It's in the Bag! or The Fifth Chair 


FADE IN on TITLE CARD reading: "JACK H. SKIRBALL Presents" -- with a jaunty 
MUSICAL fanfare.

DISSOLVE TO:

A second TITLE CARD reading "FRED ALLEN IN IT'S IN THE BAG!" -- the MUSIC 
abruptly stops as we

DISSOLVE TO:

Radio comedian FRED ALLEN. He stands before a neutral backdrop and addresses 
the CAMERA directly. Allen appears almost eager to please but with a sour 
edginess not quite muted by his bow-tie and natty pin-striped suit (with a 
handkerchief neatly tucked into its breast pocket, no less). He has the 
proverbial face made for radio: hair slicked back and massive bags under his 
eyes.

FRED ALLEN
Ladies and gentlemen, this is Fred Allen. I'd 
like to ask you a simple question. Why is it 
when you folks come into a theater like this to 
see a picture, before you can see the picture, 
you have to sit there and look at a list of 
names for twenty minutes? Now, for example, 
in this picture, the first name you see is...

Allen rolls his eyes heavenward as we

WIPE TO:

A third TITLE CARD with name JACK BENNY near the top.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Who needs Jack Benny, a little radio actor, in 
a picture like this?! 

As Allen mentions some other names, they appear on the card, one by one.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
We have Don Ameche, an outstanding personality. 
William Bendix, a three-fisted he-man. Victor 
Moore, grandma's glamor boy. And Rudy Vallee, 
fresh from Yale.

A dramatic MUSICAL sting as we

DISSOLVE TO:

The next TITLE CARD -- a list of actors' names: BINNIE BARNES, ROBERT 
BENCHLEY, JERRY COLONNA, JOHN CARRADINE, GLORIA POPE, WILLIAM TERRY, MINERVA 
PIOUS, DICKIE TYLER, SIDNEY TOLER, GEORGE CLEVELAND, JOHN MILJAN, and BEN 
WELDEN.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
On top of Benny you have to look at a long list 
of names like this. Who knows who these people 
are? Who cares? You can find names like these 
in any phone book.

Another MUSICAL sting as we

DISSOLVE TO:

Another TITLE CARD, reading: "Screen Treatment by LEWIS R. FOSTER and FRED 
ALLEN -- Screenplay by JAY DRATLER and ALMA REVILLE" -- hmm, it's not every 
comedy that has a script co-authored by the wife of Alfred Hitchcock.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Screen treatment and screen play. These four 
people are now out of work. You'll see why in 
just a minute.

Another MUSICAL sting as we

DISSOLVE TO:

Another TITLE CARD, reading: "We gratefully acknowledge the contribution of 
MORRIE RYSKIND to this photoplay" -- Ryskind, a talented comedy writer, 
worked on four Marx Brothers movies and apparently helped rescue this one...

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Ryskind's contribution. In one scene, the 
family is eating dinner. Ryskind loaned us a 
half a pound of butter so the bread would look 
yellow in the close-ups.

Another MUSICAL sting as we

DISSOLVE TO:

Another TITLE CARD, listing "WALTER BATCHELOR Associate Producer" on top and 
"Production Designer LIONEL BANKS" and "Director of Photography RUSSELL 
METTY, ASC" below.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Look at that top name: Associate Producer. 
He's the only man in Hollywood who would 
associate with the producer.

We are spared another MUSICAL sting -- the orchestra HUMS ominously -- as we

DISSOLVE TO:

Another TITLE CARD, listing: Musical Director CHARLES PREVIN, Music score 
composed by WERNER HEYMANN, Sound Recording WILLIAM LYNCH, Interior 
Decoration GEORGE S. SAWLEY, Film Editor WM M. MORGAN, Ass't Director JACK 
SULLIVAN, dialogue director WM. R. ANDERSON and Production Manager ARTHUR 
SITEMAN.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Get a load of this mob. They're all relatives 
of the producer. In Hollywood, all a producer 
produces is relatives.

Another slightly more expansive MUSICAL sting as we

DISSOLVE TO:

A TITLE CARD reading "Western Electric Recording - A UNITED ARTISTS Release - 
COPYRIGHT MCMXLIV BY MANHATTAN PRODUCTIONS, INC. PASSED BY THE NATIONAL BOARD 
OF REVIEW" -- etc. Somehow Allen manages to restrain himself as we quickly

DISSOLVE TO:

A TITLE CARD reading: Produced by JACK H. SKIRBALL.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Here's Mr. Skirball's name again. He's in 
twice, you see... 
(philosophical)
Well, it's his picture.

A two-note MUSICAL bridge, as we

DISSOLVE TO:

A final TITLE CARD reading: Directed by RICHARD WALLACE.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
This is Mr. Skirball's father-in-law, another 
relative.

Mercifully, we

DISSOLVE TO:

A pin-striped Fred Allen again, talking to the CAMERA:

FRED ALLEN 
That's what I mean. Why should you folks have 
to sit out there and look at all these names? 
You know, someday, I'm gonna get my own 
relatives and produce my own picture. And my 
picture will start with the story, like this:
(as if telling a fairy tale)
One night, last November, an eccentric 
millionaire sat in his den making out a new 
will...

As he speaks, we 

FADE OUT

INT. TRUMBLE ESTATE - NIGHT

FADE IN on a SHEET OF PAPER, clearly marked "Last Will and Testament." We 
catch a name inked in near the top: "Frederick Trumble" of New York, New York 
-- and the words "all my worldly goods" just below. At the bottom of the 
page, a man's hand signs the name "Frederick Trumble." A lawyer's name is 
also visible: "Jefferson T. Pike."

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
The old man signing the will made his fortune 
with one invention. It's a soap that doesn't 
do anything. It doesn't bubble, lather, or 
foam. If you're lonesome while you're bathing, 
this soap just keeps you company in the tub.

FREDERICK TRUMBLE, a white-haired old man in a smoking jacket, sits at a desk 
in his posh mansion and finishes signing the will. His disapproving lawyer 
JEFFERSON T. PIKE hovers into view -- a cadaverous man in black, eyeglasses 
clipped to his nose -- squeezing his fingertips together in a haughty manner.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
(sniffily protesting)
But as your lawyer, Mr. Trumble --

TRUMBLE
I know what I'm doing, Mr. Pike! If I want to 
change my will, I can change it.

Trumble TEARS UP the old will.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
But suppose... suppose you don't find this 
grand-nephew? Who gets the money?

TRUMBLE
I'll find him!

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
Well, let's hope so.

Pike collects his hat, cane, and briefcase and heads out the door -- past the 
elaborate candelabras that help light the room.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
You know, I like a commentary with a picture. 
You don't have to watch the screen to know 
what's going on. 

Trumble watches Pike exit, then collects the papers from his desk, and 
crosses to a painting hanging on the wall behind him.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Now, if you're reading a newspaper or a 
magazine, you go right ahead. I'll let you 
know if anything happens.

Trumble moves the painting aside to reveal a wall safe.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
This is a moolah refrigerator. It's a device 
that keeps cold cash cooler.

As Trumble opens the safe, a sinister figure appears silhouetted in a nearby 
window, trying to peer through the curtains. From the wall safe, Trumble 
removes a gigantic wad of cash, an envelope, and a photograph.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
I counted this currency to save you the trouble. 
It's exactly three hundred thousand dollars. 
Now, if you don't believe me, watch the picture 
the next show and count it yourself.

Trumble looks at the photo. Inscribed on the back: "Frederick F. Trumble - 
Age Eight Months." He flips it over to reveal the picture: an eight month 
old baby with the face of Fred Allen, bags under its eyes, etc. Obviously, 
this is the long lost grand-nephew. 

Trumble closes the safe, replaces the painting, and crosses to a table on the 
opposite side of the room. Five identical antique chairs surround the table.
Trumble inspects the undersides of the chairs, chooses one of the five, and 
starts to stuff the money into the seat.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Uh uh uh, you see, the old boy's ready for 
inflation. He thinks stuffing the chair with 
money will be cheaper than buying excelsior.

The sinister figure at the window hovers outside. The figure fails to see 
Trumble put the money and the envelope into the seat of the chair and seal it 
up.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Don't be frightened. That shadow behind the 
curtain is only the director's brother-in-law. 
You see, the director has to find a job for his 
wife's brother in every picture. 

The figure slowly opens the window. The night wind rustles the curtains. 
Trumble senses something wrong.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Now, if he stays behind the curtain, he gets 
ten dollars a day. If he comes out, he gets 
five.

The figure points a gun through the open window. The wind apparently blows 
the candles out as the gunman FIRES. In the darkness, Trumble clutches his 
chest and staggers.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Oh! They're using real bullets. Well, that's 
one way to get a relative off the payroll.

Trumble collapses to the floor, dead. After a moment, the figure approaches 
and places the gun in Trumble's lifeless hand.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
This is plot stuff. You old moviegoers know 
what's going on. But this trick still fools 
the police. You'll see. The cops will think 
the old boy committed suicide.

The mysterious figure quickly departs, ignoring the nearby chair.

FADE OUT

EXT. CITY STREET - DAY

FADE IN on a busy sidewalk in New York. We discover a pitchman standing on a 
tacky platform in front of a building marked FLOOGLE'S FLEA CIRCUS. A sign 
on one side of the platform reads: MIMI THE WORLD'S GREATEST STRIPTEASE FLEA.
Business is bad. A FREEZE FRAME depicts the pitchman, FRED FLOOGLE (played 
by baggy-eyed Fred Allen), in the middle of his spiel.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Next, you see our hero, Floogle. Now, in the 
original story, Floogle owned a big circus. We 
had to cut the budget so, instead of elephants 
and lions, Floogle ended up with four fleas.

If not quite flea-bitten, Floogle is a seedy character: a battered hat on his 
head, a cheap unbuttoned vest, no necktie, a wicker cane in his hand. A sign 
behind him reads: SEE ALBERT THE ONLY MATHEMATICAL FLEA with an appropriate 
illustration of a four-eyed bug with a textbook.

FRED FLOOGLE
Hurry, hurry, hurry, folks! Step right in-- 

Floogle's spiel is interrupted when a walking stick appears and taps him on 
the shoulder. The man with the stick is the pretentious PARKER, a sharply 
dressed businessman in a suit and derby hat. Floogle is unhappy to see him.

FRED FLOOGLE
So, it's you, Parker!

PARKER
Yes, Floogle.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, beat it! I don't like moochers blocking 
the entrance to my show.

PARKER
I don't think it's doing my reputation any good 
to be seen here, either. 

He pronounces this last word "ee-ther", then quickly corrects himself, 
pronouncing it "eye-ther". This guy is a snob.

PARKER
Either.
(beat) 
If it weren't for your daughter--

FRED FLOOGLE
What's wrong with my daughter? She's as good 
as anybody in your family. Just because you've 
got a little money--

PARKER
I have nothing against your daughter. It's 
simply, in view of her antecedents, I think 
that a marriage between her and my son would 
lead only to social catastrophe.

As the two men bicker, a couple of star-crossed adolescents -- Floogle's 
daughter MARION and Parker's son PERRY -- approach them through the crowded 
sidewalk. Marion pulls Perry aside. The two young people, hidden from view, 
listen unhappily as their fathers argue.

FRED FLOOGLE
And that goes double for me. If you think I 
want an old windbag like you for an in-law--

PARKER
Good. Then we both feel the same way.

FRED FLOOGLE
If my daughter has been out with your 
half-witted son it's only because she's been 
brought up to be kind to dumb animals.

PARKER
Including fleas, no doubt. Good day.

Parker walks off. Floogle gives him a dirty look, which we FREEZE on.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
The name Floogle was contributed by the 
director's brother-in-law, the guy you saw 
behind the curtain, remember? He had the word 
"floogle" left over from an old crossword 
puzzle.

Another FREEZE FRAME: Perry Parker and Marion Floogle, the young lovers.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
The usual picture formula is "boy meets girl, 
boy loses girl, boy gets girl." Well, to save 
time and money, we had the boy meet the girl 
in a cheap delicatessen. If the boy didn't get 
the girl, at least he could get a sandwich.

The FRAME UNFREEZES.

PERRY PARKER
Well, if your father didn't come around the 
house and bring his fleas with him--

MARION FLOOGLE
Well, if that's the way you feel about my 
father, Perry Parker, I'll go and have my own 
baby!

Marion storms off.

PERRY PARKER
Well, THAT I doubt!

Perry storms off in the opposite direction. 

CUT TO:

INT. FLEA CIRCUS - DAY

Moments later. An upset Marion walks past her father as he stands at his 
little flea circus table (marked HOME OF ALBERT, MIMI AND SANDOW). Floogle 
returns one of the performers to its proper place.

FRED FLOOGLE
(to the flea)
Now, you get in there and you stay in there.

Marion rockets past him without a word and goes to a door in the rear.

FRED FLOOGLE
Marion, what's the matter? You're not saying 
hello to your father anymore?

MARION FLOOGLE
No! I'm not talking to any man!

Marion exits through the door, SLAMMING it as she goes. After a beat, 
Floogle looks over at the family dog, sitting nearby.

FRED FLOOGLE
(to the dog)
Let that be a lesson to you, too.

CUT TO:

INT. FLOOGLE HOME - DAY

A tacky little apartment in back of the flea circus. Marion enters, still 
upset, and throws herself down on a sofa. Her thin mother, EVE FLOOGLE, 
walks around the living room, counting the number of times she pushes a 
rolling pin up and down her own butt.

EVE FLOOGLE
Six, seven... What's the trouble, Marion?

MARION FLOOGLE
Nothing.

EVE FLOOGLE
(off the rolling pin)
Hmm, I hope this thing does some good. 
(to Marion)
Aw, darling, don't cry like that.

Marion's little brother HOMER sits nearby, playing chess with himself. He 
wears thick eyeglasses and speaks in an affected, intellectual manner.

HOMER FLOOGLE
Oh, let her cry, Mom.

EVE FLOOGLE
Oh, a fine brother you are!

HOMER FLOOGLE
I'm only telling you what any modern 
psychologist would tell you. Dr. Pettibone 
insists that unless people have an emotional 
outlet, they will develop neuroses.

EVE FLOOGLE
(unimpressed) 
Hm! Was Dr. Pettibone ever a mother?

HOMER FLOOGLE
Was she! As a matter of fact, she was married 
three times and had twelve children.

EVE FLOOGLE
(only a little chastened)
Hmmph! I just hope none of them were like you.

Floogle enters.

EVE FLOOGLE
Oh, my mother told me I should never marry a 
flea trainer.

FRED FLOOGLE
And what's the matter with flea trainers?

EVE FLOOGLE
(exiting)
You tell him, Homer.

HOMER FLOOGLE
I just read an article about that.

FRED FLOOGLE
And?

HOMER FLOOGLE
It came to the following interesting 
conclusion...

FRED FLOOGLE
Yeah?

HOMER FLOOGLE
A) Eighty-three per cent of flea trainers are 
of definitely low mentality. B) Sixteen per 
cent were classified as morons--

FRED FLOOGLE
(brandishes his cane)
Why, for two pennies, I'd--

HOMER FLOOGLE
Uh uh! Dad! How many times have I told you? 
Striking your own child denotes a fundamental 
weakness in character.

FRED FLOOGLE
Sometimes I wonder if you ARE my own child.

Homer removes his eyeglasses to reveal two huge bags under his eyes.

HOMER FLOOGLE
Can you still doubt?

Floogle's eyes pop in disbelief. He stares, baggy-eyed, into the CAMERA.

FRED FLOOGLE
(directly to the audience)
What do you think?

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Don't answer that question!

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. FLEA CIRCUS - DAY

Later. Floogle, on his platform, waves his cane and delivers his spiel to 
the passersby, who completely ignore him. A NEWSBOY nearly drowns him out.

FRED FLOOGLE
It's an edifying, gratifying, mystifying 
exhibition and it's just about to start on the 
inside...

NEWSIE
Extra! Extra! All about the millionaire 
suicide! Extra! Extra! 

FRED FLOOGLE
Say, boy, that the racing final you got? Let me 
have one of those, will ya?

NEWSIE
(hands him a paper)
Yes, sir. 
(takes the money)
Thanks a lot. 
(moves on up the street)
Extra! Extra! 

Floogle goes straight to the racing news, ignoring the front page headline: 
MULTI-MILLIONAIRE SUICIDE - GRAND-NEPHEW SOLE HEIR.

FRED FLOOGLE
(reads)
Fifth race at Belmont. Julius Caesar, last! 
(disgusted)
Another two bucks shot.

Floogle folds up the paper and slaps it down. Eve appears, upset, having 
heard his outburst.

EVE FLOOGLE
Where're you gonna get the two dollars?

FRED FLOOGLE
Eh? Well--

EVE FLOOGLE
If I catch you makin' another bet with Marty 
the Goniff--! How much do you owe him now?

Suddenly MARTY THE GONIFF, an old-fashioned New York City bookie in the Damon 
Runyon tradition, emerges from the building next door to confront the 
Floogles.

MARTY THE GONIFF
Eight dollars. So your husband owes me eight 
dollars, Mrs. Floogle. If I ain't worried 
about it, why should you?

EVE FLOOGLE
I'm not worried about it -- 'cuz I know if he 
doesn't pay you the eight dollars, you'll break 
all of his ribs.

MARTY THE GONIFF
(to Floogle)
Now, uh -- just to settle a bet, of course -- 
weren't you born in Joplin, Missouri?

FRED FLOOGLE
Yeah, but that could happen to anybody.

MARTY THE GONIFF
And when your father died, your mother married 
Malachai Floogle and you took your stepfather's 
name -- ain't that right? Got a birth 
certificate, ain'tcha?

EVE FLOOGLE
What do you think, he was born on a due bill?

MARTY THE GONIFF
How long've you had those bags under your eyes?

FRED FLOOGLE
What bags?

EVE FLOOGLE
Bags he calls 'em! Trunks.

MARTY THE GONIFF
(to Floogle)
After this, you don't have to bet two bucks 
across. Your credit's good with me. From now 
on, you can bet two hundred! You can bet two 
thousand dollars! You can bet two-- 
(thinks it over) 
You can bet two thousand dollars.

FRED FLOOGLE
What's the big idea, Marty? Just because my 
mother's name was Margaret Trumble and I was 
born in Joplin, Missouri, you're giving me all 
this credit? I don't get it.

EVE FLOOGLE
Very simple. He likes bags.

MARTY THE GONIFF
Yeah. Bags is my weakness.

EVE FLOOGLE
Look, Marty, I got bags, too. You couldn't 
lend me fifty bucks on 'em to pay the rent, 
could you?

MARTY THE GONIFF
Sure! Why not? 

Marty digs out a roll of bills and hands one to Eve.

MARTY THE GONIFF
There y'are! Fifty bucks!

She looks at it doubtfully, never having seen a bill that big before.

EVE FLOOGLE
Fifty dollars in one bill? Ahh, it's 
counterfeit!

MARTY THE GONIFF
No, honest!

EVE FLOOGLE
(calls out, in a sing-song fashion)
Homerrrrrrr!!!

Homer appears at the rear door, reading a book.

HOMER FLOOGLE
Yes, motherrrr?!

EVE FLOOGLE
Who's picture's on a fifty dollar bi-illlll?!

HOMER FLOOGLE
Ulysses S. Graaa-aaant!

EVE FLOOGLE
(excited, to Marty)
I think I'll go right up the Tomb and thank Mr. 
Grant personally.

Eve stuffs the bill down her blouse and rushes off. Marty tips his hat.

MARTY THE GONIFF
Well... so long, Floogle!

FRED FLOOGLE
Come clean, Marty. What's the gimmick?

MARTY THE GONIFF
Forget it. 
(a sly smile)
It's your birthday.

Marty walks off.

FRED FLOOGLE
My birthday? This isn't November.
(looks around, sees newspaper)
What month is this? 
(unfolds paper, sees front page)
What day is it? I--

Floogle sees the headline and the accompanying photos -- one is of Trumble 
(captioned "$12,000,000 SUICIDE") and the other is the picture of the eight 
month old baby with the bags under its eyes (captioned "$12,000,000 BABY").

FRED FLOOGLE
Wow! Eve! Marion! Homer! Look! In the 
paper! Look!

Eve, Marion and Homer rush to Floogle, staring in disbelief at the front 
page. 

EVE FLOOGLE 
Fred! What's the matter? 
(sees the headline)
Oh! 

MARION FLOOGLE
Twelve million dollars! Mama! 

