This week's guest stars: MICHAEL J FOX as AL, STEVE MARTIN as THE DOCTOR, and introducing MACAULAY CULKIN as YOUNG STEVE
Written, directed, and produced by David Meadows
(It's a typical private hospital room. The Villain In Black (TVIB) is lying in bed with a thermometer in his mouth. A DOCTOR is taking his pulse. TVIB is wearing a hospital gown (black, of course. Try not to think about it too deeply.))
DOCTOR: Now tell me, what are the symptoms?
TVIB: Urg gurl uh uh uhh guh
DOCTOR: Loss of speech?
(TVIB gives him *that* look. The DOCTOR hastily removes the thermometer.)
TVIB: Hot flushes, shortness of breath, headaches...
(The DOCTOR examines the thermometer, shakes it.)
DOCTOR: I thought as much. You have a mild dose of flu.
TVIB: Flu? No, I can't possibly have flu.
DOCTOR: Why not?
TVIB: It's not sinister enough. Can I have bubonic plague instead?
DOCTOR: Nope, it's flu.
TVIB: Black death?
DOCTOR: Sorry, flu.
TVIB: There must be *something* more interesting to call it?
DOCTOR: Welllll... I could call it "mononucleosis".
(TVIB mouths the word silently.)
TVIB: Yeeessss... tell them I have that. That will spook them. Tell them I can't play on the tour.
(The DOCTOR leaves. TVIB continues to speak to himself. It's a soliloquy: all the best writers have them.)
TVIB: Let them think I can't play... and when they have to cancel the tour, THEN we will all see who is the most important member in the group. Muah-hahahahahaha-hack-cough-splutter-NURSE!!!!
(It's one of those waiting areas with plastic seats, bad coffee, and hospital staff rushing backwards and forwards for no apparent reason. JON, ROGER, IAN, and BIG IAN are here, talking to the DOCTOR.)
DOCTOR: I'm sorry to tell you it's mononucleosis.
JON: Mon-whatsis?
ROGER: You made that up!
DOCTOR: No, it's very serious. He can't play on the tour. He needs plenty of bed rest.
BIG IAN: Can't play on the tour? Huh, you'll never find ME cancelling a tour because I've got a minor illness.
IAN: What are we going to do, guys? It's all booked. There's big money riding on it!
JON: We can't play without Rich. He's too important to our sound.
BIG IAN: Nonsense! We'll audition a temporary replacement.
ROGER: Sure, the world's full of great guitar players.
(They all nod agreement to this as we CUT to:)
(The gang sit around with their instruments, looking tired and frustrated. ROGER has a long list in his hand. He's crossing something off it.)
JON: How many's that, Rog?
ROGER: Fifteen. Where are all the good players?
BIG IAN: Look, can't we just call Jeff?
JON: I already did.
BIG IAN: What did he say?
JON: "Ha ha ha ha ha ha."
(They sit in silence for a moment. ROGER goes to the door, puts his head out and shouts:)
ROGER: Next!
(YOUNG STEVE enters. He carries a guitar and has a huge smile.)
YOUNG STEVE (smiling): Hiya guys, how y'all doing?
ROGER (bored): Why don't you just show us what you can do.
(YOUNG STEVE smiles and plugs his guitar into an amp.)
YOUNG STEVE PLAYING (and smiling): eeeeeeeeee widley-widley-widley-widley-widley eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee (pinched harmonic) (pinched harmonic) widley-widley-widley (chromatic run) widley-widley (pinched harmonic) (chromatic run) widley-widley eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee eeeeeeee ee ee ee ee ee
(The last echoes die away. JON, ROGER, IAN, and BIG IAN stare at YOUNG STEVE, open-mouthed. YOUNG STEVE smiles in a worried fashion.)
YOUNG STEVE (smiling): Uh... I can play it faster if you want?
(They continue to stare.)
YOUNG STEVE (smiling): Or use both hands...?
(The other four go into a huddle. We can't hear what they are muttering. Every now and then, one of them will look up at YOUNG STEVE, who continues to smile back.)
JON: Exactly how old are you, Steve?
YOUNG STEVE (smiling): Thirteen, sir. Nearly.
(More huddle, more muttering.)
BIG IAN: Sorry, kid, you're just too young for a hard rock guitarist.
(YOUNG STEVE's smile falters.)
BIG IAN: But give us a call in... oh... say... 25 years?
(YOUNG STEVE smiles and leaves.)
JON (tired and discouraged): How many left now, Rog?
(ROGER consults his list.)
ROGER: Three. Randy, Al, and some kid called Tommy.
JON: Let's just take the next one. It doesn't matter how bad he is, we'll tell him he's great. Anything to prove to Rich we can get through a tour without him.
(They all nod agreement. ROGER goes to the door and shouts:)
ROGER: Next!
(AL walks in, carrying a guitar and looking really nervous, and we FADE OUT on the false smiles of the other four...)