Killed Sequel

(Note: This is the sequel to Vodka on Ice, which ran on Suck. This didn't.)

INTRO: Robert Downey, Jr. Ex-con. Ex-famous person. Ex-founder of Garboville, a failed celebrity community already making the inexorable transformation from bright SoCal utopia to rueful, Didionesque reminiscence.

Robert Downey, Jr. Alone. Ignored. More than a little desperate. But unlike all the other hard cases cross-training their miseries in L.A.'s squalid cavalcade of gin holes, shooting galleries, and crack palaces, he was a man who'd once known the warm, velvety consecration of the limelight.

He'd known it almost his entire life, in fact.

And he wanted it back.

Robert and his agent Sammy eat lunch.

ROBERT: So he's here somewhere? He's watching me right now?

SAMMY: He sure is.

ROBERT: Wow. This is kind of cool. I have a stalker.

SAMMY: Cecilee's putting the finishing touches on the press release as we speak. The media's gonna be on this shit like a herd of bulimics at a hot fudge sundae convention.

ROBERT: So where is he? He's here somewhere, right? Point him out to me.

SAMMY: Over there.

Robert looks over his shoulder. From across the room, Anthony Michael Hall gives him the high sign.

ROBERT: Sammy, that's Anthony Michael Hall.

SAMMY: Isn't it great? It's like a "Hail Caesar" reunion!

ROBERT: Anthony Michael Hall is my stalker?

SAMMY: Robert, he's not a cute little kid anymore. He's got a real edgy vibe going these days.

ROBERT: Sammy, this is a joke, right?

SAMMY: Robert, he needed the job. He's your friend...

ROBERT: Sammy, listen. Let's call this a joke and get me a real stalker, OK? Before we gotta pay a team of archaelogists to excavate my foot from your ass.

Robert and a friend work out on Nautilas machines. Robert smokes as he works out; a bottle of Stoli rests at his feet. Across the room, O.J. Simpson, wearing dark sunglasses, a baseball cap, sweats, and gloves, is watching Robert.

FRIEND: Hey, who's that bulky, melon-headed dude over there? He's, like, comprehensively monitoring your action.

ROBERT: I know. That's my stalker.

FRIEND Dude, you're being stalked? That's extreme.

ROBERT: Hey, that's not the half of it. Take a closer look at him.

FRIEND: No. Fucking. Way. The Juice is stalking you?

ROBERT: Pretty cool, huh?

FRIEND: I thought O.J. was strictly for the ladies.

ROBERT: I know, it's weird. He's just kind of obsessed with me, I guess. He keeps sending me these goofy autographed photos from, like, all these old football movies he was in or something.

Robert and O.J. sit on a couch, watching a bank of TVs. While Robert talks on his cell phone with Sammy, O.J. drinks a beer. The coffee table in front of them is piled with six-packs, bongs, liquor bottles, etc.

ROBERT: Sammy, I've been watching every goddamn news channel for the last eight hours! I haven't been on for even five seconds! It's all just Clinton standing around with his mom and shit.

O.J.: Robert, that ain't his mom. That's Madelaine Albright.

ROBERT: So where the hell am I, Sammy? I've got America's favorite homicidal maniac stalking me, and I can't even pull Geraldo away from Clinton and some old bag for five goddamn seconds?

TV ANCHORMAN (One one TV): ...amidst accusations that actor/comedian Robin Williams was allowed to attend important international policy summits disguised as Secretary of State Madelaine Albright in return for illegal campaign contributions...

TV FIELD REPORTER (On another TV): Peter, news of the latest Clinton scandal broke when an acquaintance of a young woman who is alleged to be Williams' electrologist contacted independent counsel Kenneth Starr...

Sammy meets with Matt Drudge at a booth in the back of the room.

SAMMY: All right, Drudge, here's the story: in 1992, at the Democratic National Convention, which my client was attending in order to narrate a documentary, he and then-Governor Clinton engaged in a spontaneous, passionate one-week affair.

DRUDGE: What!? Robert Downey Jr. and the President!? You're saying they had sexual relations!?

SAMMY: I'm saying he inhaled, baby.

DRUDGE: Ohmigod, this is so Code Red! What kind of proof do you have?

SAMMY: We have -

DRUDGE: Fine! Fine! That's more than enough proof! This is too hot too hold, I'm moving this thing now!

Robert addresses a pack of reporters from behind a podium.

ROBERT: What can I say? I was young, I was impressionable, I was politically innocent. Basically, he seduced me. I mean, it's like Billy Graham says - the President's a total bitch-magnet. And he really made me feel like, um, my opinions mattered, even though I can't always recite every Commandment in the Bill of Rights or whatever. But he could see past that, and he just...he just made me feel really good about being involved in the political process.

Four pundits face each other down on the set of "Shut Up And Let Me Talk!"

PUNDIT ONE: Oh, I think this is definitely it.

PUNDIT TWO: It's not it, it's not it. The man's slipperier than a Teflon marital aid slathered in Valvoline.

PUNDIT THREE: Yeah, but you know the old saying: a dead girl or a live boy.

PUNDIT TWO: Morton! This is Slick Willie we're talking about. With him, it's going to take a dead girl, a live boy, an Iraqi spy, a trained seal, a planeload of dope, and the entire cast of Melrose Place dressed up to look like Jackie Onassis.