HOMER FLOOGLE
Dad, you can read? Dad, you can buy a lot of 
fleas! 

EVE FLOOGLE 
(hugs Floogle)
[?], Fred, darling!

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, now I can get you what you've always wanted 
-- mink underwear and a chinchilla sarong!

A man approaches and taps on Floogle's platform.

MAN ON THE STREET
What time does the flea circus start, mister?

FRED FLOOGLE
(bites his head off)
What flea circus? Does a man with twelve 
million dollars horse around with fleas? Beat 
it, brother, I got other things to do!

The man hurries away.

MARION FLOOGLE
Daddy! Now we can move!

FRED FLOOGLE
You bet we can move! Where does that 
Insecticide King live?

MARION FLOOGLE
At the Toppingham Towers.

FRED FLOOGLE
We'll show them! We'll get the penthouse at 
the Toppingham Towers! We'll give you a coming 
out party that'll make Park Avenue look like 
Tobacco Road.

DISSOLVE TO:

MILLIONAIRE MONTAGE

We start with some newspaper headlines. FLEA FLUNKY FINDS FORTUNE! FRED 
FLOOGLE A MILLIONAIRE reads the New York Globe headline over a photo of a 
pop-eyed, wildly grinning Floogle. The Daily Chronicle's front page 
announces: COOTIE COACH COPS CASH! FRED FLOOGLE INHERITS TRUMBLE ESTATE with 
a similar picture. Next, we DOLLY across the busy city sidewalk to discover 
a "FOR RENT" sign hanging on the barred doors of FLOOGLE'S abandoned FLEA 
CIRCUS. Next, a small Gold Credit Card which reads: "Presentation of this 
card to members of the staff of TOPPINGHAM TOWERS will entitle you to every 
privilege they can possibly give" -- the name of FREDERICK TRUMBLE FLOOGLE is 
typed on the card which is signed, "THE MANAGEMENT" ... The card is 
SUPERIMPOSED over an image of the TOPPINGHAM TOWERS, a gigantic New York City 
skyscraper.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. FLOOGLE'S SUITE - TOPPINGHAM TOWERS - DAY

The swanky penthouse suite -- a beehive of activity: The Floogle family is 
just moving in. The uniformed hotel staff enter bearing various items: a 
silver tureen, the family dog on a leash, gift boxes, etc. 

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Get a load of the Floogles in a penthouse.
Well, now we'll see some high living.

Floogle, surrounded by tailors, has a suit fitted and picks out new material 
as he speaks to a JOURNALIST. Homer, now smartly dressed in suit coat and 
short pants, talks on the phone. 

HOMER FLOOGLE
Dad, you wanna buy a [?] in the Bronx?

FRED FLOOGLE
No, we're not making any foreign investments.
(to a tailor)
This sleeve is a little too long...

JOURNALIST
And what about the fleas, Mr. Floogle?

FRED FLOOGLE
The fleas have been retired. They get their 
checks every Saturday morning, rain or shine.
(to the 2nd tailor)
I'll take two suits of this with a beret.

JOURNALIST
Where are you staying this summer?

FRED FLOOGLE
This summer? East Hampton, Tijuana, possibly 
Coney Island.
(to the 2nd tailor)
I'll have two suits of this with sandals to 
match.

JOURNALIST
What do you think of our economic situation?

FRED FLOOGLE
I'm glad you asked me that.
(to the 1st tailor)
It is. It's pinching me. It's pinching me 
under the shoulder.

Across the room, Eve is surrounded by an entourage of her own.

JEWELER
But Mr. Floogle wants you to have it and if you 
have any old diamonds you'd like to--

EVE FLOOGLE
You mean last year's diamonds?

JEWELER
Yes, ma'am.

EVE FLOOGLE
Oh, no. We don't bother with them. You see, 
we just throw them out. They get so shabby, 
you know.

CLOTHIER
(off a fabric)
May I interest you in this, Mrs. Floogle?

EVE FLOOGLE
Oh, yes. How would you wear it?

CLOTHIER
Like so.

EVE FLOOGLE
With a [zaped rate?]?

CUT TO:

INT. HOTEL LOBBY - DAY

Marion Floogle enters from the street with Perry Parker in hot pursuit.

PERRY PARKER
Now, look, Marion--

Perry chases Marion around the lobby.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
This may look like touch football but it's a
much older game called "Love." L-O-V-E. 
"Love" spelled backwards is "evol."

MARION FLOOGLE
[?]!

PERRY PARKER
Wait a minute!

Marion bolts for the elevator. Perry follows.

CUT TO:

INT. ELEVATOR - DAY

Marion and Perry board the crowded elevator.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
Floors, please!

PASSENGERS
(ad lib)
Forty-eight. Twenty-four. Fifty-three. 
Forty-two. 

MARION FLOOGLE
Seventy-two.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
(to Perry)
And you?

PERRY PARKER
I'm going wherever she goes!
(desperately)
Look, Marion, if you don't love me anymore, 
well, tell me and I'll stop bothering you. 
I just wanna know that's all. 

Marion ignores him. 

PERRY PARKER
Aw, can'tcha say anything?

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
Tenth floor!

The door opens and a RICH LADY WITH A BOX gets off.

PERRY PARKER
Marion?

Abruptly, the Rich Lady stops.

RICH LADY WITH A BOX
(to the elevator operator)
Wait a minute! 

The Rich Lady returns and gets back in the elevator.

RICH LADY WITH A BOX
(to the elevator operator)
Never mind. I want to see how this comes out.

The doors close and the elevator goes up.

PERRY PARKER
Marion, have you forgotten those wonderful 
nights in the laboratory while I worked on my 
invention?

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
Fifteenth floor!

The doors open but nobody moves. They're totally caught up in the human 
drama.

PERRY PARKER
Did all those promises mean nothing?

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
(annoyed)
Well, somebody wanted the fifteenth floor!

MAN IN REAR
(to the elevator operator)
I did. Skip it.

The doors close and the elevator goes up.

PERRY PARKER
What about that night in the chop suey 
restaurant? What about Coney Island?

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
Twenty-third!

The doors open and several NEW PASSENGERS board, chatting amongst themselves.

1ST NEW PASSENGER
That's the last time I'll play gin rummy.

2ND NEW PASSENGER
You know what happened in that bridge game--

OTHER PASSENGERS
(ad lib)
Quiet! Ssshhh!

PERRY PARKER
(to the new passengers)
How can you talk about bridge at a time like 
this?

The doors close and the elevator, jammed with passengers, goes up.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
(to the new passengers)
Yeah! The man's whole future's at stake!

PERRY PARKER
(to Marion)
All I'm asking is a simple yes or no.

The elevator operator suddenly halts his elevator and turns to Marion.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
I've had enough of this. Now, look--

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
The problem here is not whether the lovers will 
ever get together but whether they will ever 
get out of the elevator.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
(to Marion)
Why don't you tell the man Yes or No?

The other passengers agree and egg her on.

PASSENGERS
(ad lib)
Yeah! Tell him something!

MARION FLOOGLE
I promised my father I wouldn't talk to him 
again.

The passengers start repeating this to Perry, even though he's standing only
two feet away from her.

PASSENGERS
(ad lib, to Perry)
She promised her father she wouldn't talk to 
you again.

PERRY PARKER
She doesn't have to talk to me again! Find out 
whether she loves me or not.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
(to Marion)
He wants to know: do you love him or not?

MARION FLOOGLE
Yes, I love him.

The passengers SIGH and CHEER in response. Everybody's happy. The elevator 
operator starts the car moving again. Playfully putting his hat on the 
elevator operator's head, a very happy Perry embraces Marion who responds in 
kind.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. FLOOGLE'S SUITE - DAY

Floogle -- surrounded by his tailor and various men carrying paintings, giant 
model ships, and other items they would like to sell him -- talks on the 
phone with Marty the Goniff.

FRED FLOOGLE
(into the phone)
All right, Marty, make that five hundred across 
on Goldenball in the fifth at Belmont.

All the men start talking to Floogle at once.

FRED FLOOGLE
(to the men)
Quiet! Quiet, please!
(into the phone)
Of course, the will won't be read until 
tomorrow morning... 
(beat, into the phone)
Well, if you're not worried, I'm not worried.

Floogle hands the phone to one of the hotel staff who carries it off.

FRED FLOOGLE
(to the men)
He's not worried.

At the suite's front door, two bellboys stand at the ready. Abruptly, the 
pretentious PARKER enters the suite and brushes past them carrying a bouquet 
of flowers.

PARKER
Yoo hoo. Anybody home?

EVE FLOOGLE
Ohhhh! Mr. Parker!

PARKER
(offers her the bouquet)
For you, Mrs. Floogle.

Eve accepts the bouquet but Floogle, still surrounded by his mob, freaks out.

FRED FLOOGLE
Hold everything, gentlemen. Something just 
crawled out of the woodwork.

Floogle leaves the men, joins his wife, takes the bouquet from her and throws 
it on the floor.

EVE FLOOGLE
Fred!

FRED FLOOGLE
(to Eve)
I know what I'm doing.
(darkly, to Parker)
That'll be all, Parker. And the next time you 
call, use the tradesman's entrance.

Floogle slowly backs a nervous Parker up to the door.

PARKER
Well, I may have been a bit hasty but when I 
realized that my son and your daughter were in 
love--

FRED FLOOGLE
What you realized, Mr. Parker, is that now I'm 
worth twelve million dollars.

PARKER
Oh, it isn't the money. Why should these two 
young people suffer because we've had a 
misunderstanding? After all, my son is--

FRED FLOOGLE
I have nothing against your son. It's simply, 
in view of his antecedents, I think that a 
marriage between your son and my daughter can 
only end in social catastrophe.
(to a bellboy)
Boy! Open the door.

The boy rushes to open the door.

FRED FLOOGLE
Mr. Parker, we have no time for social 
climbers.

The boy opens the door and Floogle violently shoves Parker out of the suite.

FRED FLOOGLE
Boy! Slam the door.

The boy does so.

FRED FLOOGLE
So much for the hoi polloi.
(to the men)
Now, gentlemen, where were we?

The men instantly begin talking at once. Eve, a little astonished at her 
husband's intensity, returns to her own little mob. Two hotel staff members 
haul a giant pinball machine into the suite.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Uh oh! A pinball machine. Floogle's twelve 
million won't last him long now.

FRED FLOOGLE
Be careful with that pinball machine, boys. 
Don't tilt. Take it into my den I'll put it in 
my vault in the morning.

BUSBY, the diminutive hotel manager, enters carrying an enormous moose head.

BUSBY
(proudly)
Compliments of the management!

FRED FLOOGLE
We don't want any broken down ornaments.
Where's the rest of that moose?

BUSBY
(taken aback)
I'll check on it right away.

A chastened Busby scurries off. Abruptly, an entire tribe of Native American 
Indians enters the suite.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Usually, only westerns have Indian raids. This 
is the first "Eastern" to employ this thrilling 
dramatic ingredient.

INDIAN CHIEF
(saluting Floogle)
How!

Floogle does a double take. He's speechless.

INDIAN CHIEF
How! Big Chief Floogle!

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, there must be some mistake. I'm just plain 
F. Trumble Floogle.

INDIAN CHIEF
No more F. Trumble Floogle. Tribe make you Big 
Chief Floogle.

One of the natives breaks away from the tribe to affix a feather to Floogle's 
head.

FRED FLOOGLE
Hey, what's going on here? I never expected 
anything like this.

INDIAN CHIEF
My squaws make blanket for you.

The blanket is draped over Floogle's shoulder.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, this is certainly a great honor, Chief. 
Really, I didn't expect to be made a mem-- 

Floogle feels something attached to the blanket.

FRED FLOOGLE
Say, what is this, a price tag?

INDIAN CHIEF
Oh, for you -- because you're member of tribe 
-- only seventy-two dollars wholesale.

FRED FLOOGLE
(stunned)
How!

INDIAN CHIEF
Never mind how. Gimme the seventy-two dollars.

Floogle glances around the room in amazement.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. LAWYER'S OFFICE - DAY

Next morning. A sign reads: PIKE, THROPPET, ROOP & PIKE - ATTORNEYS AT LAW.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. LAWYER'S OFFICE - DAY

Before some elaborate stained glass windows, the cadaverous man-in-black, 
Jefferson T. Pike, rises from his desk to confront Fred and Eve Floogle. 
Floogle wears a new suit. Eve, a mink coat.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
Yes, your grand-uncle was not only my best 
friend but my best client for twenty-five years 
until this unfortunate accident.

Pike dabs his teary eyes with a hankie.

FRED FLOOGLE
Yes, unfortunate indeed.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
Yes, well, we all have to go sometime. 

The office door CREAKS open.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
Oh, pardon me, Mr. and Mrs. Floogle, Mr. Arnold 
and Mr. Gardiner.

ARNOLD, tall and thin, and GARDINER, short and balding, are a couple of 
fashionably dressed, crooked businessmen. They join the Floogles.

MR. GARDINER
How do you do?

MR. ARNOLD
Permit me to extend my deepest sympathy.

MR. GARDINER
And mine, too.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
(to the Floogles)
These two gentlemen were business associates of 
Mr. Trumble. I asked them here to clarify a 
rather unexpected development.

FRED FLOOGLE
Unexpected development? I'm still sole heir to 
the estate?

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
Oh, yes. Nobody can dispute that, Mr. Floogle.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, you had me worried there for a minute.
You see, I owe my hotel, the tailor, the 
jeweler, my bookmaker...

Pike smiles, then shakes his head and clicks his tongue. Arnold and Gardiner 
begin clicking their tongues as well. The Floogles look worried.

FRED FLOOGLE
What do you mean...? 
(Floogle clicks his own tongue)
Something wrong with the estate?

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
Oh, no. Nothing's wrong. But I'm afraid it's 
not quite as large as you expected. Not quite 
the twelve million the newspapers spoke about.

Pike returns to his desk.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, another million more or less won't make 
any difference, Mr. Pike. After all, I was 
only interested in my grand-uncle and not in 
his money.

EVE FLOOGLE
Yes. Poor Uncle Albert.

FRED FLOOGLE
Frederick.

EVE FLOOGLE
Oh.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
I'm glad you feel that way.... because the 
entire estate consists of...
(reads from will)
... one pool table, with rack and balls 
complete... and five chairs. 

The Floogles look stricken.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
The pool table is to be held in trust for an 
aunt in Minnesota. But the five chairs, I'm 
happy to say, go to you -- free and clear of 
all encumbrance.

FRED FLOOGLE
Go on.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
That's all.

FRED FLOOGLE
That's all? Pool table? Chairs? No money?

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
No money.

MR. ARNOLD
No.

MR. GARDINER
No money.

MR. ARNOLD
No money.

THE FLOOGLES
(disappointed and distraught)
Ohhhh.

FRED FLOOGLE
Marty the Goniff will beat me to death with old
racing forms.

EVE FLOOGLE
(rises, confronts Pike)
What's happened to the money? That's what we 
want to know!

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
Well, there were a number of circumstances--

EVE FLOOGLE
Twelve million circumstances! And what became 
of them?
(sits, folds her arms)
We're gonna stay here until we find out!

FRED FLOOGLE
(to Messrs. Arnold and Gardiner)
You were his partners. If my grand-uncle went 
broke, why didn't you?

As the crooks speak, they are drowned out by another Fred Allen voice-over:

FRED ALLEN 
(v.o., off Mr. Arnold)
Look at the black-ribbed gloves on that slicker! 
Say, this dude is up to some dirty work. Hey, 
are those gloves? Maybe the veins are coming 
through on the back of his hands.

MR. ARNOLD
... eccentric man, so we bowed out.

EVE FLOOGLE
Hmmph! Just out of idle curiosity, how do you 
get rid of twelve million dollars?

MR. ARNOLD
Mr. Trumble piddled his money away. A few 
million here, a few million there.

EVE FLOOGLE
Mm hmm. That's nice piddling.

MR. GARDINER
In one stock market deal alone he lost three 
million.

MR. ARNOLD
Yes. And there was that motion picture company.

Pike is suddenly at Eve's side, startling her.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
And, of course, there was a woman or two.

FRED FLOOGLE
(mildly offended)
A woman or two? My grand-uncle was in his 
seventies!

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
(also seventy, deeply offended)
So what?!

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. LAWYER'S OFFICE - DAY

Some time later, the Floogles wearily emerge from the office.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Floogle's wife's name is Eve. Hey, the way 
things are going, Eve probably wishes she was 
back with Adam.

EVE FLOOGLE
(downcast)
Poor kids. Homer can't go to college and 
Marion won't be able to get married.

FRED FLOOGLE
(puts an arm around her)
Oh, buck up, Eve. We made twelve million 
before, we can make it again.

Nearby, the family dog BARKS. Floogle watches as it scratches itself.

FRED FLOOGLE
Worst comes to worst, we can always go back in 
the flea business.

EVE FLOOGLE
(loses it completely)
No! Not that!

Eve begins to strangle her husband.

FRED FLOOGLE
That's what I like about you, Eve. Any other 
woman would've gone to pieces.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. TOPPINGHAM TOWERS - HALLWAY - NIGHT

A door marked 702.

PARKER'S VOICE (o.s.)
Oh, I can't tonight, Mr. Busby. I've got 
tickets to the opera.

BUSBY'S VOICE (o.s.)
I don't care what you have tickets for, Parker!

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. ROOM 702 (PARKER'S ROOM) - NIGHT

Busby, the tiny hotel manager, confronts Parker who wears top hat and tails 
and carries a fancy cane under his arm.

BUSBY
(shouting)
You have a contract with this hotel whereby you 
get your room free--!

PARKER
(looks around nervously)
Sssshhhh!

BUSBY
Don't you shush me! You get your room free for 
exterminating rodents, insects, and pests about 
these premises. And five-oh-four...! 
(lowers his voice) 
...has insects.

PARKER
I treated five-oh-four yesterday. If there are 
any insects in there--

BUSBY
(shouting)
You want to ruin the--?! 
(lowers his voice) 
You want to ruin the hotel?

PARKER
If there are any insects in there, the occupant 
must have brought them in with him.

BUSBY
I'll have you understand, Mr. Parker, that 
five-oh-four is occupied by Lady Floyd Scott.

PARKER
Well, I wouldn't want to say anything against 
Lady Floyd Scott, but is she alone?

BUSBY
No. She is definitely not alone. The insects 
are with her. That's why she's complaining. 
(heads for the door)
I shall expect you down in ten minutes.
(opens the door, turns to Parker)
You either get the rat out of five-oh-four or 
I'll get the rat out of, er... 
(looks at Parker's door)
... seven-oh-two!

Busby shuts the door and leaves. A disgusted Parker strides to a closet.

PARKER
Calling a rat an insect! Fabulous!

Parker opens the closet door, throws his cane in it, and removes his jacket.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. PARKER'S ROOM - NIGHT

A few minutes later. Parker, in top hat and exterminator's uniform, fills a 
large suitcase with supplies, naming each item as he does.

PARKER
Ant paste. Termite's Delight. Roach powder. 
(shrugs)
Well, who knows? Vitamins. Those are for me. 
(pockets the vitamins) 
Saw. For snakes.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
That looks like my mother-in-law's vanity case.

Parker shuts the suitcase.

CUT TO:

INT. TOPPINGHAM TOWERS - NIGHT

Outside room 702 stand Fred and Eve Floogle. Eve holds a bouquet of flowers 
and RINGS the buzzer. A bellboy stands by with a tray of food. Floogle 
paces the hall.

FRED FLOOGLE
I don't mind losing twelve million dollars. I 
don't mind being beaten to death by Marty. I 
don't even mind being sued by this hotel. But 
why do I have to apologize to that pothead?

EVE FLOOGLE
Because the least you can do is see your 
daughter comfortably married before you go to 
jail.

As she speaks, the door opens and Parker appears in his bathrobe. Floogle 
points towards him.

FRED FLOOGLE
(quietly, to Eve)
The pothead...

Eve turns, hands Parker the flowers, and continues on into his room.

EVE FLOOGLE
Oh, Mr. Parker!

Floogle throws his arms wide, embraces a very confused Parker, and leads him 
into the room.

FRED FLOOGLE
Parker, old man! We never see you these 
days!

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. PARKER'S ROOM - NIGHT

Moments later. A hotel employee serves wine to Parker and the Floogles who 
sit around making small talk. Parker still holds the flowers.

EVE FLOOGLE
Oh, yes!

