The Therapist, a dialogue
The action takes place in what sounds like a large, empty warehouse.
Ms White: So, Mr Brown, your son is addicted to user-generated content.
Mr Brown: That’s right, he’s either making it or watching it — that damn YouTube.
Ms White: I understand you have a weblog Peter.
Peter: Got it for my birthday.
Ms White: How old are you?
Pause
Mr Brown: Tell Ms White how old you are Peter.
Peter: Thirteen.
Ms White: I’m sorry Peter, can you stop filming us with your mobile.
Peter: This is exactly the sort of thing my unique visitors want to see — me about to be committed to the nut-house.
Ms White: Please stop filming.
Peter: No.
Ms White: (Rummages, then, coolly) Well, you won’t mind me filming you for my weblog.
Peter: You can’t do that.
Ms White: Yes I can.
Peter: Dad, she’s filming me.
Ms White: (immitating him) Daaad, she’s filming me!
Mr Brown: Right, can you stop filming each other?
Ms White: He started it.
Peter: You’re the therapist, you’re supposed to be sane.
Mr Brown: Right (shuffles around his pockets).
Ms White: What are you doing?
Mr Brown: This is my cell phone, I’m filming you.
Ms White: Don’t tell me you’ve got a weblog.
Mr Brown: Why not, my opinions are valid. So are my experiences.
Peter: (excited) Keep it pointed at her dad. I’ll shoot you.
Ms White: Look, I’m sure we’ve got enough content for our respective blogs, let’s call it a day.
Peter: Don’t listen to her dad, this is the denouement, the three of us holding mobiles to each other’s heads. I’ll be the next Tarantino – Reservoir Blogs.
Sound of gunshot.
riderone said,
October 19, 2006 at 2:15 am
Oh. My. God. Toooooo perfect!
m&m said,
November 6, 2006 at 10:39 am
a movie shuld be maee with this as base