Stage manager: It's not your job to comment on the productions, SG. Okay, boys and girls, that's a wrap.
Script girl: Oh good, my feet are killing me.
Stage manager: Not for us, we've still got a commercial to shoot, remember?
Script girl: Oh damn!
The actors from the completed storyline clear the stage, and the scene-shifters come on and cart away all the props and furnishings, leaving a bare, cleared stage. The new writer comes on, still hurriedly revising the script, dumps it in the hands of the script girl, and takes the seat next to the stage manager. The script girl flips through the papers and frowns.
Script girl: Shit, they're parodying an old Chiclets commercial? Why? I mean, that thing must be what, twenty, thirty years old? Who'll remember it? I mean, AddVenture readers are mostly sweaty-palmed teenagers, where's the audience?
Stage manager: Stick to your job, SG. Ours is not to reason why.
The script girl continues going through her papers, frowns again, and hands them to the proofreader, indicating a spot. The proofreader whips out his blue pencil and makes the desired correction.
Proofreader (grumbling): I thought the SM just told you to stick to your job.
Script girl: Hey, if you don't pick up on these things...
Proofreader: It was right in the previous draft.
The stage manager stands and stretches his back. The film crew gets ready.
Enter Jim, in a centipede outfit open to the front, Sharon, in nothing at all, and forty female midgets, all stacked and curvaceous as no midget in RL ever was. Some are in white shiny body-paint, others in red shiny body-paint. Others, about a third as tall as the rest, are in multi-colored body-paint. Otherwise they too are nude.
Darleen: Are we safe now, or did that little pervert follow us?
Jocelyn: The production guard stopped him at the door.
Script girl: I'm sorry, stopped who at the door?
Samantha: The Mystery Midget. All that bullshit about being able to get us into pictures...
Ramona: I mean, these commercials we have to do are bad enough!
Jocelyn: On the other hand, he did say he could say he could introduce us to the Bowler Fucker....
Monica: Don't buy it, I hear they hate each other's guts behind the scenes.
Jim: What are these, kids or something? Those tits have got to be fake!
Melissa: Hey!
Sharon: Your 'little brother' doesn't seem to agree with you.
Jim: It's the draft. Why they've gotta give me a costume with my dick showing is beyond me.
Sharon: At least you've got a costume. Jesus, don't they heat this place? My nipples are standing out like two sore thumbs!
Felicia: You aren't the only one with that problem, sister.
Margaret: Hey, a little heat in here?
Script girl: Sorry, no can do, they're supposed to stick out.
Anita: Easy for you to say, you get to wear a blouse.
Script girl (smugly): Perk of being behind the camera.
Natalie: Bet you wear falsies.
Script girl: I don’t either!
Vicky (sagely): Implants, then. I hear they can do wonders, these days.
Xaviera: You know, I saw this ad for a cream through a mail-order house....
Script girl: Honestly! The very idea! I’ll have you know my breasts are not only my own, but perfectly natural.
Inez: Prove it, then.
Rita: Yeah, take it off!
Script girl: I will not.
Jolene: Why not? How come you’re the only woman here who doesn’t have to freeze her tits off?
Script girl: I told you before, since I’m not getting filmed--
Vivian (nudging Wilma): Doesn’t have what it takes.
Natalie: Told ya!
Kerri and Ursula (chanting): Take it off! Take it off!
Script girl (in appeal): Stage manager--!
Stage manager (sighing): Right you are. Okay, people, enough chatter. You all know your lines, I want you in your places!
Lucy, Wilma and Olga: Awwww!
Rita: I still say she should take it off.
Stage manager: Now!
Sharon and the midgets exit to the wings, leaving only Jim on the cleared stage. He kicks each leg in turn to be sure the costume's working. All the legs in back of his real ones copy the motion satisfactorily.
Jim: Okay, ready I guess. So what's my motivation?
Script girl (consulting the script): Sex.
Jim: What, again? This is an outrage! It's typecasting, that's what it is! How come I never get any normal, wholesome roles?
Stage manager: Come off it, Jim, you're under contract to BEA Studios, remember? You know we don't get those kinds of scripts.
Script girl (mumbling): And if he doesn't know it, I sure do, I've got to read all the damned things.
Proofreader (whispering): You're lucky, SG, I've got to correct them. Do you have any idea how illiterate these Authors can be?
Script girl: Yes, I've met francis. Unfortunately.
Proofreader: Some of them can't even do proper HTML markup on their stuff. I tell ya, if this keeps up I'm going to the union about it.
Script girl: On the other hand, it is job security.
Proofreader: Don't give me that -- it's work, I tell you!
Script girl: Poor baby.
Stage manager: Can the chatter, people. Sheesh, you're as bad as the actors!
Proofreader: All I was saying was--
Stage manager: Shut up! We're on a schedule, here!
Silence.
Stage manager: Thank you. Okay, Jim, are you ready?
Jim (sourly): If I have to be.
Stage manager: And roll 'em!
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Tue Apr 22 22:30:16 2003
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