PARKER
Well, I think it's nice...

EVE FLOOGLE
(off the wine)
Here we are.

PARKER
(off the wine)
Oh, my. 

EVE FLOOGLE
(hands Parker a glass)
For Mr. Parker.

PARKER
Ooh, what big bubbles!

FRED FLOOGLE
Yes, they had big grapes that year.

EVE FLOOGLE
(a toast, to Parker)
To your son.

PARKER
To your daughter.

FRED FLOOGLE
To our grandchildren. I'm just looking ahead.

The hotel employee brings a tray of caviar.

EMPLOYEE
If you please.

FRED FLOOGLE
Mmmm! Caviar. Nineteen-twelve, a great 
sturgeon year.

PARKER
Oh, I can't tell you how I waited for this day. 
It's not just the merging of two great 
fortunes--

FRED FLOOGLE
Aw, now, let's leave money out of this.

EVE FLOOGLE
(rises, looks around)
This is a nice little place you have here, Mr. 
Parker.

Eve sees something that looks like a piece of modern sculpture.

EVE FLOOGLE
Oh, what's that? A Rembrandt?

PARKER
(rises, crosses to it)
No, no. That's my son's invention. 

EVE FLOOGLE
Oh.

PARKER
(to Floogle)
You've heard of that, haven't you?

FRED FLOOGLE
Yes, my daughter was telling me about Perry's 
invention. How does it work?

PARKER
Well, of course, what it really needs to make 
it work is fifty thousand dollars.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, fifty-- My daughter was telling me about 
that part of the invention, too. Ah, heh heh 
heh...

EVE FLOOGLE
Yes, does it really catch mice?

PARKER
Does it catch mice? My dear Mrs. Floogle, will 
you allow-- 
(points out a chair to Floogle)
Mr. Floogle, will you come here and sit, 
please? I think you'll be interested. Just 
right here.

Floogle moves to the chair. He and Eve watch attentively as Parker pulls the 
invention away from the wall.

PARKER
Does it catch mice! Here we are. You notice 
it looks a little like an aquarium. Well, my 
son set out to invent an aquarium and then he 
found from Washington that patents had been 
issued on an aquarium... in 1858. Rather than 
waste the material, he turned it into a 
mousetrap. 

The Floogles stare at the invention skeptically. It's a cutaway view of a 
tiny wooden staircase inside a square wooden frame about the size of a large 
briefcase.

PARKER
(off the top of the staircase)
Now, up here you see we have a little 
receptacle where we put a piece of toasted 
cheese. I don't suppose either one of you has 
a piece of toasted cheese on you, have you?

FRED FLOOGLE
I'm afraid not. Sorry.

PARKER
Oh, that's all right. Some other time. Now, 
the mouse smells the aroma of the cheese -- 
wafted off here, you see. But the house mouse, 
the common house mouse -- a muss musculous -- 
is a very wary customer and will not enter the 
trap without giving the matter some thought. 
So he circles it 'round and 'round, mulling the 
whole thing over until he discovers that 
there's only one entrance. Get it?

Parker points out the entrance through a door in the frame situated in front 
of the bottom of the staircase. The Floogles confer.

FRED FLOOGLE
(quietly, to Eve)
Only one entrance? If there are two mice, what 
happens?

EVE FLOOGLE
They stand in line.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh.

Parker ignores the Floogles and goes on with his demonstration.

PARKER
Well, the mouse has now made up his mind so he 
comes in through this little entrance here. 
Then he or she, as the case may be -- the 
trap works equally well for female mice as for 
male -- comes up this little incline here which 
turns out to be a teeter board.

FRED FLOOGLE
(quietly, to Eve)
What's a teeter board?

EVE FLOOGLE
It's a board that teeters.

Parker's tedious explanation is fortuitously drowned out by another Fred 
Allen voice-over:

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
There's an old saying: if a man builds a better 
mousetrap, the world will beat a path to his 
door. Now, to me, that's silly. If a man gets 
a cat, he won't have to bother building a 
mousetrap and the world won't come around 
pestering him...

EVE FLOOGLE
So, he's hungry.

FRED FLOOGLE
If he's hungry why doesn't he go in a 
restaurant like anybody else?

EVE FLOOGLE
Sshh.

Parker, caught up in his presentation, continues to ignore the Floogles. It 
seems that each step on the tiny staircase is a sort of teeter board.

PARKER
Well, each time he steps on one of these 
things, you see, it closes down behind him like 
this. So he goes on up, gets caught every 
time...

FRED FLOOGLE
(eyes glazing over in disgust)
Yes, yes.

PARKER
... stumbles on up to where the cheese is. 
Steps on this, which is another teeter board, 
see? Drops right into a receptacle full of 
water...

The receptacle of water is a cheap paper cup under the staircase, glued to
the wooden frame.

FRED FLOOGLE
Yes, yes.

PARKER
Then he paddles around for a while until he 
sees the jig is up -- and drowns. Consumer 
comes in in the morning...

FRED FLOOGLE
(fidgeting badly)
Yes, yes.

PARKER
...discovers the body, disposes of it, fills it 
full of fresh water, and you're ready for 
another mouse. Are there any questions?

FRED FLOOGLE
(quietly, to Eve)
Yeah, how do we get out of here?

EVE FLOOGLE
Sh! 
(amiably, to Parker) 
It looks a little complicated.

PARKER
I knew you'd see it my way! Now, what do you 
say we start the young folks off right? 
(grabs a checkbook) 
Twenty-five thousand from me, twenty-five 
thousand from you. Sign right here.

Parker hands the blank checks to Floogle. The phone RINGS.

PARKER
Pardon me.

As the Floogles exchange glances, Parker answers the phone.

PARKER
Hello?

We CUT BACK AND FORTH between Busby in room 504 and Parker in 702.

BUSBY
I'm in five-oh-four, Parker! Where are you?!

PARKER
(nervously glances at the Floogles)
Oh, why, I'm right here.

BUSBY
Lady Floyd Scott just fainted! There's a mouse 
in her closet!

PARKER
Uh, how big is it? 
(beat) 
Mm, it sounds big indeed. Uh, I'll tell you 
what, old chap. Supposing I, er, drop down and 
look the situation over? Righto!

Parker hangs up and confers with the Floogles.

PARKER
Great old girl, Lady Floyd Scott. Always after 
me.
(rubbing his hands, to Floogle)
Well, have we signed?

FRED FLOOGLE
No. Before I commit myself, old man, I'd like 
to see how this trap works with a real mouse.

The phone RINGS again. Parker glances at it forlornly.

PARKER
(cryptic)
Don't go away. I think I know where I can get 
you one.

Parker picks up the mousetrap and heads off to get his exterminator gear.

FADE OUT

INT. FLOOGLE'S SUITE - DAY

FADE IN the next morning as a depressed Fred and Eve Floogle sit at the 
breakfast table. A pajama-clad Floogle, hand to his head, isn't very hungry 
for the sumptuous meal laid out before him. He reads a newspaper as his 
happy daughter Marion skips up to the table to give hugs and kisses to her 
folks.

MARION FLOOGLE
Perry and I are going to the City Hall for the 
license.

EVE FLOOGLE
Don't forget the dressmaker's this afternoon.

MARION FLOOGLE
I won't. Oh, Daddy! It's the most beautiful 
wedding dress I ever saw. And it's only a 
thousand dollars.

Marion skips off.

FRED FLOOGLE
Only a thousand dollars. Where am I gonna get 
a thousand dollars?

EVE FLOOGLE
The same place you're gonna get the twenty-five 
thousand you put up for Perry's invention.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, Perry better sit down and figure out a 
way to invent twenty-five thousand dollars. 
(off Marion)
Didn't you tell her?

EVE FLOOGLE
No. No, I didn't. And I'm not going to.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, all right, have it your way. I don't mind 
giving the bride away from a cozy little cell 
in Sing Sing but how am I gonna throw rice 
when I'm strapped in the electric chair?

The doorbell BUZZES.

EVE FLOOGLE
(calls out)
Homer!?

Homer rushes to answer the door.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Hey, what's this?! Confidentially, I know 
what's gonna happen -- but if I tell you, the 
theater will be emptied in two minutes.

Homer opens the door and a DELIVERY MAN enters, pushing a dolly stacked with 
the five antique chairs seen earlier. The man starts to unload them.

DELIVERY MAN
Five chairs for Mr. Floogle.

EVE FLOOGLE
(ironic, to Floogle)
Our legacy.

FRED FLOOGLE
(rises, to the Delivery Man)
I don't want them! Take them away! Feed them 
to the termites!

Homer inspects the chairs as the Delivery Man takes out a receipt book.

DELIVERY MAN
Wise guy! And who's gonna pay the six dollar 
delivery charges -- termites?

Eve rises and joins her husband.

FRED FLOOGLE
I don't care who pays it. I don't want any 
part of them.

HOMER FLOOGLE
Wait a minute, Dad. I bet Finley's Antique 
Shop will pay a couple of hundred dollars for 
them.

FRED FLOOGLE
(stunned, to Homer)
A couple of hundred dollars? Well, take 'em 
to Finley's. What are you waiting for?

DELIVERY MAN
I'm waitin' for my six bucks.

HOMER FLOOGLE
(to the Delivery Man)
Look, Mister, you drive me down to Finley's and 
I'll pay ya seven bucks.

DELIVERY MAN
Now you're talkin'! 

The Delivery Man pockets his receipt book and helps Homer re-load the chairs.

DELIVERY MAN
(to Homer)
With you, I can do business. 
(off Floogle)
But with that guy -- huh! What do you expect 
from a bum who's still in his pajamas at ten in 
the morning?

Homer and the Delivery Man exit with the chairs.

FRED FLOOGLE
Eve! Did you hear that?

EVE FLOOGLE
Yes. A bum that's still in his pajamas at ten 
in the morning.

FRED FLOOGLE
No, not that. The two hundred dollars. 
(grandly, as if their 
problems were solved) 
Where's my racing form?

EVE FLOOGLE
Listen, dunderhead, you owe Marty the Goniff 
ten thousand dollars now! If you make another 
bet--! 

The door to the suite OPENS. The Floogles turn to it and stare.

EVE FLOOGLE
(startled)
Oh!

VOICE (o.s.)
Mr. Floogle?

FRED FLOOGLE
Yeah? What do you want?

The ominous figure of DETECTIVE SULLY (of the New York Police Department) 
moves slowly from the door toward the Floogles. Dressed in black, he looks 
and acts rather like a malevolent version of Sidney Toler's Charlie Chan.

DETECTIVE SULLY
Oh, nothing much. 

Sully pauses to pluck an apple from a nearby bowl of fruit.

DETECTIVE SULLY
Nothing much.

Sully CHOMPS down loudly on the apple. Mouth full, he chews broadly while 
confronting the Floogles.

FRED FLOOGLE
It's customary to ring the bell before coming 
into other people's apartments.

DETECTIVE SULLY
(flashes his badge)
Yeah, I know. I just wanted to surprise you.

EVE FLOOGLE
Is there something wrong, Inspector?

DETECTIVE SULLY
I'm not sure. Mind if I have a look around?

Sully starts to wander around the suite.

FRED FLOOGLE
No. No. 
(whispers, to Eve) 
Cancel the dress.

DETECTIVE SULLY
(off the suite)
Hey, you two do all right, don't you?

The Floogles flinch as Sully takes another wicked CHOMP out of his apple.

DETECTIVE SULLY
(points to a door)
Bedroom?

FRED FLOOGLE
Yes.

The Floogles watch worriedly as Sully disappears into the bedroom. Eve 
removes her earrings.

EVE FLOOGLE
Well, here goes. You better take those pajamas 
off. They're not paid for, either.

FRED FLOOGLE
Now, take it easy, Eve. I'll get the best 
lawyer money can buy.

EVE FLOOGLE
With what?

Sully abruptly returns with a pair of trousers.

FRED FLOOGLE
Hey! Those are my pants!

DETECTIVE SULLY
I know. Were you wearing these last Tuesday 
night?

FRED FLOOGLE
Yeah. Why?

DETECTIVE SULLY
Think I'll take 'em down to headquarters and 
see if there are any blood stains on 'em.

FRED & EVE FLOOGLE
Blood stains!?

DETECTIVE SULLY
Yeah. We've learned your uncle did not shoot 
himself. He was killed. 

The Floogles exchange glances. This is news to them.

DETECTIVE SULLY
And the gun put into his hand by some person 
unknown. That is, unknown up to now.

FRED FLOOGLE
Are you implying -- ?

DETECTIVE SULLY
I'm not implying anything. I've got a theory. 
Who stood to benefit by Mr. Trumble's death? 
Fred Floogle. Who got the twelve million? 
Fred Floogle. Who am I after? 
(before Floogle can say anything)
You said it.

Sully heads for the front door.

FRED FLOOGLE
Twelve million!

EVE FLOOGLE
All we got were five chairs.

DETECTIVE SULLY
(skeptical)
Five chairs. Then how you living in this 
place? Don't tell me one of your fleas came 
into some money.

FRED FLOOGLE
Hey, do I get my pants back?

DETECTIVE SULLY
(looking at the pants)
All depends.

Sully exits, taking the trousers with him.

EVE FLOOGLE
A murder charge on top of everything else. 
What are we gonna do now?

The Floogles slump to the arm of a sofa. Floogle puts his arm around Eve.

FRED FLOOGLE
I'll tell you what we're gonna do. We're gonna 
pack. As soon as Homer gets back here with 
that two hundred dollars, we'll take it and 
blow. We can start life all over again in some 
little town in the Middle West.

The phone RINGS.

EVE FLOOGLE
Answer the phone.

FRED FLOOGLE
What if it's the cops?

EVE FLOOGLE
Oh, don't be silly. Answer the phone.

Floogle reluctantly rises and answers the RINGING phone. He scrunches up his 
face and adopts a ludicrous Chinese accent.

FRED FLOOGLE
Mister Floogle apartment. Hello, please? 
(beat)
No, no, Mister Floogle not here. Mister 
Floogle go out of town. Catchum important 
business.

We CUT BACK AND FORTH between Floogle in the suite and Homer in a PAY PHONE 
at the antique shop where the chairs are being auctioned off. Homer also 
adopts a ridiculous Chinese accent to mock his father.

HOMER FLOOGLE
Too bad. When Mister Floogle come back, you 
tell him Mister Finley has offered two hundred 
and fifty dollar for chairs.

FRED FLOOGLE
(normal voice, annoyed)
Cut out that Chinese dialect, Homer, and grab 
the two-fifty!

HOMER FLOOGLE
Suppose I can get three hundred?

FRED FLOOGLE
Take it!

HOMER FLOOGLE
Don't rush me, Pop! If I do get three hundred, 
is there a ten dollar bonus in it for me?

FRED FLOOGLE
Yes, you little Shylock, but get it fast. 
I've gotta get some money here in a hurry.

Floogle hangs up and turns to Eve.

FRED FLOOGLE
Three hundred instead of two!

EVE FLOOGLE
Oh, great. Now we can start life all over 
again in some BIG town in the Middle West.

The doorbell BUZZES.

FRED FLOOGLE
It's probably that detective again. He found 
out the pants fit him, now he's back for the 
coat. 
(calls out)
Coming!

The Floogles go to the door. Floogle opens it to reveal two large, 
grim-faced uniformed police officers. Floogle's eyes pop in terror.

1ST OFFICER
Mr. Floogle?

Floogle thinks he's about to be arrested.

FRED FLOOGLE
(weakly)
If you'll just give me... time to get dressed.

Suddenly, a well-dressed LITTLE MAN emerges from behind the officers.

LITTLE MAN
(to Floogle)
I'm from the Ninth National Bank.

FRED FLOOGLE
I told Parker not to deposit that check until 
Sunday.

LITTLE MAN
Your grand-uncle left this package to be 
delivered to his heir after his death.

The man hands Floogle a package the size of a phonograph record.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh. 
(off the uniformed officers)
But these plainclothesmen?

LITTLE MAN
We never deliver anything like this without a 
police escort. Policy of the bank.

FRED FLOOGLE
Say, it must be something very valuable.

LITTLE MAN
(proffers a receipt book)
Will you sign this, please?

Eve rushes over, rips the package out of Floogle's hand, and starts to tear 
it open. Floogle signs the receipt.

FRED FLOOGLE
I knew my grand-uncle Frederick wouldn't cut me 
off with just five chairs! 

LITTLE MAN
Good day, sir.

The Little Man and his police escort depart. Floogle turns to Eve just as 
she gets the package open.

FRED FLOOGLE
I wonder what's in it.

EVE FLOOGLE
A phonograph record! 
(loses it completely)
A phonograph record and five chairs! Oooh, I 
wish your--

Eve tries to hurl the record away but Floogle stops her and takes it from 
her. Upset, Eve rushes off toward the bedroom. Floogle follows.

FRED FLOOGLE
Wait a minute! Wait a minute! We got three 
hundred dollars for the chairs, maybe we can 
get seventy-five cents for the record.

EVE FLOOGLE
Seventy-five cents for the record! Why, it 
hasn't even got a name on it!

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, let's play it and find out what it is.

EVE FLOOGLE
You play it! I'm going back and pack up here! 
Last time I ever marry a flea trainer!

Eve disappears into the bedroom while Floogle puts the record on a handy 
phonograph player.

FRED FLOOGLE
(ironic, to himself)
If it turns out I murdered my grand-uncle for 
five chairs and this -- oh, brother!

Floogle drops the needle on the record and listens expectantly. MUSIC plays.

FRANK SINATRA
(crooning inimitably)
... we will meet again ...

FRED FLOOGLE
(winces)
Oh, no! Not that! Anything but that!

Eve appears in the bedroom doorway.

EVE FLOOGLE
It could have been worse! It could have been 
one chair and five Sinatras!

Unseen by the Floogles, two of the bad guys, Messrs. Arnold and Gardiner 
sneak onto the penthouse balcony and eavesdrop at their window.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, let's see what's on the other side.

Floogle flips the record over and drops the needle on it.

TRUMBLE'S VOICE
(spookily, from the phonograph)
This is your grand-uncle Trumble speaking from 
the graaaaaave. Are you listening?

FRED FLOOGLE
(stunned)
Yes, sir.

Eve timidly emerges from the bedroom to joins her husband during the 
following. They listen in awe.

TRUMBLE'S VOICE
If I died a natural death, I command you to 
destroy this record. But if I died by violence, 
this will tell you who is responsible. The 
evidence is concealed in one of the five chairs 
I left you. 

On the balcony, Arnold and Gardiner exchange worried glances.

TRUMBLE'S VOICE
In that same chair, you will find three hundred 
thousand dollars -- which I managed to salvage 
from the vultures who dissipated my estate.

EVE FLOOGLE
Fred! Three hundred thousand dollars!

FRED FLOOGLE
(to Eve)
But who are the crooks?

Eve shrugs.

TRUMBLE'S VOICE
I'm glad you asked that, Fred. 

The Floogles stare at the phonograph in surprise.

TRUMBLE'S VOICE
You will find their names in the chair! 

Hearing this, Arnold and Gardiner turn and leave.

TRUMBLE'S VOICE
Avenge me, my boy! And now, goodbye.

FRED FLOOGLE
Goodbye.

EVE FLOOGLE
Goodbye.

Floogle switches off the phonograph.

EVE FLOOGLE
Fred! Three hundred thousand dollars!

FRED FLOOGLE
Yes, but it's in one of the chairs! 
Where are the chairs? 
(realizes and starts freaking out)
Homer! Finley! Finley! 

In a panic, the Floogles rush to the phone. Floogle picks up the phone and 
speaks into it while Eve looks up the number in the phone book.

FRED FLOOGLE
(into the phone)
Hello? Hello, Finley's? Finley?

EVE FLOOGLE
Will you quit sayin' hello! You haven't got 
the number yet.

FRED FLOOGLE
(to Eve)
We haven't got that much time!

EVE FLOOGLE
Well, we'll get 'em.

FRED FLOOGLE
(into the phone)
Hello, Finley?

EVE FLOOGLE
Here it is!
(runs her finger down the page)
F-F-F-F-Finley! 
(points out a number for Floogle)
There!

FRED FLOOGLE
(reads)
Bryant...

Floogle dials.

CUT TO:

INT. ANTIQUE SHOP - DAY

In an office, FINLEY, having auctioned off all five chairs, counts out the 
cash for Homer.

FINLEY
Two-seventy, eighty, ninety. Three hundred. 
Here, sign a receipt.

