking pilot)
Where did they go?
PILOT
I don’t know. I saw them get in the
plane as I was leaving.
SR
Quick, get me back to the airport! And get
the keys to the antique plane hangar! Call
Karl Rove and tell him the chick is out of
the henhouse!

Bush Sr. releases his grip on the pilot and rushes back to the limo.

CUT TO

EXT. LAGUARDIA AIRPORT ­ RUNWAY ­ MIDDAY

Janeane and George W. Bush are still in the jet preparing to take off. George Jr. is processing Janeane’s last remark.

JR
Doughnut hole? Only one person says that.
(turning around)
Hey, I know you! You’re that little Italian
girl who doesn’t like me! You’re supposed to
be brainwashed.
JANEANE
(waving shoe threateningly)
Speak for yourself. Now get this plane
started, or I’ll let you have it!
JR
(eyeing shoe)
That’s not a gun. It’s a lady’s shoe.
JANEANE
(hesitating momentarily)
Um, no, it only looks like a shoe. You
see, I’m a secret agent, and this is
one of my trick gadgets. It actually
shoots poison gas,
(poking Bush with shoe)
so you better not mess with me.
JR
Cool! When I was a kid, I made a shoe
that had a knife in the toe like
James Bond.
JANEANE
Wasn’t that dangerous?
JR
Nah, I was real careful. I only wore
it to the school dance.

Janeane spies a fleet of government vehicles racing toward the plane.

JANEANE
Come on! We’re running out of time!
Get this thing started! Don’t you
know how?
JR
Sure I do.
(closing his eyes)
Eenie, meenie, minie, moe...

He pushes a button and the jet engines roar to life.

The plane taxis down the runway straight at the pursuing emergency vehicles.

JANEANE
(terrified)
P-p-pull up!
JR
(shaking his head)
No, can’t stop now. With the driving
records my wife and I have, we can’t
afford any more tickets. Gonna have
to outrun ‘em...

George W. Bush guns the throttle and continues on a head-on collision course with the approaching vehicles.

JANEANE
(closing her eyes)
Eeeeeeek!

SCENE VII

INT. F-16 FIGHTER JET COCKPIT ­ MIDDAY

Janeane opens her eyes just in time to see the jet narrowly clearing the approaching emergency vehicles.

The incredible G-forces of takeoff push Janeane and George W. Bush back hard in their seats.

JR
(straining to speak)
Wow, those people look really small,
like ants or jockeys or
something. And it feels like when
Wynona Judd hugged me real tight
at that fundraiser.
JANEANE
(grimacing)
Oh well, at least it’s cheaper than
botox.
JR
(scratching his head)
Wonder what I ought to do next?
JANEANE
How about...STEER!
JR
Gotcha.

He grabs hold of the control stick and levels the jet off.

JR
(pouting)
Darn it, why did you have to
go escaping on us? Now everything
is ruined, just when my Dad was
finally proud of me. Nothing ever
goes right for me...
JANEANE
What? How about winning a presidential
election when you didn’t even carry
the popular vote and stealing the
key state of Florida?
JR
Okay, almost nothing.
I dunno. I’ll never be as good
as my dad. Sometimes I think
I just might as well give up.

He releases the stick and folds his arms in a fit of depression. The plane begins to dive and roll.

JANEANE
No, no, you shouldn’t be so hard on
yourself! You’re actually an over-
achiever compared to your father.
Why, he never won an election outright
until 1988 when he ran against Dukakis.
And then he couldn’t win reelection.
JR
Yeah, that’s right...
JANEANE
(nervous and talking fast)
Yes, yes, and because he failed
to finish Saddam off in 1991, you
had to go back and do it for him.
Face it, compared to you, he’s just
a big old wussy.

A voice breaks in over the aircraft radio, a voice belonging to George H. W. Bush, Sr.

SR
I heard that, you little pinko!
George, straighten up and fly right!
Remember what happened with the
mountain bike? You want another boo-
boo?

George W. Bush retakes the stick and levels the aircraft.

JR
Yessir. Daddy, where are you?

An enormous shadow falls over the cockpit of the jet.

Janeane and George W. both look up to view the belly of a vintage WWII Grumman TBF Avenger flying just above them.

