The scene opens on a dark setting with a center stage light limiting the focus to a dining room table. Bill is sitting behind a laptop computer talking to himself. He is joined from the right by Pons and from the left by Ned. All sit facing down stage.
Bill: Man! I have a scene to write, a chapter to finish, a poem to rhyme, and reviews to get out. I have approximately two hours to do as much damage as possible before reality rears its ugly head.
(Approaching from stage right, Ned wanders in and sits beside Bill.)
Ned: Whatcha doin' there, Billyard?
Bill: I'm trying to create a humorous sketch, an adventurous chapter, a passible poem, and give some usable feedback to other writers.
Ned: No, I mean on that li'l tellervision
Bill: That's it, Ned. I'm creating.
Ned: So yer writin' tellervision shows? How's 'bout ya write a aptisode a Gunsmoke? I ain't seen my hero Festus in a month a Mondays.
Bill : You mean a month of Sundays.
Ned: Do I, Billus? I kin tell ya I seen that show ON a Sunday jis lass week, but I ain't ne'er seen it on a Monday.
Bill: Okay, Ned. Sorry. Don't get upset.
Ned: I ain't upset, Billboy. If I'm anythin' I'm down sat. (Bouncing in his chair.)
Bill: Ah, great, Ned. Well, I'm not writing a television script, and it definitely wouldn't be a Gunsmoke episode. If anything I'd write a sitcom.
Ned: (Eyes widening.) Well I'm sure it'd be better than that, Billbo. Ya might want to curve that bad lang-age too, cuz here comes Pons; he's a bit of a prune.
Bill: I might CURB my LANGuage, Ned. Since Pons is such a PRUDE.
Ned: Yeah, well, whatever, dude.
(Pons walks in from stage left and greets Bill before sitting.)
Pons: Hi, Mr. Schott. How is it going today?
Bill: I'm a bit pressed for time, Pons, and I have so many things to accomplish in a very short period.
Pons: You're under the gun?
Ned: Naw, he don't care fer gunfightin' shows. He wants to write 'bout stuff he calls, well, crap.
Bill: (Responding to Ned.) SITcom, Ned.
Ned: Sorry. Pons. He's in a sitty mood taday. Now ya got me cursin' too.
Pons: Well, I'm totally clueless here.
Ned: Ain't that s'posed ta be my job?
Bill: You're the master at it, Ned.
(Ned sits up straight in his chair with a look of satisfaction on his face.)
Pons: What ARE you writing?
Bill: For one, there's this sequel to Baker's Dozen.
Ned: That the one where them Army convicts kill Hitler and blow up Camelot?
Pons: What?
Ned: Yeah. Liberty Valance , Cheyenne, the Death Wish guy, that dude what was Rose Mary's Baby's dad, but weren't, and Kojak get sent by the McHail's Navy guy ta blow up a castle wit a passel a Nasties in it.
Pons: Nazis?
Ned: They was bad enough ta need blowin' up, dude.
Bill: Okay, stop. You're beginning from a misnomer on the title.
Pons: Nevermind, Mr. Schott. So, a sequel to the story where Baker becomes, Butcher, then becomes Bobby Do, and then is an assassin, but doesn't know it.
Bill: Right.
Pons: That was a terrific tale, sir.
Bill: Why thank you, Pons.
Pons: Anything else in the hopper?
Bill: Need to write a poem.
Ned: Like - roses is red, pilots is blue --
Bill: Violets are blue.
Ned: I'm bettin' there's plenny a blue stuff, Biligan.
Pons: I like to write limericks.
Ned: Yeah. He done a doozy limmerlick jis t'other day.
Bill: There once was a fellow named Ned --
Ned: What got the hair cut onnis head --
Pons: They cut it so closely--
Bill: Really scalped him, so mostly--
Ned: Now his friends jis calls 'im Ed.
Bill: That was top drawer there guys!
Pons: Now you just need to write a script; right?
Bill: No time. It'll have to wait until tomorrow.
Pons: Okay then. See you, Mr. Schott.
Bill: Bye, Pons. Later, Ned.
Ned: (Looks to the audience.) Looks like I get the last word.
Bill: Well - ah - Ned, I'll probably have the la --
Ned: (Yelling.) FLABONGA !!
(Pons and Ned exit their respective sides as Bill closes his lap top computer and the stage goes to black.)
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