HOMER FLOOGLE
Not till I count it.

FINLEY
That's a good little businessman.

Homer starts counting as the phone RINGS. Finley picks up.

CUT TO:

INT. FLOOGLE'S SUITE - DAY

An intense Floogle is on the line. Eve watches anxiously. Throughout the 
call, we CUT BACK AND FORTH between Floogle in his suite and Finley at his 
antique shop.

FRED FLOOGLE
(into the phone)
Hello, Mr. Finley? This is Mr. Floogle. 
(beat)
What do you care what Floogle? I just sent my 
boy over there with five chairs.
(beat)
What? They've been sold? That boy was a 
minor, Finley! He had no right to sell those 
chairs. You'd better get them back or I'll 
prosecute you to the limit of the law.

FINLEY
All I can do now is give you a list of the
people who bought the chairs.

Homer finishes counting the cash and pockets it.

FRED FLOOGLE
Give the list to my son and if those chairs 
aren't recovered immediately, Mr. Finley, 
you'll hear from my solicitor in the morning. 
(to Eve, as he hangs up)
How do you like a guy like that?! 
(paces the room)
Any strange kid walks into his joint with five 
chairs -- he buys them! He's nothing but a 
receiver for stolen goods -- a fence, that's 
all he is!

EVE FLOOGLE
Now, Fred, take it easy!

FRED FLOOGLE
Take it easy! My own son steals five chairs, 
sells them to a crooked antique dealer, and you 
say "Take it easy"?! How would you like it if 
your son--

EVE FLOOGLE
(tries to reason with him)
Why, you--

FRED FLOOGLE
You bet you wouldn't like it! 

Floogle picks up the phone and starts talking into it.

FRED FLOOGLE
Hello, Finley? Finley, five minutes have 
elapsed -- do you realize that? -- and that 
list isn't here yet! 
(beat)
Answer me, Finley!
(to Eve)
How do you like that? The guy won't even 
answer the phone!

EVE FLOOGLE
Well, why don't you try dialing?

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, yes, I--

Floogle dials.

CUT TO:

INT. ANTIQUE SHOP - DAY

Sitting at his desk under a large skylight, Finley draws up a list for Homer.

FINLEY
Chair, six fifty-two, sold to Mrs.-- 

The phone RINGS.

FINLEY
(to Homer)
That father of yours must be a madman.

Unseen by Homer and Finley, a mysterious shadowy figure sneaks past the 
skylight above.

HOMER FLOOGLE
Well, you know, after all those years in the 
jungle...

FINLEY
Jungle? What was he doing in a jungle?

HOMER FLOOGLE
Catching fleas.

Finley answers the RINGING phone.

CUT TO:

INT. FLOOGLE'S SUITE - DAY

Eve watches as a wild-eyed Floogle talks on the phone.

FRED FLOOGLE
(into the phone)
Finley? Where's that list? It's been at least 
five minutes and nothing has happened. 
(beat) 
You're giving it to the boy? Is the boy still 
there?

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Watch this closely. This scene is Floogle's 
bid for the Academy Award.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, what's keeping him, Finley?
(beat) 
Are you sure that's what's keeping him? You 
wouldn't want to face an additional charge of 
kidnapping, would you? 

The stress of losing the three hundred thousand has caused Floogle to go off 
the deep end -- he LAUGHS like a madman. Eve draws back in fear. Terrified,
the family dog runs into the bedroom and hides under the bed.

CUT TO:

INT. ANTIQUE SHOP - DAY

Still seated at his office desk, Finley rips a piece of a paper off a pad and 
hands it to Homer.

FINLEY
There! That's the list!

HOMER FLOOGLE
(glances at the list and 
hands it back)
That's all right. I've got it.

FINLEY
You've got it?
(looks at list in his own hands)
I've got it.

HOMER FLOOGLE
Oh. Oh, I mean with my photographic mind, Mr. 
Finley. 

The shadowy figure appears at the skylight and lifts it open.

HOMER FLOOGLE
Why, I can read that list right back to you. 
Do you want to hear me?

The figure hurls a flaming bundle through the open skylight to the office 
floor.

FINLEY
No, I've heard enough from you and your whole 
family--!

The bundle EXPLODES. Startled, Homer and Finley try to escape but the office 
instantly bursts into flames.

FINLEY
Oh!

Homer and Finley make for the door.

DISSOLVE TO:

The headline on the front page of the Daily News-Herald reads: $1,000,000 
BLAZE SAVAGES FINLEY'S - POLICE HINT AT ARSON. We PAN DOWN to a photo of the 
burning antique shop, captioned: FIREMEN BATTLE BLAZE.

CUT TO:

INT. LAWYER'S OFFICE - DAY

The next morning. Messrs. Arnold and Gardiner sit and read newspapers. 

MR. ARNOLD
(chuckling)
Wasn't that a terrible fire?

Nearby, the cadaverous lawyer Pike wears a top hat and plays the pipe organ. 
He says something to Arnold and Gardiner but it's drowned out by yet another 
Fred Allen voice-over.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
It's a great help if your lawyer can play the 
organ. You know you'll get a run for your
money.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
...being destroyed.

MR. GARDINER
I hope the poor fellow was insured.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
I wonder how it started.

MR. GARDINER
Mmm, if you can believe the papers, somebody 
threw a mass of burning rags through the 
skylight.

MR. ARNOLD
(happily)
And that, my friends, is that.

Pike hits a sour note on the organ and stops playing. He turns to Arnold and 
Gardiner, ominously.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
That, my friends, is NOT that. There are three 
hundred thousand dollars in those chairs. To 
you, that may be a pittance. But, for me, it's 
a pretty penny. Floogle will keep after those 
chairs -- so we'll keep after Floogle.

Pike turns back to the keyboard as we

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. TOPPINGHAM TOWERS - FLOOGLE'S BEDROOM - DAY

An unkempt Floogle sits at Homer's bedside. Homer, apparently injured in the 
fire, lies half-conscious in the bed. Eve and Marion enter the room.

FRED FLOOGLE
(to Eve and Marion)
Sshh! Sshh! 
(rises, off Homer)
He's almost asleep.

EVE FLOOGLE
Yes, but you haven't slept a wink all night.

FRED FLOOGLE
(with a grand gesture)
This is a father's place.
(ushers the women out)
Suppose you fix him some broth, Mother? We'll 
give it to him the minute he wakes up.

EVE FLOOGLE
All right.

Floogle shuts the door, then rushes to Homer and shakes him violently.

FRED FLOOGLE
Homer! Homer! Wake up! Homer! Wake up! Can 
you see who this is? Put your glasses on. 
(puts glasses on Homer)
Homer! Are you sure Finley didn't give you 
that list?

HOMER FLOOGLE
I don't know, Dad.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, you must have seen some of the names on 
there.

HOMER FLOOGLE
Yes, Dad, but then the fire...

FRED FLOOGLE
Homer! Try to remember. Don't you realize how 
important this is? If we don't find those 
chairs, your sister Marion can't get married, 
I'll go to jail, your mother'll go to the 
poorhouse.

HOMER FLOOGLE
But I can't remember.

FRED FLOOGLE
Homer! You're the boy with the great retentive 
memory! 

The family dog watches with concern as Floogle sits at Homer's bedside, takes 
Homer by the shoulders, pulls him off his pillow and into an uncomfortable 
sitting position, and shakes him violently, trying to coax the information 
out of him.

FRED FLOOGLE
Homer, you saw the list, didn't ya? Remember 
the first name on the list, Homer? Was it a 
man? Mister Something, was it? Mrs.? Was it a 
woman, a lady? Do you remember? The number, 
the street, Homer, do you remember?

HOMER FLOOGLE
Three... seven, four...

FRED FLOOGLE
Three-seven-four. And the street?

HOMER FLOOGLE
Three-seven-four West Forsythe Street.

FRED FLOOGLE
West Forsythe Street.

HOMER FLOOGLE
Apartment 12-A.

FRED FLOOGLE
(triumphant)
Apartment 12-A! Attaboy, Homer! I knew 
you could do it. 

Floogle brusquely throws Homer back onto his pillow, rises, and rushes off.

FRED FLOOGLE
Apartment 12-A! 

Floogle heads out the door.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. APARTMENT HALLWAY - DAY

Not long after. Floogle, in hat, suit and tie, finds Apartment 12-A and 
KNOCKS. The door opens to reveal MRS. PANSY NUSSBAUM, a tiny, feisty Jewish 
woman with a rather thick accent.

MRS. NUSSBAUM
Nu?

FRED FLOOGLE
(removes his hat)
Mrs. Nussbaum?

MRS. NUSSBAUM
You are expecting maybe Sweet Rosie O'Grady?

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, no, I'd like to speak to you for just a 
minute.

MRS. NUSSBAUM
Outside I can speaking. Inside is the excuse 
that I'm having company.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, company.

MRS. NUSSBAUM
The phone company. They're taking out mine 
telephone.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, if you'd rather have me call later...

MRS. NUSSBAUM
You could call -- without a telephone I couldn't 
answer it.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, look, Mrs. Nussbaum, all I want is 
information.

MRS. NUSSBAUM
To getting Information, you are needing a 
telephone!

FRED FLOOGLE
Now, please! Forget about the telephone. Did 
you buy a chair at Finley's Auction Parlor?

MRS. NUSSBAUM
Yesterday. First I'm bidding, then I'm buying.

FRED FLOOGLE
I see.

MRS. NUSSBAUM
For twenty years, I'm saying to mineself, 
Pansy Nussbaum, you are needing one more chair. 
This year I am buying.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, look, all--

MRS. NUSSBAUM
Possibly you are saying to yourself, "Why, for 
twenty years, is Pansy Nussbaum needing one 
more chair?" This I am explaining.

FRED FLOOGLE
But, really--

MRS. NUSSBAUM
The Nussbaums, every year -- continuously 
eating and drinking -- is having a family 
reunion.

FRED FLOOGLE
But what I--

MRS. NUSSBAUM
From near and far is coming Nussbaums. Big 
Nussbaums, little Nussbaums. Young Nussbaums, 
old Nussbaums. Thin Nussbaums, fat Nussbaums.

FRED FLOOGLE
Yes, but--

MRS. NUSSBAUM
Altogther is coming thirteen Nussbaums.

FRED FLOOGLE
Thirteen Nussbaums?

MRS. NUSSBAUM
But in mine house is only twelve chairs.

FRED FLOOGLE
I see.

MRS. NUSSBAUM
Always one Nussbaum is standing.

FRED FLOOGLE
Which one?

MRS. NUSSBAUM
Always the same Nussbaum. Mine grandfather, 
Noel Nussbaum. An old man. He's eighty-seven.

FRED FLOOGLE
You mean the whole family sits down? You let 
this poor old man stand during the entire 
family reunion?

MRS. NUSSBAUM
The Nussbaums is first coming, first sitting. 
Always mine grandfather is last. He is coming 
from Wallaz Walla.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, he lives in Wallaz Walla.

MRS. NUSSBAUM
This is in Washington, a state.

FRED FLOOGLE
I know. For twenty years, your grandfather has 
been the last one to arrive at the family 
reunion and he has no place to sit.

And so it goes. Floogle, completely caught up in Mrs. Nussbaum's talk, walks 
with her down the hall where they grab a seat on a bench. The conversation 
goes on and on and on. All of this is drowned out by a lengthy Fred Allen 
voice-over.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
You know, it's very easy to get confused while 
you're watching a mystery. I always said if I 
ever made a picture, I'd stop at one point in 
the picture to explain the story to people who 
came in late and to other people who were out 
in the lobby buying candy bars. Now, this is 
a very talky scene here, during which Mrs. 
Nussbaum tells Floogle about her relatives. 
While they are boring each other with some dull 
dialogue, I'll tell you folks who have been 
buying candy and have just come in what has 
happened up to now.
(rapidly, almost incomprehensibly)
Floogle a rich man with a small flea circus is 
the heir of a rich uncle who's been murdered. 
There is some suspicion that Floogle is the 
foul person who did the foul deed. The estate 
was supposed to be twelve million dollars but 
instead the estate consists only of five 
chairs. Well, while he was getting ready to 
kill himself to get the last laugh on his 
creditors, a messenger delivers an old Sinatra 
record. On the back of the record, Floogle's 
uncle's voice tells him that in one of the 
chairs was three hundred thousand dollars. 
Now, this happens after the chairs have been 
sold and now Floogle is on the trail of the 
five chairs. One of the chairs has been sold 
to Mrs. Nussbaum.

Allen pauses, catches his breath, and slows down considerably.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Let us listen now while she goes on with her 
story...

But Mrs. Nussbaum has finished her story and Floogle has mentioned the chair.
Floogle and Mrs. Nussbaum rise from the bench and walk back up the hall.

FRED FLOOGLE
... I'll take it off your hands.

MRS. NUSSBAUM
Oh, the chair I'm already selling.

FRED FLOOGLE
Selling? To whom?

MRS. NUSSBAUM
Whom knows? Some man. He is haggling but 
ultimately he's buying.

FRED FLOOGLE
But who is he? Where does he live?

MRS. NUSSBAUM
One t'ing at a time, please.
(thinking)
His name is Park Avenue. Five-fifty-five. And 
his address is, uh, Jack Benny.

FRED FLOOGLE
Thank you.

MRS. NUSSBAUM
Oh, I am also enjoying this little tete-a-tete, 
thenk you.

Mrs. Nussbaum withdraws into her apartment. Floogle puts on his hat and 
heads down a nearby staircase.

FRED FLOOGLE
(to himself)
If Jack Benny ever finds out there's three 
hundred thousand dollars in that chair, he'll 
divorce Mary Livingstone and marry the chair.

As Floogle disappears down the stairs, we PAN UP to the flight above where 
Pike, Arnold, and Gardiner eavesdrop.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
Did you get that?

MR. GARDINER
Jack Benny. 

MR. ARNOLD
Five fifty-five Park Avenue.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. JACK BENNY'S APARTMENT - DAY

Fred Allen's arch-rival, the notoriously vain and stingy radio comedian JACK 
BENNY, sits in his stylish Park Avenue apartment, chuckling and pecking away 
at a typewriter. He stops to read his work.

JACK BENNY
(to himself)
First, uh, first I say, "Uh, my uncle was 
drowned in his victory garden." And then Mary 
says, 
(Mary Livingstone's voice dubbed in)
"How could your uncle drown in his victory 
garden?" 
(in Benny's own voice)
Then, I say, "There was a leek in it." 

Benny laughs uproariously and turns to address the CAMERA. 

JACK BENNY
Get it? Leek. L-E-E-K. You know, like an 
onion. 
(laughs, goes back to typing) 
Oh, am I gonna have a program this season! 
Jokes in it, too.

The doorbell RINGS melodiously.

JACK BENNY
Wonder who that can be?

Benny rises and heads for the door.

JACK BENNY
(chuckles) 
Leek in it. Ha ha! Boy, am I hot tonight!

Benny opens the door to reveal Floogle, hat in hand, holding a small bouquet 
of flowers.

FRED FLOOGLE
Is Mr. Jack Benny in?

JACK BENNY
Ah, uh, I'm Jack Benny.

FRED FLOOGLE
YOU are Jack Benny?

JACK BENNY
Yes. Yeah, you seem surprised.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, hearing you on the radio with those 
jokes, I thought you were an old man. Why, 
you're just a boy.

JACK BENNY
(laughs) 
Well, I'm really much older than I look. As a 
matter of fact, I'll be able to vote next year.

FRED FLOOGLE
Really?
(hands Benny the bouquet)
Allow me.

JACK BENNY
Er, er, for me?

FRED FLOOGLE
Ah, from your fans. I'm President of the Jack 
Benny Fan Club of Nutley, New Jersey.

JACK BENNY
Well! Well! Come right in!

Floogle enters, looking for the chair. He holds up his hat.

FRED FLOOGLE
Have you a chair or something I can--?

JACK BENNY
Oh, oh, just-just put your hat in the closet 
there.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, thank you.

Benny walks off to put the flowers in some water as Floogle opens the door to 
the nearby closet. Inside, an attractive woman stands beneath a sign marked 
CHECK ROOM. Various hats are visible behind her. 

HAT CHECK GIRL
Your hat, please?

Astonished, Floogle hands her his hat. She hands him a check.

HAT CHECK GIRL
Your check, sir.

FRED FLOOGLE
(turns to go)
Thank you.

HAT CHECK GIRL
Twenty-five cents, please.

FRED FLOOGLE
(turns back to her in surprise)
Ohh...

Floogle gives her a quarter. 

HAT CHECK GIRL
Thank you.

Floogle pauses to glance down at her shapely legs.

HAT CHECK GIRL
(mildly offended)
No loitering. Close the door, please.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh.

Floogle whistles quietly in amazement and closes the closet door.

FRED FLOOGLE
(to himself)
Who else could think of that but Benny?

Floogle walks off to join Benny who has just placed the flowers in a vase.

JACK BENNY
Er, won't you sit down, Mr., uh...?

FRED FLOOGLE
(sitting)
Floogle. Thank you.

JACK BENNY
So, uh, you brought those all the way from 
Nutley, eh?

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, it was nothing, Mr. Benny. When I think of 
all of the pleasure you've given me. You know, 
I've never missed your program. Tell me, how 
do you ever make up those funny things you say 
on the radio?

JACK BENNY
(laughs) 
Well, it's really very simple. I-I laugh first 
and then I think back until I come to a joke. 

FRED FLOOGLE
Uh huh.

JACK BENNY
There's really nothing to it.

FRED FLOOGLE
No, there's nothing to it, I can see that.

JACK BENNY
Of course, sometimes I can't think of a joke.

FRED FLOOGLE
I've noticed that.

JACK BENNY
(sitting)
But then as long as I've laughed, why nobody 
can say that I haven't got laughs on my program.

Both men laugh very loudly at this. Benny takes the last cigarette from a 
tray atop his desk.

JACK BENNY
Would you care for a smoke, Mr. Floogle?

FRED FLOOGLE
Don't mind if I do.

Floogle checks the tray but it's empty.

JACK BENNY
Uh, help yourself. Right over there.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, thank you.

Floogle rises and walks past a grand piano to the far side of the room, where 
he finds a cigarette vending machine. Floogle glances back at Benny.

FRED FLOOGLE
(to himself, off Benny)
That guy wouldn't give you the parsley off his 
fish.

Floogle drops a coin in the machine.

FRED FLOOGLE
(to himself)
Of all the tightwads.

Floogle pulls a lever and a pack of cigarettes drops into view. He takes it.

JACK BENNY
Uh oh. I hope you've got the right brand there.

FRED FLOOGLE
(rejoining Benny)
Oh, yes, Mr. Benny. I've smoked everything 
you've ever advertised on your program.

JACK BENNY
Wonderful cigarettes, aren't they?

FRED FLOOGLE
Yes, the boys at the Club wouldn't think of 
smoking any other.

JACK BENNY
Good, good. Tell me, er, how many members are 
there in this Jack Benny Fan Club that you have 
the honor of being president of?

FRED FLOOGLE
Twelve.

JACK BENNY
Twelve?

FRED FLOOGLE
Mm hmm.

JACK BENNY
And, uh, what is the population of Nutley?

FRED FLOOGLE
Six thousand.

JACK BENNY
Hmm... 
(beat) 
Now, there seems to be something wrong there 
someplace. Uh, perhaps you're making the club 
too exclusive. Are you keeping out the 
riff-raff?

FRED FLOOGLE
If we keep out the riff-raff, Mr. Benny, we'll 
only have three members.

JACK BENNY
I see. A Jack Benny Fan Club with only three 
members. Well, can't you do something?

FRED FLOOGLE
I've tried everything, Mr. Benny. I've 
blackmailed people. I've written anonymous 
letters. I still can't get them to listen to 
your program.

JACK BENNY
What about my movies?

FRED FLOOGLE
Your movies? Even the riff-raff won't go to 
see them.

JACK BENNY
Hmmmmm... Have they tried giving away dishes?

FRED FLOOGLE
Yes. And people threw them at the screen.

JACK BENNY
I see. Have they tried NOT giving away dishes?

FRED FLOOGLE
Yes. The people bring their own dishes and 
still throw them at the screen.

JACK BENNY
Hmmm... Well, ahhh, man to man, Mr. Floogle, 
what do you think is the matter?

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, Mr. Benny, Nutley, New Jersey is a 
peculiar town. It's a sentimental town. We 
don't care if a man has no talent as long as he 
shows some traces of sentiment. Now, let me 
give you an example. Andrew Jackson sent the 
cape he wore at his first inauguration to the 
Nutley Museum.