SR
I’m right above you. I borrowed
this vintage Avenger from Donald
Trump’s collection. It’s just like
the plane I used to win my Distinguished
Flying Cross. Little girl, you’re
about to get a taste of what I gave
the Japanese.
JANEANE
(sarcastically)
You mean you’re going to barf all
over me at a state dinner?
SR
No, I’m about to chalk up another
kill with your name on it ­ although
we may have to lengthen the fuselage
to fit all the letters in.
But first thing first: George, hit
the silk!
JR
(confused, tugging on his uniform)
But, Daddy, all I have is this
flightsuit. I left my good clothes
back at the hotel...
SR
No, you damned moron! Push the ejection
seat button. Then I’ll deal with her.

George W. studies the instrument panel for a moment and then he turns back to Janeane.

JR
Uh, how do you spell “ejection seat”?

JANEANE
Don’t worry about it.
(waving high heel menacingly)
Don’t forget. I’ve still got the
poison shoe.
JR
(through his helmet mic)
Daddy, did you hear that?
She’s got a shoe that shoots
poison gas.
SR
She’s lying. There is no such
thing. Trust me, we spent five
years trying to develop it from
old NBA sneakers when I was head
of the CIA, but then Dr. Scholl
came out with those odor eaters.
I always figured that whole company
was a front for Armand Hammer and
the commies, but no mind...
For the last time, eject!

George W. attempts to decipher the instrument panel again.

JR
(trembling)
Oh, I hate reading! Something bad
always happens, just like that
goat book.

He bangs the dashboard with his fist in frustration and accidentally presses the ejector button. In a deafening blast of pressure, he exits the plane, leaving Janeane alone in the cockpit.

The plane begins to nosedive. Janeane grabs for the copilot controls and pulls back hard on the stick. The F-16 levels off just before impact, skimming the surface of Hudson Bay like a jet ski.

CUT TO

INT. BUSH SR.’S TBF AVENGER COCKPIT ­ MIDDAY

SR
Perfect! She’s dead in the water! They
don’t call this a torpedo bomber for nothing.
Now all I have to do is release a fish.
(into mic)
Bombardier, release torpedo! Bombardier...?
Darn, I knew I forgot something.
Never mind.
(unstrapping himself)
I’ll just put the old bird on auto pilot
and handle the job myself.

Bush Sr. crawls back to the bomb bay and searches around.

SR
What, no bombs?

He unfurls a blanket and exposes a pile of torpedo bombs.

SR
Aha, here we go.
(examining bombs)
Original ordinance, that’s
for sure, but some silly-willy
has them all disarmed. Oh well,
easy enough to fix...

Bush Sr. proceeds to rearm the torpedo bombs and releases the bomb bay doors.

SR
Fire one! Fire Two! He, he, that
ought to do it.

Two torpedo bombs fall away from the plane.

Voices are heard on the cockpit radio.

VOICE 1
George, you old fool! What are you doing?
SR
(surprised)
The Silver Fox? Babs, is that you?
(under his breath) Wish I could put
that old bird on auto pilot.
BARBARA BUSH, FORMER FIRST LADY
Yes, it’s me. What do you think you’re
doing? You’re eighty years old.

SR
Yeah, and I went skydiving for my birthday.

BARBARA
With six Secret Service men holding onto
you! George, it’s time you started acting
your age. Land that plane immediately.
You’re late for your nap.

A second voice is heard over the speaker.

SECOND VOICE
Bush, this is Donald Trump. I spent a
cool million restoring that plane, but it’s
only insured for half that. You hear me?
YOU’RE FIRED! Clean out your desk
and turn in the company vehicle!

Meanwhile, Janeane is still holding back on the stick of the F-16 as the plane skims roughly across the water. Just as the torpedo bombs are ready to strike, the jet rises and narrowly avoids destruction.

While Bush Sr. is still talking on the radio, both of the torpedo bombs strike targets. The first runs aground on Liberty Island and detonates at the base of the Statue of Liberty, toppling the monument into Hudson Bay.

The second hits dead center on the anchored aircraft carrier, its explosive force ripping the boat in two.

SR
Ooops. Not good.
TRUMP
Goddamnit, you destroyed the Statue of
Liberty! I knew I never should have
let Iacocca talk me into that big
donation for the renovation project.
Wonder if I can get a refund?
BARBARA
Oh George, how will I ever show my
face again at the First Ladies Club?
Hillary Clinton will never let me live
this down ­ not to mention that cat of
a Nancy Reagan.
SR
Ah, fiddlesticks. It was a gift from
the French anyhow. Serves ‘em right
for giving us all that flak about
Saddam. Besides, it was built as cheesy
as a Renault Alliance. That’s what I
told Iacocca ­ just before I warned
him about that second wife.

