Tuesday, May 24, 2005

the curse of the amoeba

(DEAN is writhing in bed, sweating profusedly. Beside him are empty bottles of Gatorade, pitchers of water and crushed tetra packs of juice. AMOEBA is standing next to the bed, heavy and ugly.)

AMOEBA: Get up. Get up.


AMOEBA: Get up!

DEAN (miserably): Nooo...

AMOEBA: Get dressed, you're late, late, late for all your important dates. We have meetings to attend, designs to defend, clients to see - hey, your condo's not free.

DEAN (grimaces): I can't. I won't.

AMOEBA: You can't ignore your cell, all these messages, well, you can but if you do, you won't have a home to come home to.

DEAN: Fine. Fine, but behave yourself, please.

(AMOEBA smiles)

AMOEBA: Of course, of course, we're friends after all. I won't leave you to pick up the ball.

DEAN (getting dressed): I wish you would.

(Set change to CLIENT OFFICE. CLIENT sits across the table from DEAN. AMOEBA stands behind DEAN.)

CLIENT: Dean, Dean, good to see you're okay-

DEAN: Well, let me just say-

CLIENT: We have a lot to discuss-

DEAN: It's my stomach. I mistrust-

CLIENT: Great, great, let's get started, shall we?

AMOEBA: Get up, get up.

DEAN: Oh no, leave me be.

CLIENT: What? What did you say?

DEAN: Um, I was wondering if I may-

AMOEBA: Get up! Get up!


DEAN: Excuse myself for a while?


DEAN: Ah, oh hell, it's this guy (Points to AMOEBA)

AMOEBA: Hi, I'm Dean's Amoeba.


DEAN: We'll be right back.


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