JACK BENNY
And the people were touched by this?

FRED FLOOGLE
Touched? At every presidential election, 
despite the fact he has been dead for many 
years, Andrew Jackson still continues to carry 
every precinct in Nutley. You see what I mean?

JACK BENNY
And, uh, you mean Nutley would cherish a little 
memento of mine?

FRED FLOOGLE
Exactly. We could put it in the club room, 
people would come to see it, before they knew 
what they were doing, we could lock the doors 
and enroll them as members of the Jack Benny 
Fan Club. We'd have the entire town.

JACK BENNY
Say no more, Floogle. What would you suggest?

FRED FLOOGLE
Well...

JACK BENNY
I think I have just the thing you want. 

Benny crosses to a bureau. Floogle follows.

JACK BENNY
Some, uh, some intimate pictures of myself.

Benny pulls some photos from a bureau drawer and shows them to Floogle.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, these are lovely, aren't they?

JACK BENNY
Yes. Now, here... 
(off a photo)
Oh, here's my favorite. Right here.

FRED FLOOGLE
You look positively seductive.

Benny chuckles.

FRED FLOOGLE
You know, a picture would be nice but don't you 
think for the club room we should have 
something that's been real close to you?

JACK BENNY
Close?

FRED FLOOGLE
Yes.

JACK BENNY
You mean, some little thing?

FRED FLOOGLE
(looking around for the chair)
Well, no. Not, uh, not too little. Uh...

JACK BENNY
I have it! How about this necktie?

Benny removes the necktie he's wearing.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, no, no.

JACK BENNY
Now, Mr. Floogle, I don't want to make any 
profit on ya. After all, this is for the Jack 
Benny Fan Club. So I will charge you two 
dollars and fifty cents -- exactly what I paid 
for it five years ago.

Benny opens a door atop the bureau to reveal a roll of wrapping paper. He 
starts to wrap up the tie, much to Floogle's surprise.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, but really, Mr. Benny--

JACK BENNY
Now, don't give it another thought, Mr. 
Floogle. Two dollars and fifty cents. Now, 
let's see, that's with sales tax. Sales tax, 
ten cents. That will be exactly two sixty. 
Now, if there's anything else you want, you 
don't see, just ask for it and I'll order it. 

Benny ties the package with some string. Floogle reluctantly pulls some 
money out of his pocket.

JACK BENNY
How about, uh, handkerchieves?

FRED FLOOGLE
No.

JACK BENNY
Socks?

FRED FLOOGLE
No, no.

JACK BENNY
Or underwear?

FRED FLOOGLE
No, thanks.

JACK BENNY
Two dollars and sixty cents. There we are. 

Floogle accepts the package from Benny and hands him three dollars.

JACK BENNY
Three dollars. Two sixty from three dollars...

Benny opens another door in the bureau, revealing a cash register. He rings 
up the sale. Floogle's eyes and mouth pop open.

JACK BENNY
... is... that leaves forty cents change. There 
you are, sir.

Benny gives Floogle the change.

FRED FLOOGLE
Thank you very much. You know this necktie's 
going to be swell. But if we only had some 
ornament, some article of furniture for the 
club room, something... 
(finally spots the chair)
Say, there's the very thing--

Floogle moves quickly to the chair. Benny, right at his side, thinks Floogle 
wants to take the lamp beside it.

JACK BENNY
Oh, you mean this lamp? Only eight eighty-two, 
F.O.B.

FRED FLOOGLE
No, this chair, Mr. Benny. After all, it's 
been close to you. And I might even add, 
you've-you've made an impression on it.

JACK BENNY
Anything but this, Mr. Floogle. You see this 
chair belonged to my celebrated French ancestor, 
Jacques Benet, who gave it to Madame Pompadour. 
(clicks his tongue) 
She in turn willed it to a Mrs. Nussbaum...
(clicks his tongue) 
... from whom I got it.
(clicks his tongue) 

FRED FLOOGLE
(picking up the chair)
Say, with a history like that, you'll not only 
get Nutley...
(clicks his tongue) 
... you'll get all New Jersey.

JACK BENNY
(takes the chair away from Floogle)
It's, uh, it's-it's tempting, Mr. Floogle, but 
this chair is very dear to me.

FRED FLOOGLE
(takes the chair away from Benny)
Well, could we borrow it for a few days?

JACK BENNY
(takes the chair away from Floogle)
Er, I'd love to do that, Mr. Floogle. But I've 
learned one thing in life. 
(sets chair on floor)
Neither a borrower nor a lender be. If I 
loaned you that chair, Mr. Floogle, it might 
break up a beautiful friendship. And that I 
wouldn't want.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, neither would I. Say, could we rent it?

Benny instantly picks up the chair and hands it to Floogle.

JACK BENNY
Oh, did you say "rent"?

FRED FLOOGLE
Yeah, I said "rent."

JACK BENNY
Uh, would ten dollars a day be too much?

FRED FLOOGLE
It would be too much but I'll gladly pay it, 
Mr. Benny.

JACK BENNY
Well, it's a deal! I'll wrap it up!

Floogle, chair in hand, watches Benny rush back to the wrapping paper.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. PARK AVENUE - NIGHT

Floogle emerges from Benny's apartment building minutes later carrying the 
wrapped-up chair. He steps to the sidewalk, pausing only a moment to cast a 
dirty look back at the building.

FRED FLOOGLE
Why, that loan shark. 

Floogle takes a few more steps down the sidewalk but can't wait any longer. 
Looking around, he puts the chair down and starts to unwrap it. 

Further up the street, Pike, Arnold and Gardiner watch apprehensively, half-
hidden in the mouth of an alley. Pike waves a white handkerchief -- a signal 
to a darkened automobile farther down the street. The auto's lights snap on 
and the car peals off up the street. 

Floogle, bent over the chair, looks up to see the car's headlights bearing 
down on him. The car plows onto the sidewalk and forces Floogle backwards, 
SMASHES into the chair, and pins Floogle against a wall. An angry and scared 
Floogle stands against the wall with his hands in the air.

FRED FLOOGLE
What's the idea?

Two smartly dressed GOONS emerge from the passenger side of the car and 
inspect the chair.

1ST GOON
Just relax and keep your hands up.

Pike, Arnold and Gardiner watch from the alley. Pike has the best view.

MR. ARNOLD
(to Pike)
Did they get it?

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
Wrong chair! 
(upset, to Arnold and Gardiner)
Why do you waste my time?!

Pike raises his cane menacingly and Arnold and Gardiner retreat to safety.

The two Goons, realizing they have the wrong chair, get back in the car, and 
quickly drive off. Floogle sifts through the remnants of the smashed chair 
as Pike approaches him.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
Floogle!

FRED FLOOGLE
Mr. Pike!

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
I saw what those drunken drivers did.

FRED FLOOGLE
They weren't drunk. They were crooks.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
Did they get anything?

FRED FLOOGLE
Fortunately, no.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
Then, what have you got to worry about?

FRED FLOOGLE
(taken aback)
What have I got to worry about? A bunch of 
crooks try to run over me-- I'm paying Jack 
Benny ten dollars a day for the loan of this 
chair. Look at it. A chair. What have I got? 
A jigsaw puzzle. Say, if he sues, will you be 
my lawyer?

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
Against Jack Benny? Never!

Pike starts to leave but then returns.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
I'm still trying to collect the fee from the 
family doctor that brought Jack Benny into this 
world -- seventy years ago!

FADE OUT

INT. FLOOGLE'S SUITE - DAY

The next morning. A depressed Floogle, hand to his head, sits at a table as 
Eve tries to comfort him. Homer, now up and around, confers with them.

HOMER FLOOGLE
I know what we've got to do and I've got the 
proof right here.

Homer indicates his own head.

FRED FLOOGLE
Yeah? How we gonna get it out?

HOMER FLOOGLE
Simple. What I need is a psychiatrist.

FRED FLOOGLE
A what?

HOMER FLOOGLE
A psychiatrist.

FRED FLOOGLE
Spell it.

HOMER FLOOGLE
P-S-Y-C-H-I-A-T-R-I-S-T

Before Homer can finish spelling it, we 

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. PSYCHIATRIST'S OFFICE DOOR - DAY

The door reads PSYCHIATRIST. Above this is the name of DR. GREENGRASS. 

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
This psychiatrist has nothing to do with this 
story. We just thought we'd have a 
psychiatrist stand by in case you go out of 
your mind watching the picture.

Beneath the word PSYCHIATRIST, it reads: SPECIALIST IN PSYCHIATRICS, PSYCHO 
ANALYSIS, SCHIZOPHRENIA, NEUROSES, CLAUSTROPHOBIA, AGORAPHOBIA and 
HYDROPHOBIA BY APPOINTMENT ONLY.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. PSYCHIATRIST'S OFFICE - DAY

The professionally-dressed DR. GREENGRASS, who looks suspiciously like the 
lunatic radio comedian Jerry Colonna -- black-haired, with a big black 
moustache and round, rolling eyes -- stares at the ceiling with a hand to his 
chin, listening to Homer.

HOMER FLOOGLE
...and ever since the fire I can't remember a 
single name on the list.

DR. GREENGRASS
Hm. Could be a very interesting case.
(slaps himself in the face)
In fact, one of the most interesting cases of my 
career. 

Greengrass addresses Fred and Eve Floogle who sit nearby.

DR. GREENGRASS
As I see it, the boy has a retentive 
memory but the list of names he couldn't 
remember. Why couldn't he remember the list? 

Greengrass slaps himself in the face again, startling the Floogles.

DR. GREENGRASS
Because he was scared by a fire. Now this 
could either be a psychosis or a neurosis. 
Vote for one.

HOMER FLOOGLE
I think you can rule out psychosis, Doctor. 
This is definitely a neurosis.

DR. GREENGRASS
(quietly, to Homer)
Are you sure?

HOMER FLOOGLE
Positive.

DR. GREENGRASS
(to the Floogles)
Ah! You see?!
(slaps himself in the face)
Already we are making progress! We have found 
out that this is definitely a neurosis and not 
a psychosis. Other doctors take days! Ha ha 
ha ha ha! But me... 
(slaps his face triumphantly)
The charge for this will be twenty dollars a 
treatment, payable in advance.

EVE FLOOGLE
But, Doctor, we already gave you twenty dollars.

DR. GREENGRASS
Oh. But that was before we found out this was 
a neurosis.

THE FLOOGLES
(understanding completely)
Ohhhh.

DR. GREENGRASS
This concludes the first performance, ah, 
treatment. If you will bring the boy back 
tomorrow at the same time, we will proceed with 
the second treatment! 
(really loud)
Ooohhh! This has been a trying day!!!

Greengrass lies down on his couch, crosses his legs, and shuts his eyes.
Frantic, the Floogles rush to his side.

FRED FLOOGLE
(to Greengrass)
Second treatment! The district attorney isn't 
going to wait for second treatments! I've 
gotta get results today!

DR. GREENGRASS
(holds up a hand)
Please.

Greengrass gently slaps himself in the face.

FRED FLOOGLE
I'll pay you for your time.

At this, Greengrass' eyes pop open. He sits up.

DR. GREENGRASS
Well, I suppose I could cancel two 
schizophrenics and one dementia praecox this 
afternoon and take the boy by the hour. That 
will be fifteen dollars an hour with a minimum 
guarantee of four hours.

Greengrass lies back down and shuts his eyes.

EVE FLOOGLE
We don't care what it costs.

FRED FLOOGLE
You get that list, I'll pay you anything.

Greengrass bolts up and off the couch.

DR. GREENGRASS
Anything?! 
(leads Homer to the couch)
Well, my boy, if you'll come right here and lie 
down -- and RELAX!! --
(throws Homer down on couch
and raves like a madman)
-- together we will probe into the subconscious, 
drag the list of names into the unconscious, and 
explode it into the conscious!

Eve SCREAMS. Greengrass slaps his own face.

DR. GREENGRASS
(calm again)
Please. I never allow the parents around when 
I'm operating.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, sorry, Doctor.

The Floogles follow Greengrass to the door. He slaps his face a few more 
times en route.

DR. GREENGRASS
Now, if you'll come back in about four hours, I 
think maybe we'll have a clue.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, we'll come back as soon as we... 

EVE FLOOGLE
(quietly, to Floogle, off Greengrass)
Fred, what's the--?
(Eve slaps her face)

FRED FLOOGLE
Pardon me, Doctor. What is that--?
(Floogle slaps his own face)

DR. GREENGRASS
(mildly surprised)
Why, I didn't think that anyone noticed it. 
It's just a nervous habit.

FRED FLOOGLE
What causes it?

DR. GREENGRASS
Well, to tell the truth, I don't know if it's a 
psychosis or a neurosis. I've only had it for 
two years. I keep imagining there's a tsetse 
fly on my face. Now, my logic tells me there 
is no tsetse fly on my face. But so strong is 
the compulsion that I keep slapping at the [?]
(slaps his face and Floogle's, too)
Keep slapping at the tsetse fly on my face when 
I know there is no tsetse fly on my face.

The Floogles exchange concerned looks.

DR. GREENGRASS
(slapping himself very hard)
Every morning I wake up black and blue. Used 
to be much worse than it is now.

FRED FLOOGLE
Doctor, have you thought of using fly paper?

DR. GREENGRASS
Fly paper? No. Thank you. 

The Floogles exit and Greengrass shuts the door behind them.

DR. GREENGRASS
(to himself)
That's a very interesting idea. Fly paper.

After a pause, Greengrass opens the door and peers out.

DR. GREENGRASS
(directly into the CAMERA)
Since when can a fly read?

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. CITY STREET - DAY

Fred and Eve Floogle walk down the sidewalk.

FRED FLOOGLE
What time is it now?

EVE FLOOGLE
Will you please relax?

EVE FLOOGLE
Let's go see a picture. That'll kill the time.

FRED FLOOGLE
I've seen all the pictures.

A uniformed man named JOE stands in front of a movie theater.

JOE
Hurry, hurry, hurry! Don't miss the greatest 
motion picture of its kind ever filmed! It 
will hold you spellbound! "Zombie in the 
Attic" with an all-star cast! No waits! No 
delays! Step inside, folks!

The theater marquee reads ZOMBIE IN THE ATTIC - ALL STAR CAST - JAN TYNE'S 
BAND - NEWS - CARTOONS. The Floogles approach Joe.

FRED FLOOGLE
Pardon me, pardon me...

JOE
Immediate seating!

FRED FLOOGLE
Pardon me, are there any seats?

JOE
Immediate seating on all floors! No waiting! 

The Floogles glance at each other and head into the theater.

JOE
Immediate seating, folks! "Zombie in the 
Attic"!

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. THEATER LOBBY - DAY

The Floogles enter, arm in arm. The place is packed with theatergoers.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR (o.s.)
Fourth balcony!

LOBBY USHER
(to the Floogles)
Straight through that door, please.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR (o.s.)
Main floor!

CUT TO:

INT. THEATER - DAY

Minutes later, the Floogles enter the rear of the darkened theater, approach 
an usher, and offer their ticket stubs. [NOTE: Throughout these theater 
scenes, the theater patrons sit with their eyes riveted to the screen. And 
although we never actually see the movie, we hear garbled fragments of the 
dialogue -- every other sentence seems to contain the word "zombie."]

FRED FLOOGLE
(to the usher)
Two down front, please.

1ST USHER
(whispers) 
You'll have to get in line, sir.

FRED FLOOGLE
But the man outside said immediate seating.

1ST USHER
This aisle is full. Next aisle to your right.

EVE FLOOGLE
But don't you think--?

1ST USHER
Please, lady. Next aisle to your right.

FRED FLOOGLE
All right, all right. Come on, Eve.

The Floogles move on, across the rear of the theater, through a tightly-
packed crowd of theater patrons -- it's standing room only back here. A mob 
of others looking for a seat bear down on Floogle from behind.

FRED FLOOGLE
Stop pushing! Stop pushing...

Floogle shows his tickets to the usher at the next aisle.

2ND USHER
Next aisle to your right.

FRED FLOOGLE
All right. This has gotta end someplace.

The Floogles squeeze through the crowd, stepping on patrons' toes, etc.

FRED FLOOGLE
I beg your pardon.

EVE FLOOGLE
I can't last much longer.

After much struggle, they reach the next aisle.

FRED FLOOGLE
Usher...

3RD USHER
Next aisle to your right.

EVE FLOOGLE
I know. To the right.

The increasingly frustrated Floogles move on.

FRED FLOOGLE
(to himself)
Next aisle to the right. 
(to others)
Excuse me, please. I'm--

The Floogles nearly disappear from view into the thickening crowd.

PATRON
Ouch!

EVE FLOOGLE
Oh, I'm sorry...

FRED FLOOGLE
I'm sorr-- I beg your pardon. Usher...

4TH USHER
(draws back a curtain)
Right through here, sir.

FRED FLOOGLE
It's about time.

EVE FLOOGLE
Uh huh.

CUT TO:

EXT. SIDEWALK - DAY

The usher opens a door for the Floogles and they emerge onto the sidewalk 
outside the building. Confused, Floogle offers his tickets to a nonexistent 
usher as the door closes behind him and Eve.

FRED FLOOGLE
Here you are, two down front.

Floogle suddenly realizes there's no one to take his tickets.

FRED FLOOGLE
We're out on the street! Hey, they can't do 
this to me!

The Floogles return to the door and start to BANG on it just as Detective 
Sully ambles around a corner, snacking on a bag of nuts.

FRED FLOOGLE
Hey, open up! Open up there!

DETECTIVE SULLY
(surprised to see him)
Floogle! 

The Floogles stop and turn to Sully.

DETECTIVE SULLY
What now? Tryin' to sneak into the theater 
without payin' for it, huh?

Sully shakes his head sadly as he moves on down the sidewalk.

DETECTIVE SULLY
(snidely)
How're ya fixed for telephone slugs?

The Floogles watch as Sully walks off.

EVE FLOOGLE
(to Floogle)
Why don't you resent that?

FRED FLOOGLE
I'll resent that later. I'm busy now.
(bangs on door)
Hey, open up there!

The usher opens the door.

4TH USHER
Hey, hey. What's the idea of bangin' on the 
door? There's a show goin' on inside.

The usher tries to shut the door but Floogle grabs it desperately.

FRED FLOOGLE
I know there's a show goin' on inside! And we 
want to see it!

4TH USHER
Well, this is an exit. The box office is around 
on Broadway. You have to get tickets.

FRED FLOOGLE
We've got tickets!

4TH USHER
Well, you can't come in this door.

FRED FLOOGLE
We came OUT this door! You sent us out, 
remember?

4TH USHER
No, it's so dark in there I can't see faces. 
Every head to me's just a lump.

FRED FLOOGLE
Those other ushers kept saying, "Next aisle to 
the right, next aisle to the right, next aisle 
to the right." You had to be different! You 
said, "Right through here" and here we are out 
on the street!

EVE FLOOGLE
Look, we've got stubs. Let us back in, will 
you please?

Floogle holds up the ticket stubs.

4TH USHER
Well, it means breaking my usher's oath.
(quickly relenting)
All right, come in.

The usher holds the door open and the Floogles re-enter the building.

CUT TO:

INT. THEATER - DAY

The Floogles enter and the usher shuts the door. All three confer, talking 
in whispers.

EVE FLOOGLE
Thank you.

FRED FLOOGLE
Thanks.

4TH USHER
Now, that you're in, what is it you want?

FRED FLOOGLE
Two seats.

4TH USHER
Why didn't you say so? Next aisle to the left.

FRED FLOOGLE
Now, wait a minute. We've been all through 
that. We bought two tickets and we want two 
seats.

4TH USHER
But there aren't any seats in this aisle, sir.

EVE FLOOGLE
But the man outside said immediate seating.

4TH USHER
(amused)
Oh, ho ho ho. That was Joe.

FRED FLOOGLE
Joe?

4TH USHER
Yeah. Joe always looks at the bright side of 
things.

FRED FLOOGLE
Doesn't Joe know that the lower floor is 
filled?

4TH USHER
Joe never comes inside the theater.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, if he doesn't know what's going on in 
here, what is Joe doing outside the theater, 
yelling "Immediate seating!"?

4TH USHER
Oh, Joe must have meant immediate seating 
upstairs.

EVE FLOOGLE
Hey. How do we get upstairs?