The plane begins to buck and stall, its engines slowing and sputtering.

SR
Eh, Donald, I hope you got the extended
warranty...
TRUMP
You’re out of gas! I keep very little in
the tanks, because these planes are mostly
for show purposes!
SR
Oh boy. Just not my day.
(opening side door)
See you at ground zero.

He jumps out of the plane holding a parachute pack.

TRUMP
Guess I should have told him, the
parachutes are all just decorative,
too...

CUT TO

INT. COCKPIT OF F-16 ­ MIDDAY

JANEANE
(yelling frantically into mic)
Help! Help! SOS! May Day! Anyone ­
but Bush!

Voices are heard over the radio.

VOICE
Janeane, it’s all right. We’ll talk you
in.
JANEANE
Oh thank god. Is this air traffic control?
VOICE
No, this is Val Kilmer. Remember, from
“Wonderland”? I’m here with Tim
Robbins. We’re going to help you.
JANEANE
Are you licensed pilots?
KILMER
No, but we were both in “Top Gun”.
JANEANE
(agitated)
So what? I was in “Manhood”, but
I’m not a lesbian!
KILMER
Are you sure? You really read lesbian,
if you don’t mind my saying so.
JANEANE
We’re not here to discuss my sex life!
Either help or go away!
ROBBINS
See, this is how she was when I cohosted
her radio show. I almost walked off,
but then I remembered what Susan was
like when she went through “the change”.
(to Janeane, sternly)
Tell you what. Would you rather have
Tom Cruise? He’s Christian Science and he
supports Bush.
JANEANE
No, no. I’d probably crash on purpose
if I had to deal with that. I’m sorry.
Just tell me what to do.
KILMER
Okay, you see that little red LED
display on your upper left?
JANEANE
(squinting)
No.
KILMER
How about the T-handle lever just
below your right thigh?
JANEANE
(searching)
No, don’t have that either.
KILMER
Damn, no wonder we didn’t win the
special effects Oscar. Guess you’re
on your own.
JANEANE
Aaaaagh! Come on, help me!
ROBBINS
Janeane, listen. Just ease the stick
into a turn and follow the coastline
toward Canada. When you see a really
remote, unpopulated area, ditch and
bail out. It’s just like dating a frat
boy in reverse.
JANEANE
Okay, I copy.

She banks the plane and heads north.

JANEANE
(looking out cockpit)
I see Niagra Falls coming into view.
Just honeymooners and tourists ­ no
sign of intelligent life.
Here we go!

She pushes the ejection seat button and blasts out of the cockpit. The plane slowly rolls and descends, plummeting straight toward the Con Ed hydroelectric power plant, exploding on impact in a great ball of flame and smoke. After a few seconds, the plant crumbles and bursts, unleashing a torrent of flood water downstream.

Janeane floats lazily earthward as the parachute deploys on her ejector seat.

JANEANE
(surveying damage below)
Wow, might be time for an environmental
impact study...

SCENE VIII

EXT. THE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING ­ LATE AFTERNOON

George W. Bush is sitting in his ejection seat, with the strands of his parachute torn and clinging precariously to the communications mast high atop the Empire State Building.

His father George H. W. Bush dangles just below him with a death grip on his son’s trouser leg.

JR
Gee, Daddy, it was sure lucky that
you were able to grab onto my
parachute when yours didn’t open.

George Bush Sr. peers down fearfully and speaks in a whisper.

SR
(sarcastically)
Oh yeah, we’re standing in tall cotton.
Boy, whatever you do, don’t move an inch.

A short silence ensues as the two dangling figures sway gently in the breeze.

JR
Daddy?
SR
What?
JR
I think I have to go potty...
SR
(sobbing)
I miss the good old days with Dan Quayle...

CUT TO

EXT. FOREST NEAR THE CANADIAN BORDER ­ EVENING

Janeane emerges from some dense underbrush and steps into a clearing. Her face is smudged, her fatigues are in tatters, she is trailing the remnants of her parachute lines, and she still clutches the high heel shoe in her hand.

In the clearing she encounters a muscular, leather-clad figure wearing a Walkman, visible by the light of a match he uses to ignite his cigarette. As she glimpses his face partially shrouded by an eye patch, she responds in recognition.

