All The Little Bastards Down Below
Opening Teaser
Richards enters through large double doors.
RICHARDS: You called, sir?
The Old Man is sitting at his gold French provincial desk starring out the window of his penthouse office seventy floors above the ground.
THE OLD MAN: Yes. Richards, you know, I’ve been thinking.
RICHARDS: I can tell, sir.
The Old Man turns.
THE OLD MAN: You can, how?
RICHARDS: You’ve got that look. (the mad, drooling, complete imbecile kind of look).
THE OLD MAN: Ah, but do you know what I’ve been thinking?
RICHARDS: Yes, sir, I do.
THE OLD MAN: You do?
RICHARDS: Yes. You’re thinking: if we can convince Alaska to annex the Yukon, then we can get the new state of Yukon passed in the House thereby every man, woman and child will have to buy a new American flag. A beautiful, grand flag, with white stripes in place of red ones, and red ones in place of white, with one extra star in the corner, for the fifty-first state of the union; designed, especially by our company, made at our factories in Africa, by African children, working day and night, in the hot African sun, for pennies a day, so they can buy a case of our Ultra-cola, loaded with Ultra-Gaurana, specially grown in huge slash and burned fields, by their mothers and fathers, who will beg to pay for ice so their children can cool their parched little throats – which, I should add, ice, that we will sell to them at a modest price – only two dollars $USD for a bag – and, sir, do you know how we’re going to do this?
THE OLD MAN: No, how? I must know.
RICHARDS: Sir, we will tell them its Un-American. That by not proudly showing the new American flag on their home, the war on terror will be lost, and they will be traitors to their country, and a disappointment to the troops – and that’s how we’ll get 318 million people, men women and toddlers, to buy a flag with one extra star of a state that was formally a province in a country they can’t even find on a map. And the great thing about this idea is that we can annex each of the ten provinces and three territories slowly over time and make a whole new flag to sell right back to them. And if the Canadians object, we’ll start a war and we’ll sell them tanks and helicopters to fight it – which, we will obviously sell to the American people. It's a win-win situation. Plus, those African children do really shoddy work, so’ll they’ll have to buy another flag once it quickly falls apart.
THE OLD MAN: Brilliant. I didn’t even know I was thinking that.
RICHARDS: I know you didn’t, sir.
THE OLD MAN: Richards, get right on my new idea.
RICHARDS: I’m already on top of it, sir. All I’ll need is three-hundred million in barabonds.
RICHARDS: Three hundred million? Jesus, what the hell for?
RICHARDS: To buy the Yukon, sir.
THE OLD MAN: I’m not sure I want it for that much.
RICHARDS: Sir, It's a bargain.
THE OLD MAN: Oh, in that case. Wire the funds immediately.
RICHARDS: I’ve already done that, sir.
THE OLD MAN: Good. Good day Richards.
RICHARDS: Good-day, sir.
THE OLD MAN: Richards? –
RICHARDS: Sir?
THE OLD MAN: That African ice should be five dollars a bag, not two.
RICHARDS: Why not six?
THE OLD MAN: Six? Yes, I like that much better. Much better. And we can get all the ice from the Yukon for free.
RICHARDS: You’re forgetting refrigeration, sir.
THE OLD MAN: I’m not a damn fool Richards. Just melt it and refreeze it in Africa.
RICHARDS: Refreeze it, sir?
THE OLD MAN: Yes.
RICHARDS: So, load up hundreds of tons of ice – melt it, and fly it thousands of miles to Africa in huge gas hungry planes, and then suck up all the melted ice – which, I should point out, that when ice melts, its just water, and there is plenty of clean, malaria riddled water in Africa – and then refreeze all that melted ice in hugely expensive refrigeration units and then sell it for six dollars a bag?
THE OLD MAN: You’re right, Richards, that does sound a bit much to me.
RICHARDS: Yes, it bloody well does.
THE OLD MAN: We’ll sell the ice for three dollars.
RICHARDS: Right, sir. Will you be needing anything else?
THE OLD MAN: I think I need one of those Ultra-Colas.
RICHARDS: I’ll get you one right a way, sir. With Yukon ice perhaps?
THE OLD MAN: No, I can’t stand anything cold. Microwave it. Not too hot!
RICHARDS: Yes, sir.
THE OLD MAN: Richards? We don't really have poor African children in factories, do we?
Long pause.
RICHARDS: Do you really want to know?
THE OLD MAN: Don't I?
RICHARDS: No, sir.
THE OLD MAN: Good. Good night, Richards.
RICHARD: Good night, sir.
Richards leaves and closes the doors behind him. The Old Man stares down at all the little people below.