4TH USHER
(normal voice, annoyed)
Just once I'd like to see this picture through 
without any interruptions.

The usher walks off abruptly. The Floogles look at each other mystified.

CUT TO:

INT. THEATER LOBBY - DAY

The usher opens a door to the lobby and points the Floogles towards the far 
side of the lobby where an elevator opens. The Floogles -- and a mob of 
patrons -- stampede toward it.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
Going up!

4TH USHER
(annoyed, off the departing Floogles)
Some people.

The usher re-enters the theater as the stampede continues.

CUT TO:

INT. ELEVATOR - DAY

The Floogles and others jam into the elevator car like sardines. Eve presses 
against the ELEVATOR OPERATOR, a greasy little adolescent.

EVE FLOOGLE
Excuse me.

The elevator operator shuts the doors and the elevator goes up, then pauses.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
Fourth balcony. 

The patrons make a move to disembark but the elevator operator puts an arm 
out to hold them back.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
No seats.

The elevator goes up, then pauses again.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
Eighth balcony. 

Again, the patrons make a move to disembark but the operator holds them back.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
No seats!

The elevator goes up, then pauses again.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
Stratosphere. 

The doors open. The patrons stare at the operator questioningly.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
(shrugs)
Who knows?

The patrons disembark.

CUT TO:

INT. STRATOSPHERE BALCONY - DAY

Eve walks forward, reaches the rear of the darkened balcony, and stares down 
the aisle: the movie screen appears to be a half a mile away at the bottom of 
a thousand foot drop. She SCREAMS. Floogle, a few steps behind, approaches 
her and she clutches him in terror.

FRED FLOOGLE
What's the matter?

EVE FLOOGLE
Look! 

Floogle stares down into the yawning chasm -- his eyes and mouth pop open.

EVE FLOOGLE
Oh, Fred, I'm afraid of these heights.

FRED FLOOGLE
Relax, it's only eight thousand feet above sea 
level.

The Floogles cling and sway at the mouth of the aisle, ignored by the seated 
patrons whose glassy eyes are glued to the screen. 

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Looks like a packed house, eh? These 
atmosphere characters are all relatives of the 
director. During this scene, the director was 
hoping the roof would fall in.

An usher arrives and joins the Floogles who, still stressed out, ignore him 
at first.

STRATOSPHERE USHER
Tickets, please.

FRED FLOOGLE
(holds up the stubs)
Oh, I'm sorry.

STRATOSPHERE USHER
Oh, I know, the stratosphere, it gets you a 
little at first. Uh, next aisle to the left.

FRED FLOOGLE
Now, look, before we go through that routine 
again, let me ask you one question, as man to 
man: are there any seats up here?

STRATOSPHERE USHER
Uh, you mind if I use plain language?

EVE FLOOGLE
Oh, I'd love it. Go right ahead.

STRATOSPHERE USHER
(confidentially)
There are no seats.

FRED FLOOGLE
If there are no seats, why is a man standing 
outside of this theater yelling in a raucous 
voice and in perfect English, "Immediate 
seating!"?

STRATOSPHERE USHER
(amused)
Oh, ho ho! That's Joe!

FRED FLOOGLE
Joe! If I ever hear that name again--! How 
do we get our money back?

STRATOSPHERE USHER
Oh, you'll have to see the manager for that, 
sir. His office is way down on the main floor.

FRED FLOOGLE
(disbelief)
Way down on the main--

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. ELEVATOR - DAY

Eve looks like she's having a nervous breakdown as the Floogles board the 
elevator. Only they and the greasy kid operator are present. The operator 
shuts the door and starts the elevator down. Floogle watches with amazement 
as the operator picks up a hand radio mike and speaks into it.

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
Pilot to navigator. Pilot to navigator. Number 
seven, comin' in on the beam.

JOE'S VOICE
(drifts in on the radio)
Immediate seating, folks! Positively no 
waiting!

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
(amused, to the Floogles)
Joe! Ha ha ha! 

EVE FLOOGLE
Joe!

Eve SCREAMS and begins to sob. Eve buries her face in Floogle's shoulder as 
Floogle gives the operator a dirty look.

EVE FLOOGLE
Let me out of here!

Floogle comforts Eve.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. LOBBY - DAY

The elevator door opens and the Floogles emerge. Floogle has been giving the 
operator a piece of his mind.

FRED FLOOGLE
(to the operator)
That goes for the whole theater and you, too!

EVE FLOOGLE
Fred, no more arguments. Get me out of here.

FRED FLOOGLE
We're not getting out of here until we get our 
money back.

As Floogle helps a half-conscious Eve limp across the lobby, they meet the 
usher who had earlier led them out onto the sidewalk.

4TH USHER
Ah, good evening, sir.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, it's you again.

4TH USHER
Yes, sir. Did you enjoy the picture?

FRED FLOOGLE
We didn't see the picture.

4TH USHER
Oh, just dropped in to hiss the newsreel, huh?

FRED FLOOGLE
We didn't see anything. We couldn't get a 
seat. I'm a nervous wreck. My wife has the 
bends. All we want is our money back. Now, 
where's the manager?

4TH USHER
(gestures to a door, walking off)
Mr. Teckler. But he won't see you.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, he won't, hey?
(to Eve)
You sit here, honey. I'll be right back.

EVE FLOOGLE
I wanna go home.

Floogle seats Eve in the lobby and hurries off, past the elevator. 

ELEVATOR OPERATOR
(taunting Floogle)
Yoo hoo! Goin' up?

Floogle scowls at the grinning operator who shuts the door. Floogle heads 
for the manager's office and enters.

CUT TO:

INT. MANAGER'S OFFICE - DAY

Floogle enters and confronts a mousy little man sitting at a desk.

FRED FLOOGLE
Mr. Teckler?

ASSISTANT MANAGER TECKLER 
Yes?

FRED FLOOGLE
I want my money back.

ASSISTANT MANAGER TECKLER 
(hand to his head)
Your money back? I never heard of such a 
thing. Why do you want your money back?

FRED FLOOGLE
My wife and I have been getting the runaround 
in this theater for the last three hours. We 
can't get a seat.

ASSISTANT MANAGER TECKLER 
Oh, ridiculous. There'll be plenty of seats 
the moment the picture's over.

FRED FLOOGLE
And when will that be?

ASSISTANT MANAGER TECKLER 
(checks his watch)
Oh, the picture's been on seven minutes.

FRED FLOOGLE
How long does it run?

ASSISTANT MANAGER TECKLER 
Uh, two hours and twenty-seven minutes.

FRED FLOOGLE
If you think I'm going to hang--

ASSISTANT MANAGER TECKLER 
Why don't you go in the lounge and have a 
smoke?

FRED FLOOGLE
Smoke! For two hours and twenty-seven 
minutes?! It isn't bad enough my wife has got 
the bends, I should get tobacco heart yet! 
Now, I want my money back!

ASSISTANT MANAGER TECKLER 
Oh, I'm sorry, I'm only the assistant manager. 
I can get you a [Dixie?] cup but I can't refund 
your money.

FRED FLOOGLE
Who can?

ASSISTANT MANAGER TECKLER 
Uh, you'll have to see the manager, Mr. Bidoo.

FRED FLOOGLE
And where is Mr. Bidoo?

ASSISTANT MANAGER TECKLER 
Right now, he's in Ohio, on a vacation.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, I'll--

Suddenly, the door bursts open and in walks a man dressed rather obviously as 
a hick tourist, carrying snow skis, a boat oar, ski poles, snow shoes, etc., 
a feathered hat on his head. It's MR. BIDOO.

MANAGER BIDOO
Well! What's going on here?

ASSISTANT MANAGER TECKLER 
Why, Mr. Bidoo! When did you get back?

MANAGER BIDOO
Just a minute ago. Had a marvelous time.
(laughs) 
Look at this tan.

Slowly burning up, Floogle looks on as Teckler helps Bidoo off with his 
various items.

ASSISTANT MANAGER TECKLER 
Did you see any good pictures while you were 
away?

MANAGER BIDOO
Yeah. Temple Theater in Bryan. Saw "Zombie in 
the Attic" last Saturday night.

ASSISTANT MANAGER TECKLER 
Oh, how was it?

MANAGER BIDOO
(laughs hard)
Stinks!

FRED FLOOGLE
Look, what about my money?

MANAGER BIDOO
What's the trouble, Teckler?

ASSISTANT MANAGER TECKLER 
Uh, this man wants his money back.

MANAGER BIDOO
(hand to head)
Your money back? 
(to Teckler)
He wants his money back. Did you hear that, 
Teckler?

ASSISTANT MANAGER TECKLER 
Yes, sir.

MANAGER BIDOO
(to Floogle, matter-of-fact)
You understand, sir, we don't make these 
pictures. We just... show them.

FRED FLOOGLE
I didn't even see the picture! My wife and I 
have been through this theater from stem to 
stern for the last three hours. We can't get 
a seat.

MANAGER BIDOO
Did you try the main floor?

FRED FLOOGLE
We tried the main floor.

MANAGER BIDOO
Did you try the mezzanine?

FRED FLOOGLE
We tried the mezzanine.

MANAGER BIDOO
Did you try the balcony?

FRED FLOOGLE
We tried the balcony! We tried everywhere! 
The house is filled!

MANAGER BIDOO
If the theater is filled, why did you buy a 
ticket?

FRED FLOOGLE
Because, outside, a man is yelling "Immediate 
seating!"

Bidoo cracks up with laughter, slaps Floogle on the back, and collapses into 
a chair.

MANAGER BIDOO
(through the laughter)
That's Joe! Immediate seating! Oh, ho ho, 
what a sense of humor!

FRED FLOOGLE
I'm not interested in Joe's sense of humor. 
All I want is my money back.

MANAGER BIDOO
(abruptly stops laughing; darkly)
Money, money, money. That's all some people 
think about.
(pointedly)
Do you remember what happened in 1929?

FRED FLOOGLE
(thick with irony)
Yes. 1929 is the year I came into this theater 
to see "Zombie in the Attic".

MANAGER BIDOO
(dismissive)
Ahh...

FRED FLOOGLE
I was a young man then. I was full of hope. 
Look at me now. I've been "Next aisle"-d to 
death. I've been up and down in your elevators. 
I've had my ears bent by every flunky and 
stuffed shirt in your organization. Now, I 
spent one dollar and ninety-eight cents to see 
"Zombie in the Attic" -- I haven't seen 
"Zombie in the Attic" -- I want one dollar and 
ninety-eight cents.

MANAGER BIDOO
Just a minute. As manager of this theater, I 
know my Constitutional rights. Have you read 
your stub?

FRED FLOOGLE
What for?

MANAGER BIDOO
Well, read it. The law says in return for your 
admission fee all I have to do is provide you 
with a seat.

Bidoo opens a nearby closet.

FRED FLOOGLE
And where is my seat?

Bidoo pulls a covered chair out of the closet.

MANAGER BIDOO
Right here is your seat. Take it and sit 
anywhere you want to.

Bidoo forces the chair on Floogle and pushes him to the office door. Teckler 
holds the door open so that Floogle may be thrown out.

FRED FLOOGLE
Now, wait a minute. My wife is outside. Where 
is she gonna sit?

MANAGER BIDOO
She can sit in your lap!

Bidoo pushes Floogle and the chair out of the office and into the lobby.

CUT TO:

INT. LOBBY - DAY

Floogle stumbles backward into the lobby. Bidoo SLAMS the office door on 
him. As Floogle spins to see Eve lying on a couch in the lobby, he 
accidentally rips the cover off the chair.

FRED FLOOGLE
Eve! Eve!

EVE FLOOGLE
Did you get the money back?

FRED FLOOGLE
No, I-- 

Floogle stares in shock at the uncovered chair -- by an incredible 
coincidence, the kind of incredible coincidence that only happens in the 
movies, it's one of the missing five!

FRED FLOOGLE
Eve! Eve! The chair! Look! Chair!

While passing moviegoers glance casually at Floogle, Eve gets to her feet and 
rushes to inspect the seat of the chair.

EVE FLOOGLE
Fred! The three hundred thousand!

FRED FLOOGLE
Ssh! We can't open that here. We've got to 
get the chair out of here.

EVE FLOOGLE
Yes, but how?

FRED FLOOGLE
Throw a faint. I'll show you how.

Instantly, Eve CATERWAULS and elegantly faints into the chair.

FRED FLOOGLE
Air! Air! Air!

Floogle pushes Eve (in the chair) across the lobby. A group of concerned 
patrons and employees take interest.

WOMAN PATRON
What's happened?

FRED FLOOGLE
(off Eve)
That scene where the zombie ate his 
brother-in-law, she couldn't take it.

USHER
What's the matter?

FRED FLOOGLE
Get me a taxi.

USHER
Shall I call a doctor, sir?

FRED FLOOGLE
Too late for a doctor! Get an undertaker!
I'll sue this--!

The Floogles (and the chair) exit out the front door of the theater.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. TAXI CAB - DAY

In the back seat of a moving cab, the Floogles tear the chair apart.

FRED FLOOGLE
It isn't there. Must be the wrong chair.

CAB DRIVER
Anything the matter?

EVE FLOOGLE
Oh, no. We're just breaking up housekeeping, 
that's all.

The Floogles smash up the rest of the chair and toss it in pieces out the cab 
window.

FADE OUT

EXT. TOPPINGHAM TOWERS - DAY

FADE IN on an establishing shot of the hotel.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. FLOOGLE'S SUITE - DAY

Eve listens to Greengrass and Homer through the closed bedroom door. Nearby, 
Floogle paces nervously, talking to himself.

FRED FLOOGLE
Bringing that phony psychiatrist home here at 
twenty bucks an hour plus board and lodging--

EVE FLOOGLE
It won't be long now. He's through with 
Homer's subconscious. He's now delving into 
his phobias.

FRED FLOOGLE
You give the guy my room. I have to sleep on 
the couch. And his appetite. That guy eats 
like a relative.

CUT TO:

INT. FLOOGLE'S SUITE - BEDROOM - DAY

Greengrass, napkin tucked under his chin tries to eat a huge, elegant room-
service meal at a table. Homer, lying on the nearby bed, suddenly springs up 
with enthusiasm, having finally remembered something.

HOMER FLOOGLE
Wait a minute, Doctor! I think I--

DR. GREENGRASS
Please, Homer. No thinking while I'm eating. 
In psychoanalysis, you've got to relax.

Greengrass picks up a teacup with a wildly shaking hand, takes a quick sip, 
and returns the cup to the saucer with a loud RATTLE while Homer lies back 
down, hands behind his head, and stares at the ceiling.

DR. GREENGRASS
Ah, but don't worry. We'll find those names if 
it takes all year. They don't fool around with 
Dr. Greengrass.

Greengrass slaps himself twice, then looks around for the flies.

DR. GREENGRASS
It's a wonder they wouldn't put screens in a 
place like this.

Greengrass returns to his meal but quickly grows agitated.

DR. GREENGRASS
Where's the dessert? Where's the dessert?

Greengrass rises and heads for the door.

CUT TO:

INT. FLOOGLE'S SUITE - DAY

Floogle still complains to a jumpy Eve about Greengrass.

FRED FLOOGLE
Forty-three dollars and seventy-five cents for 
breakfast?

Greengrass opens the bedroom door and beckons to Floogle who confronts him.

FRED FLOOGLE
Did you get the list?

DR. GREENGRASS
What list? The boy forgot the dessert. 
Please phone down for it.

FRED FLOOGLE
Can't you order your own dessert? If you push 
some of that food aside in there, you'll find a 
telephone.

DR. GREENGRASS
When a man is in the middle of psychoanalysis, 
he can't stop to order dessert. 
(slaps his own face)
You want those chairs or don't you?

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, all right. 
(slaps Greengrass' face)
What do you want for dessert?

DR. GREENGRASS
Oh, the usual thing -- chocolate fudge Sunday 
with nuts on it and a side order of whipped 
cream. 

Greengrass begins to retreat into the bedroom but quickly returns.

DR. GREENGRASS
Oh, on top should be a cherry. 

Greengrass retreats again and returns again.

DR. GREENGRASS
Maraschino.

Greengrass disappears into the bedroom and closes the door as Floogle raises 
his hands above his head, fists clenched in rage.

FRED FLOOGLE
Maraschino! That's the last straw!

Floogle stalks off. The bedroom door opens and Greengrass emerges.

DR. GREENGRASS
No straw!

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. FLOOGLE'S SUITE - BEDROOM - NIGHT

Later that evening. Greengrass and Homer sleep in twin beds. Greengrass 
SNORES loudly. Suddenly, Homer jumps out of bed and wakes Greengrass.

HOMER FLOOGLE
Doctor! Doctor! I think I--

DR. GREENGRASS
Please, Homer. A man is trying to sleep.

Homer watches in disbelief as Greengrass instantly falls soundly back into a 
deep sleep, SNORING noisily.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. FLOOGLE'S SUITE - NIGHT

Hours later. Floogle shaves with an electric razor as Eve paces the room.

EVE FLOOGLE
How long has that man been in there?

FRED FLOOGLE
Must be ten hours. I've had five o'clock shadow 
twice.

EVE FLOOGLE
What's he doing to my son?

FRED FLOOGLE
All you can worry about is your son! What 
about your husband? I'm supposed to be a 
murderer. I owe the bookmaker. I owe the 
hotel. On top of everything else, I gave 
Parker a check for twenty-five thousand 
dollars. Do you know how long I can go to jail 
for? There isn't that much time.

EVE FLOOGLE
Well, don't you think that--?

Homer bursts out of the bedroom and rushes to his mother.

HOMER FLOOGLE
I've found it!

EVE FLOOGLE
Found what?

HOMER FLOOGLE
Two more chairs! I just remembered they were 
sold to a nightclub!

EVE FLOOGLE
Which one?

Suddenly, Greengrass appears in the doorway.

DR. GREENGRASS
Quiet!!! A man's trying to get some sleep.

All three Floogles stare at him for a moment, then quietly confer with one 
another.

HOMER FLOOGLE
(whispers so as to be 
almost inaudible)
Phil's Naughty Nineties.

DR. GREENGRASS
That's better.

Greengrass retreats to the bedroom.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. NIGHTCLUB - FRONT ENTRANCE - NIGHT

Not long after. A flashing neon sign identifies PHIL'S NAUGHTY NINETIES. 
The featured performer is JOYCE CAREY. A top-hatted MAN OUTSIDE the club 
acts as sidewalk pitchman, hollering to a nonexistent crowd on the sidewalk.

MAN OUTSIDE
Phil's Naughty Nineties! With ninety naughty 
beauties! A ninety cent dinner with a 
marvelous cuisine! [Pronounced "kyoo-zeen"]

A smartly-dressed Floogle arrives, sees the sign, and pauses to look askance 
at the man outside when he hears:

MAN OUTSIDE
Immediate seating! Positively no waiting! 
Plenty of room on the inside!

Floogle doesn't like the sound of that but heads into the club anyway.

CUT TO:

INT. NIGHTCLUB - FRONT ENTRANCE - NIGHT

Floogle enters. A tough MAÎTRE D' confronts him.

MAÎTRE D'
Wait a minute! Where do you think you're 
going?

FRED FLOOGLE
Why, inside.

MAÎTRE D'
Have you got a reservation?

FRED FLOOGLE
No.

MAÎTRE D'
(leads Floogle out the door)
Scram, bud. We're all sold out. Try us again 
for the midnight show.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, the man outside--

MAÎTRE D'
(closing the door on Floogle)
Oh, but that's Josephus!

Chuckling to himself, the Maître D' returns to his duties.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. NIGHTCLUB - REAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT

A sign on the rear door marked SERVICE ENTRANCE reads CHEF WANTED. We PULL 
BACK to reveal Floogle standing nearby, reading aloud from a cook book.

FRED FLOOGLE
...two cups of flour, one jigger of brandy, 
drop one egg, one pint of gasoline, two matches
-- crêpes suzette.

Floogle, impressed with the recipe, closes the book, goes to the door and 
enters.

CUT TO:

INT. NIGHTCLUB - REAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT

Floogle enters and looks around. Workers scurry here and there. The club's 
owner, PHIL talks on the phone.

PHIL
(into the phone)
Well, all right, if you don't mind sitting on 
the floor.

Phil hangs up and sees Floogle at the door.

PHIL
Yes?

FRED FLOOGLE
You need a chef?

PHIL
Oh, no. Sorry, that job's been filled. 
Forgot to take down the sign, I guess.