JANEANE
Kurt? Kurt Russell?
Is that you?
KURT RUSSELL
(in low, guttural voice)
The name is Pliskin.
But you can call me Snake.
(laughing)
Just kidding. Guess you were going
to the costume party, too. If I
had known there was going to be
a Private Benjamin impersonator,
I would have brought Goldie, but
she’s still in Tibet meditating
with the Dali Lama. Um, I remember
you from Toronto, but what’s your
name again?
JANEANE
Garofalo.
But you can call me Janeane.
RUSSELL
Oh yeah. Funny, I thought you’d
be taller.
JANEANE
I get that a lot.
What costume party?
RUSSELL
You know, on the aircraft carrier,
for the big nomination celebration.
Hey, weren’t you supposed ­
JANEANE
I couldn’t make it.
RUSSELL
(tossing cigarette aside)
Oh well, probably over now.
Seems like the power is out
everywhere. I can’t figure
out what happened.

He starts to turn away.

JANEANE
Hey, can you give me a lift?
RUSSELL
(turning back)
Sorry, I’d love to, but I’m
a Bush supporter. Besides,
I need to moisturize.

He turns away again, and Janeane studies the shoe in her hand and then raises it over her head as she pursues Russell ominously.

DISSOLVE TO

EXT. THE SAME CLEARING, MINUTES LATER ­ EVENING

Kurt Russell is lying on the ground in his underwear and hogtied with parachute cord, while Janeane stands over him wearing his black leather jumpsuit and fumbling with his Walkman.

RUSSELL
(struggling)
Hey, you can’t do this!
I’m a Libertarian. We’re
supposed to be neutral
like Switzerland.

Janeane reaches down, stuffs the opera pump into his mouth and secures it with the eye patch.

She finally tunes in a station on the Walkman, with weak reception and occasional static.

RADIO STATION
Hello, this is Bill Crowley
with AirAmerica Underground.
A major act of terrorism occurred
today in New York City, disrupting
the final festivities of the
Republican convention, when an
unidentified saboteur destroyed
both the Statue of Liberty and the
aircraft carrier the USS Sonny Bono.
Over a thousand prominent Republicans
and members of the current
administration are still unaccounted
for, while the entire northeastern
seaboard is experiencing power black-
outs from a chain reaction that
apparently started with a mysterious
explosion at the Con Ed hydroelectric
plant at Niagra Falls. We are currently
operating on emergency power from an
undisclosed location, as the country
remains in a vacuum of leadership.
President Bush has not been seen or
heard since noon today, and no
one has stepped in to assume power
except for Alexander Haig, whom
no one bothered to notice. Most
of the nation’s leading officials are
thought to be either in hiding or
under possible investigation, and
the fall elections are now in
jeopardy. The situation becomes
increasingly dire with each passing
hour as the general population grows
more and more aware of just how
little importance and relevance
democratic government has to their
everyday lives. Threats of secession
are already emerging from Western
and Heartland areas of the country,
with military and police resistance
dissolving under lack of central
leadership...

Janeane tosses the Walkman aside.

She reaches into a pocket of the jumpsuit and pulls out a package of cigarettes labelled “American Freedom”.

She removes one from the pack and lights it with a match, drawing long, hard puffs, with only the red, glowing ember of lit tobacco visible in the dark.

She finally tosses the butt aside and walks away slowly.

JANEANE
Welcome to the human race...

END PART 11: THE END

--Back to Top--

 !  Sidebar Information /
Fan Fiction

Janeane Garofalo drawing by Amy

In this series of adventures, Janeane Garofalo plays the part of Janeane as she searches for a persona to finally call home. To read a brief biography, go to Janeane Garofalo >>.


This episodic comedy, written in the general format of a film script, follows the harrowing adventures of a modern-day Janeane Garofalo as she finds herself pitched by the winds of fate from one wild adventure to another. One moment she is burning down the home of Martha Stewart after a failed attempt to fill the apron of the homemaking diva who is preparing for a sojourn "up the river." The next she finds herself transformed into an Elizabethan era Alice pursued by Wonderland characters with incredible resemblances to members of the George W. Bush administration. Never fear, fans of Janeane. While the little Jersey gal walks through the world leaving chaos and destruction in her wake, she always comes out on top, though not completely unscathed at all times.

Select any one of the links below to go to another part of
Perils >> 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11


Little is known of George "Rusty" Datt. Some rumors place him at the scene of all historical events, important or otherwise, for the past two years. Other rumors say longer.
To learn what little we know, go to George "Rusty" Datt >>

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