Clinton addresses the media at a press conference.

CLINTON: I know you want answers. I'd like to give you those answers, believe me. But you have to understand - there's a process to these things. We don't even know the full extent of that young man's accusations yet. And we need to wait for you to finish conducting your polls, so we can see what the public thinks. When we have that information, then we'll be able to start formulating a response regarding what really happened.

Robert and O.J., drinking and smoking, steer a golf cart down the fairway. They're wearing golf caps and sunglasses, and they're being pursued by a golf cart filled with photo-snapping paparazzi.

ROBERT: God, it is so good to be back in the spotlight. I feel like I'm alive again, you know? SNL wants me to guest-host, Penthouse wants to do a photo-spread, the scripts are coming in again. It is so great to be famous.

Robert holds the flag for O.J. and drinks a martini while O.J. lines up his putt. The paparazzi continue to take photos, which irritates Robert.

ROBERT: Hey! Hey! O.J.'s putting here, you stupid fucking fuckbags! So do you think maybe you could pretend for one second that you're nominally decent fucking human beings and give us a little goddamn privacy? So we can play golf like fucking normal people? I mean, would that be too much to ask for, you sorry fucking bitch-boy bloodsuckers?

O.J.: What's that copter doing up there?

A helicopter has landed on the green. Two men in black suits exit it; one of them grasps Robert's arm.

MAN 1: Mr. Downey, the President would like to meet with you at your earliest convenience.

ROBERT: Well, um--

MAN 1: Mr. Downey, this isn't the kind of invitation you refuse.

MAN 2: Juice, you come too.

O.J.: Oh, I don't--

MAN 2: Juice, the President would be disappointed if you didn't. He's got the whole Naked Gun series on laser disc. And I'm sure he'll want to swap perjury tips with you.

Robert, O.J., the two men in black suits, and a Clinton aide huddle in the interior of the helicopter.

CLINTON AIDE: Robert, relax, this is a good thing.

ROBERT: It is?

CLINTON AIDE: Robert, don't you read the papers? The President's pulling higher numbers than ER now, for God's sake! Because of you, Robert. You. I mean, forget about Beverly Hills Chunk-Style and the Little Rock Swamp Hag - finally, the President nails a genuine movie star! Robert, don't you see it? You're the President's Marilyn! And we think this can go even bigger if we handle it right. Much bigger. Right now, our people are talking to Starr's office. We're fairly certain we can get him to launch an investigation, but we're going to need to manufacture some evidence. You know, a few letters, a couple gifts the President gave you. Maybe an errant glove or something.

O.J.: Man, it's 1998 already. Let the glove jokes go.

President Clinton, Robert, and O.J. convene in the Oval Office. There's lots of booze and McDonald's food around; two scantily dressed interns feed French fries to Clinton, who's clad in a skimpy, too-tight toga and resting on a throne.

ROBERT: So Starr's in on it too?

CLINTON: Oh, no, Kenny's not in on it. I mean, we'd pay him if he wanted, sure. But he just does it out of...he's like that Goldman fella, actually. Another constipated old maid who can't stick to his own damn business...

ROBERT: So how much do they pay you?

CLINTON: Well, it's different with each network, of course. Your CNNs, your MSNBCs, they're more dependent on the sort of programming I can provide than the majors are, so they pay more.

O.J.: Bill, that is a sweet set-up, man. You think I could work a deal like that? I mean, for another trial? Cuz if I was getting a piece of the networks' action, well, there's definitely other folks I could kill, believe me.

BILL: Well, actually, that's why I wanted to speak to you boys. You see, the thing is, two years from now, I'm out, right? And what then? I've developed this great system, I've established all these valuable contacts at the networks, and a variety of ways of laundering the payments. But it don't amount to a hill of Special Prosecutor subpoenas unless the show's got a star, right?

ROBERT: Well, what about Gore?

O.J.: Robert, Al Bore, are you kidding? The man was turning out Buddhist nuns to fill his war chest and no one even gave a damn.

CLINTON: O.J.'s right, Robert. So the question becomes: What about you?

ROBERT: Me? Run for President?

CLINTON: Well, it's not something we could accomplish overnight. We'd have to skip the next election, look ahead to 2004. But I've been thinking about this a lot, Robert, and, really, I think everything's in place. You're young, you're attractive, you're articulate. You know how to memorize a script. And best of all, you get yourself in more damn sticky messes than an epileptic in a glue factory. I think it's fair to say you might even generate higher ratings than I've been able to manage.

ROBERT: You really think so?

CLINTON: Sure! I mean, you'd have to do some hard work. Learning the issues. Squeeze-testing bimbos. Soliciting untoward campaign contributions. And you'd have to get married, of course.

ROBERT: Married? But who would marry me if I'm always going to be having affairs and stuff?

CLINTON: Don't worry about that, Robert. We've got that covered.

Robert Downey, Jr., President of the United States takes his oath, with crack pipe in upraised hand. On the dais with him: First Lady Chelsea Clinton-Downey; Vice President O.J. Simpson and his wife Monica Lewinsky-Simpson; First Dealer Anthony Michael Hall; White House Press Secretary Matt Drudge.


-- G. Beato

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