FRED FLOOGLE
(off the cook book)
Don't tell me I've been learning to make 
borscht and crêpes suzette for the last hour 
for nothing.

Phil and Floogle stare at the cook book for a moment but before either can 
continue a WAITER in a striped jacket appears.

WAITER
Hey, Phil, we've got more grief.

PHIL
What's the matter now?

WAITER
Barney the Bass is drunk again.

PHIL
Barney the Bass! Well, the place is sold out. 
Can't you sober him up?

WAITER
Sober him up? He must have had fifty martinis. 
He's been spittin' olives for the last ten 
minutes. Better get another bass singer.

PHIL
At this time of night? Where do I get another 
bass singer?

Phil and the waiter start to walk off when Floogle abruptly lets fly with an 
absolutely unconvincing and horrifyingly off-tune bass riff:

FRED FLOOGLE
Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom -- 
BOOM!

Everyone within earshot pauses to stare at Floogle.

PHIL
Say, can you --?

FRED FLOOGLE
(shrugs)
What else?

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. NIGHTCLUB - DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT

The waiter leads Floogle into the dressing room and approaches a man putting 
on make-up at a mirrored dressing table.

WAITER
Oh, Don. This guy'll take Barney's place 
tonight.
(introduces them)
Mr. Floogle, Mr. Ameche.

At first, Floogle fails to recognize that his fellow singing waiter is none 
other than legendary motion picture actor DON AMECHE, star of such major 
motion pictures as "The Story of Alexander Graham Bell," "Cocoon," etc.

DON AMECHE
Hm, hi, Floogle.

FRED FLOOGLE
Hello.

Floogle sits at his own table and suddenly realizes:

FRED FLOOGLE
(dumbfounded)
Don Ameche! Didn't you use to be in pictures?

DON AMECHE
Yeah. Was for a while. Times got tough and I 
had to do something.

FRED FLOOGLE
What happened?

DON AMECHE
Nothing much. I ran out of inventions. I used 
to invent things, you know.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, I know. The telephone, telescope, 
telegraph.

DON AMECHE
Automobile, autogyroscope, automat.

FRED FLOOGLE
Geology, geometry, geography.

DON AMECHE
Dictagraph, phonograph, telegraph.

The door swings open and legendary singing sensation RUDY VALLEE enters.

RUDY VALLEE
Hi-ho, everybody.

DON AMECHE
Hello, Rudy. Mr. Vallee, this is Mr. Floogle. 
Floogle's gonna sing with us tonight.

Don Ameche walks off as Rudy Vallee sits down at the table next to Floogle 
and starts to tuck a bib into his collar.

RUDY VALLEE
Hi-ho.

FRED FLOOGLE
(astounded)
Rudy Vallee! Didn't you used to be on the 
radio?

RUDY VALLEE
For twenty years. I was on the radio before 
Don invented it.

FRED FLOOGLE
Is that so? Well, tell me, what happened?

RUDY VALLEE
Oh, same thing that happened to Don.

FRED FLOOGLE
You ran out of inventions?

RUDY VALLEE
No. Ran out of megaphones, saxophones, and 
nasal tones. Hi-ho.

Rudy Vallee starts in on his make-up. The door slowly opens to reveal 
legendary stage star VICTOR MOORE.

VICTOR MOORE
Hello, fellas.

RUDY VALLEE
Hello, Vic. 
(introductions)
Mr. Moore, Mr. Floogle. Vic, our new bass.

FRED FLOOGLE
Hello.

VICTOR MOORE
Hi.

FRED FLOOGLE
(flabbergasted)
Mr. Moore! Didn't you used to be on Broadway 
and shows?

Rudy Vallee exits as Victor Moore sits next to Floogle.

VICTOR MOORE
Oh, yes. For fifty years, I was a great lover.
I chased women through two hundred plays.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, what happened to you?

VICTOR MOORE
Same thing that happened to the other fellas.
Don Ameche ran out of inventions. Rudy Vallee 
ran out of megaphones.

FRED FLOOGLE
And you?

VICTOR MOORE
After fifty years of chasing, I ran out of 
breath.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh.

Victor Moore hangs up his hat. Floogle applies some make-up.

VICTOR MOORE
So you're a bass, huh?

FRED FLOOGLE
Yes, sir.

Victor Moore feels Floogle's bicep.

VICTOR MOORE
Your muscles feel more like a soprano.

FRED FLOOGLE
You have to muscles to sing in here?

VICTOR MOORE
Do ya?! 
(offers his arm)
Feel on that.

Floogle feels up Victor Moore.

FRED FLOOGLE
(feigns an understanding)
Oh.

VICTOR MOORE
Oh, but don't worry. If you get in a jam, just 
whistle and I'll come over and give 'em the old 
one-two. 

Victor Moore swings his fists violently. Floogle cringes.

VICTOR MOORE
Lemme hear ya whistle.

Allen gives a pathetic little wolf WHISTLE.

VICTOR MOORE
Are you sure you sing bass?

FRED FLOOGLE
Sure.

Floogle abruptly lets fly with yet another absolutely unconvincing and 
horrifyingly off-tune bass riff:

FRED FLOOGLE
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! BOO-BOOOOOOO!

It sounds like a cow being slaughtered. Rudy Vallee and Don Ameche return 
abruptly to see what's making this horrible noise.

VICTOR MOORE
(unconvinced)
Ah...

Victor Moore glances unhappily at the astonished Don and Rudy.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. NIGHTCLUB - MAIN ROOM - NIGHT

Not long after. On stage, a line of CHORUS GIRLS in Gay Nineties outfits 
dance to live MUSIC. The WAITERS, in jackets and aprons, are made to wear 
fake handlebar moustaches. Floogle -- his face now adorned with an oversized 
'stache and with his hair parted up the middle and slicked down -- pokes his 
head out from the rear to survey the room.

As the dance number ends, Floogle moves into the packed room and searches for 
the two missing chairs. A PATRON hails him.

1ST PATRON
Waiter! Get me a chair.

FRED FLOOGLE
I'm looking for a chair myself.

The patron and his party merely stare at Floogle as he walks off. 

In another part of the club, our three villains -- Jefferson T. Pike and his 
allies, Messrs. Gardiner and Arnold -- sit at a table enjoying the show.

The band begins to play a pop tune of 1913: "The Curse of an Aching Heart" 
(words by Henry Fink and music by Al Piantadosi). A spotlight comes up and 
Don Ameche takes to the stage in a singing waiter uniform, to appreciative 
APPLAUSE. He starts by singing the verse:

DON AMECHE
(sings)
You made me think you cared for me.
And I believed in you.

Another spotlight comes up on the opposite side of the stage and Victor Moore 
enters, dressed as a mustachioed chef, and carrying a huge meat cleaver.

VICTOR MOORE
(sings)
You told me things you never meant,
And made me think them true.

Another spotlight. Another mustachioed singing waiter. Rudy Vallee.

RUDY VALLEE
(sings)
I gambled in the game of love,
I played my heart and lost.

One last spotlight. Another mustachioed singing waiter. Fred Floogle.

FRED FLOOGLE
(sings, horribly)
I'm now a wreck upon life's sea
Alone, I pay the coooooost.

Rudy Vallee looks over at Victor Moore who winces at the last, lengthy, 
unbearable note. The quartet then launches into the refrain of this immortal 
slice of American popular culture. Alas, we miss the first line or so 
because of a voice-over from Mr. Allen.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
They say Caruso with his voice could shatter a 
wine glass. This quartet breaks windows. The 
minute they sing, the people start throwing 
stones.

THE SINGING WAITERS
(sings)
You made me what I am today, 
I hope you're satisfied
You dragged and dragged me down until
My soul within me died;
You've shattered each and ev'ry dream.
You fooled me from the start.
And though you're not true, 
I'll still love you.
That's the curse of an aching heart.

During the song: The singers throw themselves into the performance 
wholeheartedly, clutching their hearts and swinging their arms in deft timing 
-- though Rudy Vallee is a little put out when Victor Moore's meat cleaver 
comes a tad too close to him.

Two waiters bring a couple of extra chairs into the crowded room so that some 
late-arriving guests may be seated. It's the two missing chairs, of course. 
Floogle, seeing this from the stage, misses a note. Rudy Vallee kicks him.
Meanwhile, the three villains spy the two chairs from their nearby table.

Floogle waits impatiently for the song to end. When it does, Floogle 
abruptly leaves the stage. His colleagues remain and bow deeply to the 
audience who, for some reason, shower them with APPLAUSE.

Floogle approaches the patrons who sit on the precious chairs.

FRED FLOOGLE
If you gentlemen will get up, I'll get you some 
more comfortable chairs.

2ND PATRON
These are all right. We're comfortable.

FRED FLOOGLE
You only think you're comfortable. Wait till 
you try some of our good chairs.

2ND PATRON
Now, scram and get us three bourbons.

Mr. Arnold, the tall, thin villain, sees Floogle and quickly rises from the 
villains' table.

FRED FLOOGLE
Three bourbons. Yes, sir. And I'll bring you 
a couple of chairs just in case.

2ND PATRON
Now, stop arguing and get us three bourbons.

Mr. Arnold smugly approaches Floogle from behind.

FRED FLOOGLE
I'm not arguing. All I said was--

Mr. Arnold simultaneously throws beer on the patrons and violently shoves 
Floogle into them. Instantly, a fight breaks out -- the outraged patrons 
start beating up on Floogle. Terrified, Floogle wolf WHISTLES twice. On 
stage, Victor Moore and the other singers look on.

VICTOR MOORE
Oh, goody! A fight!

The fight spreads to some other patrons. Women SCREAM. Men SHOUT. Some 
patrons try to leave, others join the fray. Victor Moore, meat cleaver in 
hand, rushes eagerly off the stage.

VICTOR MOORE
Hold it! I'll be right there! Let me at 'em! 

As Victor Moore reaches the floor brandishing his cleaver, three slugging 
patrons instantly break away from the main fight and, paying Victor Moore no 
heed, plow into him. The entire group stumbles backwards to the club's 
kitchen doors, through which it disappears from view.

VICTOR MOORE
Wait a minute! Let me at 'em! [?]

All hell breaks loose. On stage, the two remaining singers confer.

DON AMECHE
A riot! What'll we do?

RUDY VALLEE
Read 'em that poem!

DON AMECHE
That doesn't stop riots, it starts 'em!

RUDY VALLEE
Try it anyhow! 

Rudy Vallee rushes over to the pin-striped Naughty Nineties musicians.

RUDY VALLEE
(to the band)
Play some fight music!

Rudy Vallee turns at once to fight the good fight as some lively FIGHT MUSIC 
breaks out. On stage, Don Ameche reads "Casabianca" by Felicia Hemans (1793 
- 1835):

DON AMECHE
The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled.
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.

The violence spreads to the stage where Don Ameche is nearly waylaid by a 
waiter and a patron slugging it out. 

Elsewhere, Floogle gets his clock cleaned by another unruly patron. His eyes 
pop as he hits the floor. 

A gaggle of four fabulous chorus girls looks on from near the kitchen door as 
Victor Moore emerges, with murder in his heart. He swings his meat cleaver 
threateningly.

VICTOR MOORE
Look out, girls! Let me at 'em! 

THE CHORUS GIRLS
What are you going to do?

VICTOR MOORE
(rather like Bert Lahr 
as the Cowardly Lion)
I'll cut 'em in two!

Floogle, on the floor, keeps WHISTLING and crawls under a table for safety. 
Meanwhile, the stage has filled with rioting patrons. Don Ameche stands 
amongst them, reading aloud:

DON AMECHE
That father, faint in death... death below,
His voice no longer heard...

Under his table, Floogle, his voice no longer heard, keeps WHISTLING to no 
avail. On the floor, a few feet away, a half-conscious man's face gets 
pounded like chop meat. By the kitchen door, Victor Moore energetically 
swings his cleaver in front of a line of nervous, flinching chorus girls.

VICTOR MOORE
Ooh, wait'll I get in that fight! Wait'll I--

Abruptly, he pauses, looks at the full-scale riot, thinks better of it, sets 
the cleaver down, stretches his arms, and turns calmly to the chorus girls.

VICTOR MOORE
(to the girls)
Well, that's a pretty good workout. 
I guess I'll go and take a shower.

Victor Moore turns and exits through the kitchen door, never to be seen 
again. The mystified chorus girls look on. 

A male patron, knocked unconscious, falls to the floor and winds up under the 
table beneath which Floogle hides.

FRED FLOOGLE
(shoving the man back out)
Sorry, brother, you'll have to get your own 
foxhole.

Elsewhere in the war zone, we see the back of Rudy Vallee's head as he shouts 
at the band:

RUDY VALLEE
I can't fight with that tempo!

As the musicians pick up the pace, Rudy Vallee turns around to reveal his 
blackened left eye and what's left of his handlebar moustache: the left 
handle is missing, leaving an incongruous right handle sticking out at an 
incongruous right angle from beneath his nose.

Don Ameche, buffeted by the onstage mob, orates valiantly.

DON AMECHE
According to all the rules, I heard him say...

The lights go out. The riot reaches its peak. Mr. Arnold, skulking around 
in the shadows, draws a gun and fires a GUNSHOT into the crowd. Someone 
SCREAMS as a body hits the floor. The lights come back on. The dead man is 
none other than Arnold's partner, Mr. Gardiner, though this would probably be 
unclear except for a voice-over from Fred Allen.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
The gentleman giving the impersonation of a 
rug on the floor is one of the villains you saw 
in the lawyer's office. Another extra off the 
payroll. Hey, if we kill enough actors, this 
picture may show a profit yet.

As Allen speaks, Floogle crawls out from under his table on hands and knees 
and pops his eyes at the dead body. Floogle, on all fours, examines him 
closely.

FRED FLOOGLE
(to himself)
He's dead. And I think I know who did it.

A hand reaches down to grasp Floogle's shoulder.

DETECTIVE SULLY
I wouldn't be surprised.

Floogle gets to his knees to find a menacing Detective Sully standing over 
him and the dead body. The suddenly calm patrons look on in confusion.

FRED FLOOGLE
What do you mean?

DETECTIVE SULLY
Every time a guy is murdered, you're somewhere 
in the vicinity. 

Sully removes Floogle's moustache, one handlebar at a time.

DETECTIVE SULLY
Come on, Floogle.

Sully takes a horrified Floogle by the arm and leads him away.

DISSOLVE TO:

FRONT PAGE OF NEWSPAPER 

The next morning's HEADLINES read: "SECOND MURDER JAILS FLEA KING! - BOGUS 
MILLIONAIRE EXPOSED AS KILLER" - we PAN DOWN to a photo of a frowning Floogle 
behind prison bars and wearing prison stripes.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. PRISON CELL BLOCK - DAY

Floogle, still behind prison bars and wearing prison stripes, stands in his 
cell. He confers with his lawyer, Jefferson T. Pike, who stands outside the 
cell looking suitably creepy.

FRED FLOOGLE
(to Pike)
Confess what? I didn't murder anybody.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
You will note that Floogle wears a convict 
suit. You have seen Floogle arrested. You 
have scene Floogle behind bars. This isn't 
enough. Floogle now wears stripes so that you 
will know that he is a prisoner. This 
director overdoes everything. He's been 
married six times.

FRED FLOOGLE
... chairs are gone and the money and the 
evidence, too.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
There was nothing in those chairs.

FRED FLOOGLE
(suddenly suspicious)
How do you know?

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
Well... you'll have to take my word for it.

FRED FLOOGLE
(dawning realization)
Maybe you're the guy! What did you do with my 
grand-uncle's record I gave you?

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
What record, my boy? You gave me no record.

FRED FLOOGLE
No record! I see it now. You knew there were 
three hundred thousand dollars in those chairs. 
You destroyed the record. Pike, you murdered 
my grand-uncle! If I ever get my hands on you! 
If I--

Floogle goes berserk. A nervous Pike BANGS his cane on the floor to be let 
out of the cell block.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. FLOOGLE'S SUITE - DAY

That evening, around seven o'clock, workers decorate the suite for the 
upcoming wedding. Perry Parker stands over Eve and Marion Floogle as they 
sit at a table and WEEP inconsolably.

PERRY PARKER
It isn't as though your father were dead. 
He'll be out one of these days.

EVE FLOOGLE
Twenty years maybe.

PERRY PARKER
Please, Marion, please. The guests will be 
here soon. We're gonna be married in an hour.

MARION FLOOGLE
(rises and walks off)
I'm not gonna marry anybody while my father's 
in jail.

EVE FLOOGLE
(also rises and walks off)
She's not gonna marry anybody -- and I wish I 
hadn't either!

Perry tries to comfort them, to no avail.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. FLOOGLE'S SUITE - DAY

Moments later. Marty the Goniff charges in carrying a gigantic bouquet of 
flowers. He mounts the sofa and scans the suite for Floogle.

MARTY THE GONIFF
Where is he?! Where is he?! I'll kill him! 
I'll strangle him! I'll moider him!
(pauses, calms down instantly)
Flowers for the bride.

Marty tosses the flowers to Marion, who again sits with Eve, weeping. Marty 
immediately confronts Perry.

MARTY THE GONIFF
(angry again)
How do you like that guy? I'm sittin' quiet in 
my own office, mindin' my own business, when in 
he comes spinnin' me a yarn about bein' a 
millionaire.

Eve and Marion WEEP even louder.

MARTY THE GONIFF
What are you cryin' for? He owes me the ten Gs, 
not you. I coise the day I ever loined to read! 
And I'll tell ya why! Because if I can't read, 
I don't see that story in da paper! And then 
he's only into me for eight bucks! But ten 
thousand dollars! 

Perry's father, the Mousetrap King, Parker, charges into the suite waving a 
check, interrupting Marty.

PARKER
Where is he?! I'll put him in jail! Look at 
this check, will ya? It's not only marked "No 
funds" -- it's marked "No bank"! Twenty-five 
thousand dollars! 
(sees Perry hiding behind a sofa)
And what are you doing here?

Parker grabs his son by the hair and yanks him into view.

PERRY PARKER
I-I'm gonna get married.

PARKER
Not into this family! Just a pauper trying to 
break into the social set! That's what he is! 
(spots something by a desk)
Ah! Well, here's one thing he won't get anyway.

Parker rushes to it and picks it up. It's the mousetrap.

MARTY THE GONIFF
What's that?

PARKER
What is it? It's just the greatest little 
mousetrap in the country, that's all. And I 
sold him half an interest in it for only 
twenty-five thousand dollars. The mouse comes 
in here, see...

Eve and Marion keep weeping as Busby, the puny hotel manager, angrily enters 
with two big bouncers.

BUSBY
(to the bouncers)
Not a solitary penny in the bank...

VOICE (o.s.)
Quiet!

BUSBY
(to the bouncers)
...and he got a credit card out of me! 

VOICE (o.s.)
Quiet!

BUSBY 
(confronts Eve)
You wanted your bedroom done over? All right, 
you get a nice new bedroom tonight but you get 
out of here at eight o'clock!

PERRY PARKER
But they can't!

EVE FLOOGLE
We got a wedding here at eight o'clock!

GREENGRASS' DOCTOR
(at the bedroom door)
Quiet!

DR. GREENGRASS' DOCTOR shuts the bedroom door behind him and approaches the 
crowd in the suite.

GREENGRASS' DOCTOR
Ssshhh! Dr. Greengrass is very ill.

BUSBY
And who's Dr. Greengrass?

EVE FLOOGLE
Well, he's a friend that's staying with us...

BUSBY
Ohhhh! So you're keeping boarders in my place, 
are you? 
(to the bouncers)
Throw 'em out!

GREENGRASS' DOCTOR
Uh uh uh! I warn you! You move him, you'll 
take the consequences.

EVE FLOOGLE
Is it serious, Doctor?

GREENGRASS' DOCTOR
Is it serious? Huh! The man's practically on 
his deathbed.

EVE FLOOGLE
Oh, he is?

BUSBY
When can he be moved?

GREENGRASS' DOCTOR
It may be weeks. It may be years. Who knows?

The doctor retreats toward the bedroom but then stops and turns.

GREENGRASS' DOCTOR
Have you got an iron lung on the premises?

BUSBY
Why, no.

GREENGRASS' DOCTOR
(deeply offended)
A fine hotel!

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. PRISON CELL BLOCK - NIGHT

Floogle, doing calisthenics by hanging from the top of his cell like a 
monkey, confers with young Homer who stands outside the cell watching his 
father exercise. Also watching are some fellow convicts in the next cell.

FRED FLOOGLE
Dispossessed. That all I need.

HOMER FLOOGLE
Not until Dr. Greengrass gets well.

FRED FLOOGLE
(drops to the floor)
Greengrass! I knew I never should have allowed 
that faker in our place. When I get out of 
here, I'm going-- Wait a minute. Why should I 
want to get out of here? Marty the Goniff will 
beat me to death. The hotel manager'll throw me 
out in the street. The bank'll have me arrested 
for passing a bad check. Sully'll put me back 
into jail. I'm already in jail. Why should I 
go through all that trouble?

Floogle goes back to hanging from the top of his cell. Instantly, Detective 
Sully and a prison guard arrive. The guard opens the cell door.

DETECTIVE SULLY
All right, Floogle. Beat it. You're free. 

Floogle drops to the floor again. Sully tosses some trousers to Floogle.

DETECTIVE SULLY
And here are your pants.

FRED FLOOGLE
(emerges from the cell)
Free? Why?

DETECTIVE SULLY
I don't know why. That lawyer of yours. So 
far, Floogle, you've killed more guys than the 
whole Bill Bendix Gang put together. But just 
you commit one more murder and I'll get you.

An odd look crosses Homer's face as Sully turns and departs.

FRED FLOOGLE
(bitterly, to Sully)
Why, you--

HOMER FLOOGLE
(a Eureka moment)
Dad! Bendix!

FRED FLOOGLE
What's the matter?

HOMER FLOOGLE
That's where the fifth chair went to. Bendix!

FRED FLOOGLE
The Bendix Gang? I don't want any traffic with 
them for three hundred thousand or three
million. I'll see you in thirty years, Homer. 
Get yourself some long pants.

Floogle heads back into his cell.

JAIL GUARD
Hey, wait a minute. What do you think this is, 
a parking lot? Scram, bum.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, I got some rights, you know. 

Floogle trudges off down the cell block.

FRED FLOOGLE
Come on, Homer. 

Homer follows. As he passes the next cell, Floogle nods to his fellow cons.

FRED FLOOGLE
So long, boys.

THE BOYS
So long.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. BILL BENDIX'S MANSION - NIGHT

Floogle, in a tux, approaches the door, checks the address and RINGS the 
bell. BENDIX'S BUTLER, a tough-looking mug who affects a broad-A accent, 
answers. 

BENDIX'S BUTLER
Yes?

FRED FLOOGLE
I'd like to see, Mr. Bendix.

BENDIX'S BUTLER
(very polite)
I'm very sorry, sir. But Mr. Bendix can't see 
anybody without having first made an 
appointment.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, this is very important.

BENDIX'S BUTLER
(suddenly very savage)
You heard me! Take the highway, fella! 

FRED FLOOGLE
(scrambles away in fear)
Yes, sir.

BENDIX'S BUTLER
Scram! 

FRED FLOOGLE
Yes, sir.

BENDIX'S BUTLER
Scram! Scram!

Up the block, Detective Sully, surreptitiously following Floogle, comes down 
the sidewalk, presses himself against a building, and peers out at Floogle. 

A moment later, Mr. Arnold, surreptitiously following Sully and Floogle, does 
the same.

And, a moment after that, young Homer, surreptitiously following Arnold, 
Sully, and Floogle, also does ditto.

All three watch as Floogle ducks around to the side of the Bendix mansion and 
starts to jimmy open a window.

DETECTIVE SULLY
(to himself)
Not satisfied with murder -- now it's 
housebreaking.

CUT TO:

EXT. BILL BENDIX'S MANSION - NIGHT

Floogle opens the window and enters the building.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Relentlessly, our hero continues his search for 
the chair. He isn't interested in the money 
anymore. He's been on his feet all through the 
picture. Our hero now is just looking for 
something to sit down on.

Flashlight in hand, Floogle searches the room, inspecting all the chairs. He 
finds a number of chairs grouped around an ornate desk in a stylish office 
but the one he wants is behind the desk. He sees it, picks it up, inspects 
it, then kisses it. Spotting a tray on the desk with some empty glasses and a 
whiskey decanter, Floogle picks up one of the glasses and salutes the chair.

FRED FLOOGLE
(to himself)
If I were a drinking man...

Suddenly, Floogle hears a voice from the hall.

BENDIX'S BUTLER (o.s.)
Now, look! He ain't home and I-- 

Floogle instantly ducks down under the desk.

BENDIX'S BUTLER (o.s.)
Hey, cut it o--!

Two nasty, brutish and short GUNSHOTS. After a pause, Floogle's hand appears 
from behind the desk and grabs the whiskey decanter.

The Bendix Gang, minus Bendix, walks through the mansion on their way to the 
stylish office in which Floogle hides. Gangster MICKEY carries a smoking 
pistol.

FATSO
You shouldn't've done that, Mickey. He always 
said he wouldn't be found dead in that butler 
suit.

MICKEY
(amused)
Oh, he did, huh? Heh, heh. Just goes to show 
you...
(blows on his pistol)
...a guy never knows, does he?

FATSO
(to the other Gang members)
One of you guys drop him in a garbage can.

The Gang enters the office and moves to the desk.

MICKEY
Here you are, boys.
(off the fifth chair)
This is the chair we give him for his birthday 
today.

FATSO
A lovable item.

Floogle cowers in fear under the desk.

MICKEY
Mmm. You're cute, too. By coincidence. I've
got that chair wired for electricity right over 
to my seat. 

Mickey picks up his chair to reveal a switch on its side.

MICKEY
When Mr. Bendix sits down, I throw this switch. 
The current paralyzes him so he can't go for 
his gat. That's when we let him have it. Now, 
for a recap. Number one, I throw the switch.

Mickey throws the switch. Electricity BUZZES and CRACKLES loudly. Floogle 
stares at the sparking chair beside him in horror.

MICKEY
Number two, we pull our guns.

The Gang pulls its guns.

MICKEY
Number three...

THE GANG
(points guns at chair, ad lib)
Boom! Boom!

MICKEY
Mr. Bendix passes out of the picture. The gang 
has a new leader -- me. Any objections?

THE GANG
(re-holstering their guns)
No. No.

MICKEY
All right, boys. Now, we understand each other, 
don't we?

THE LOOKOUT
(at the door, to the Gang)
Hey. The boss.

The Gang exits as Floogle, realizing there's not much time, tries to quietly 
open the chair and retrieve the goods.

Elsewhere in the building, the nattily-attired BILL BENDIX enters the 
darkened mansion.

BENDIX
(calls out)
Hey, Frog Face! 
(to himself)
Where is that butler?

Suddenly, the lights turn on and the Gang jumps out of various hiding places, 
scaring the hell out of him.

THE GANG
(ad lib)
Surprise! Surprise!

BENDIX
(stunned)
What's the big idea?

FATSO
Happy boithday!

THE GANG
(ad lib)
Yeah! Happy boithday!

BENDIX
(deeply relieved)
Oh, well, thanks very much fellas but don't 
ever scare me like that. You know my 
metabolism. 

Bendix takes a gigantic pill bottle out of his pocket and reads from it.

BENDIX
See, uh... 
(reads)
A. E, I don't need. D, I had at seven 
o'clock. F.

Bendix taps some Vitamin F pills into his hand and swallows them down dry.

BENDIX
You gotta go easy with me. Remember my ulcers.

MICKEY
Aw, I'm sorry, boss. We just wanted to 
celebrate.

FATSO
Yeah, that's all. Yeah. Yeah.

MICKEY
Say, we got another surprise for you. Right in 
the conference room.

BENDIX
You have? I-is it a big surprise?

MICKEY
It'll kill you.

BENDIX
Oh, well, I'd better prepare myself.

Bendix chug-a-lugs a few more pills from his bottle.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
The old double-entendre. Hard to sneak by the 
censors but, when you do, it's worth it.

Having steeled himself, Bendix, with His Gang, enters the office.

MICKEY
Look. It's a chair for your desk, boss. You 
can also sit in it.

BENDIX
Oh, gosh, that's byoo-ti-ful. It's a 
gen-yoo-ine antique, ain't it?

Still under the desk, Floogle, having sliced open the bottom of the seat, 
manages to pull wads of cash from it and greedily stuffs them in his jacket 
pockets.

MICKEY
Yeah, we went to a lot of trouble. We had the 
initials changed from T to B. B for Bendix.

BENDIX
You know, I hate the idea of birthdays. It 
grieves me to grow old.

MICKEY
Don't worry, boss -- you'll never grow old.

BENDIX
Hmm?

MICKEY
With the vitamin tablets, I mean.

BENDIX
Oh, yeah.

Mickey and Bendix laugh.

FATSO
Try sitting in it, boss. Go ahead.

BENDIX
Huh?

FATSO
Try sitting in it.

BENDIX
All right.

Bendix sits. Floogle tries to close up the opening in the bottom of the 
chair as Bendix starts bouncing up and down in the seat.

BENDIX
Oh, huh! Bouncy, ain't it?

Cash starts spewing out of the bottom of the chair, unnoticed by the Gang.

BENDIX
See that I do this fifteen minutes every day, 
boys. I feel like a jumping bean. Ha ha ha ha 
ha ha ha ha!

Annoyed, Floogle picks up the cash. Two of the Gang enter the office with a 
gigantic birthday cake and set it on the desk before Bendix as the Gang 
sings:

THE GANG
(roughly sung to "Here 
Comes the Bride")
Roses is red, 
Violets is blue.
Happy Birthday, Bill Bendix, 
And we do mean you!

The icing on the cake reads: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO A PAL, FROM HIS PALS

BENDIX
Oh, that's nice, boys. And a very nice song. 
Who wrote that?

FATSO
I did.

BENDIX
I like it. It's got sentiment. It's got a 
good melody. It's original. It sounds 
familiar. Anybody got a knife?

Instantly and ominously, they all whip out their knives. Bendix flinches.

BENDIX
(realizes it was 
a silly question)
Heh. 

Under the desk, Floogle hurriedly stuffs cash down his socks. On the desk, 
Bendix cuts the cake.

BENDIX
Here ya are, Fatso.

FATSO
Not too much, boss. I'm on a diet.

BENDIX
For you, Mickey.

MICKEY
Thanks.

BENDIX
Knot-Head, you got a sweet tooth.

KNOT-HEAD
Dat's the only tooth I got.

The six members of the Gang sit around the desk, eating cake. Bendix sits in 
his wired chair.

BENDIX
And, now, I've, uh, just made out the annual 
report and, as stockholders in the corporation, 
I think you might be interested in hearing it.

THE GANG
(mouths full)
Sure. Sure.

BENDIX
Number of members at the beginning o the year: 
thirty-two. Held as prisoners: fourteen. 
Killed in line of duty: eight. Executed: three. 

The Gang removes its fedoras and places them against their hearts for a 
reverent Moment Of Silence.

BENDIX
That leaves us seven stockholders, all present.

THE GANG
(ad lib)
Right. Yeah. Present.

BENDIX
(reads)
Now, we got the following assets. During the 
fiscal year, the corporation engaged in five 
hold-ups, totaling twenty thousand two hundred 
and eighty-two dollars and twenty cents. 
(genuinely)
Nice work, boys. 

The Gang nods and smiles and eats their cake.

BENDIX
(reads)
Pinball machines, total take: ninety-eight 
thousand six hundred and forty-two dollars and 
ten cents. Minus ten cents when one machine 
accidentally paid off.

GANGSTER
Someone's slippin'!

BENDIX
Well, we had the machine fixed and it will 
never happen again.

The Gang nods.

BENDIX
(reads)
Counterfeit money still on hand: three billion 
dollars.

Under the desk, Floogle doesn't like the sound of that and pulls one of the 
bills from his pocket to inspect it.

BENDIX
That concludes the assets. Liabilities. Bail: 
five hundred thousand dollars. This is a saving 
of ten thousand dollars over the last fiscal 
year.

The Gang APPLAUDS. Floogle, sensing the end is near, takes a swig of the 
whiskey decanter.

BENDIX
Vitamin tablets: two thousand three hundred and 
forty-six dollars.

MICKEY
Just a minute, Bill. 

BENDIX
What's the matter?

MICKEY
Why should we pay for your vitamin tablets? It 
isn't fair.

BENDIX
It distinctly says in the by-laws, which I 
wrote myself, that the corporation guarantees 
to take care of the health of the president 
until his term expires.

Bendix picks up his vitamin pill bottle and holds it close to him.

MICKEY
(rises)
Well, didn't you know, Bill? Your term is 
expired...

Mickey picks up his chair to reveal the switch.

BENDIX
What do you mean?


MICKEY
I'll show you.

Mickey hits the switch. Electricity BUZZES and CRACKLES. Bendix's body, 
instantly flooded with electricity, stiffens and quivers in his smoking 
chair. His face goes blank and his mouth pops open. The vitamin bottle in 
his hand shakes so vigorously that the pills RATTLE loudly and pop out like 
popcorn. Bendix's quivering legs vibrate Floogle under the desk as pills 
rain down from above. Floogle's body THUMPS loudly against the underside of 
the desk.

MICKEY
(off Bendix)
Let's relax him, boys.

The Gang rises and pulls its guns. A barrage of GUNSHOTS follow, at least 
ten or so. Floogle continues to vibrate in horror under the smoky, pill-
laden desk. Bendix's bullet-riddled body pitches forward on the desk. The 
Gang quickly removes its fedoras for another reverent Moment Of Silence.

MICKEY
(to Fatso)
Pull the switch.
(puts on his hat)
Now, boys, I'll read the services.

Mickey pauses at the weird THUMPING sound still coming from under the desk. 
Mickey looks under the desk and discovers Floogle, still vibrating badly.

MICKEY
What are you doing under here?

FRED FLOOGLE
I'm shaking. What do you think I'm doing?

MICKEY
Come out of there. Come on.

Mickey and Fatso pull Floogle out from under the desk and stand him upright.

MICKEY
You heard me. What are you doing under that 
desk?

FRED FLOOGLE
(still quivering)
Haven't you heard of the h-h-housing shortage?

FATSO
Hey, get the booze on his breath. He's drunk.

MICKEY
DTs have had us all.

Floogle plays along, putting a comradely arm around Mickey and Fatso's 
shoulders.

FRED FLOOGLE
(sings, badly)
Sweet Genevieve, Sweet Genevieve...

GANG MEMBER
Kick the drunk out!

MICKEY
We can't do that. He's a witness.

FATSO
Why don't we bury him with the boss? You know 
how the boss hated to be alone.

MICKEY
Hey, wait a minute. I've got a better idea 
than that.

Mickey and another gangster pick up Bendix's body.

MICKEY
(to Floogle)
Here. Want you to deliver this package for us. 

Mickey and the gangster place the body awkwardly on Floogle's back, with its 
arms over Floogle's shoulders

MICKEY
(to Floogle)
Here.

FRED FLOOGLE
(sings)
Sweet Genevieve, Sweet--

Floogle, hunched over with the great weight of Bendix on his back, looks 
rather ill at ease.

MICKEY
(to Floogle)
Comfortable?

FRED FLOOGLE
It's a little tight over the shoulders.

MICKEY
(to Floogle)
Take him down and dump him in the river.

FRED FLOOGLE
Which river?

MICKEY
(picking up his gun)
Get goin' or there'll be a double ceremony.

FRED FLOOGLE
(sings)
Sweet Genevieve...

Floogle, carrying Bendix, moves towards the exit, singing. The rest of the 
Gang follows, also singing.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

Floogle, still hunched over and carrying Bendix, struggles down the street. 
Mickey and Fatso trail behind.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
In this scene originally the gangster was to be 
taken for a ride. But the budget was cut again 
and we had to get him out of town piggy-back. 
In Hollywood circles, the actor giving the 
piggy-back is known as a supporting player.

Floogle, Bendix, Mickey, and Fatso are shadowed by Detective Sully who comes 
into view and ducks into a shop doorway. A moment later, Arnold follows and 
ducks into the same doorway.

MR. ARNOLD
I beg your--

DETECTIVE SULLY
Why don't you--? Oh, hello, Mr. Arnold. What 
are you doing--?

MR. ARNOLD
Do you see what I see?

DETECTIVE SULLY
Yeah. It's the Bendix Gang. Floogle must be a 
member.

MR. ARNOLD
Why, it looks as though the poor fellow 
committed another murder.

DETECTIVE SULLY
It's Bendix he's killed. Probably taken the 
whole mob over.

Farther up the street, Mickey spots a uniformed COP ON THE BEAT rounding a 
corner ahead. Mickey lays a hand on Fatso's stomach.

MICKEY
(whispers, to Fatso)
Cop.

Mickey and Fatso beat a hasty retreat, leaving Floogle to trudge on with 
Bendix's body over his shoulders. The cop turns to see Floogle as he 
approaches.

COP ON THE BEAT
Hey, what's this?

FRED FLOOGLE
(pauses, looks up, casually)
Oh, hello, Officer.

COP ON THE BEAT
What's the matter with your friend, buddy?

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, nothing much. He's... just dead, that's 
all.

COP ON THE BEAT
Dead drunk, you mean?

FRED FLOOGLE
Yeah.

Floogle and the cop start walking together, chatting nonchalantly.

COP ON THE BEAT
Been celebrating a little too much, huh?

FRED FLOOGLE
It's, uh, his birthday.

COP ON THE BEAT
Hmm. Had one shot too many, huh?

FRED FLOOGLE
He didn't know he was loaded.

Floogle laughs and the cop joins in heartily.

COP ON THE BEAT
(pats Bendix on the back)
Well, many happy returns on the day.

The cop leaves. Arnold and Sully watch from their doorway.

MR. ARNOLD
Why don't you tell the cop to arrest him?

DETECTIVE SULLY
And let the cop take all the credit? Not me, 
buddy.

After rounding a corner into an alley, Bendix awakens and climbs down off of 
Floogle's back. Floogle keeps trudging along, hunched over, as Bendix peers 
warily out of the alley for any sign of Mickey and Fatso. After a moment or 
two, Floogle realizes he's been relieved of his burden. He stops.

FRED FLOOGLE
Wait a minute. Something's wrong here 
someplace.

Floogle feels around his back for Bendix but finds nothing.

FRED FLOOGLE
I've been robbed.

Floogle turns and straightens up to see a very-much-alive Bendix who greets 
him cheerily with a wave and a smile.

BENDIX
Hi ya, pal!

Floogle's eyes pop, his jaw drops, and he faints dead away.

FRED FLOOGLE
Ohhh...

Bendix looks down at Floogle's unconscious body with mild disgust.

BENDIX
I knew it. Vitamin deficiency. Well, 
turnabout is fair play.

Bendix picks up Floogle's body, throws it over his shoulder, carries it to 
some boxes stacked in the alley, and sets it in an upright sitting position. 
Bendix takes out a spare bottle of vitamin pills (which he always carries 
with him, we can be sure) and snarfs down a couple of pills. Then, he waves 
the open bottle beneath Floogle's nose to revive him. Floogle quickly 
revives.

BENDIX
How do you feel now?

FRED FLOOGLE
I don't know. I-I never talked to a ghost 
before.

BENDIX
Oh, I'm not a ghost. You see, with my vitamin 
pills...
(brandishes his bottle)
... and my bullet proof vest...

Bendix opens his coat jacket to reveal a thick vest studded with bullets.

BENDIX
... they couldn't kill me. I just fainted from
the noise.

Floogle watches as Bendix pulls the bullets out of his vest one at a time and 
drops them to the ground where they CLATTER noisily. Bendix pockets his pill 
bottle.

BENDIX
See, I'm allergic to noise.

Bendix hears FOOTSTEPS coming down the street and cautiously peers out. He 
can't see anything but assumes the Gang is on his trail.

BENDIX
Mickey and Fatso -- two of my unloyal 
stockholders. The rats! 
(hands Floogle a gun)
Can you shoot?

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, I -- I don't know.

BENDIX
Now, we're in a fine fix. I can't either.

FRED FLOOGLE
Well, I thought you were a gangster.

BENDIX
Oh, no. Not by choice. You see, the Gang was 
bequeathed to me by Machine Gun Molly.

FRED FLOOGLE
Machine Gun Molly?

BENDIX
My mother.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh.

After a reverent Moment of Silence, Bendix pulls out his pill bottle again.

BENDIX
You see, I-I love the birds and the bees and 
the flowers and the trees and my vitamin pills. 
If I hadn't've been drummed out of the Campfire 
Boys...

Out on the street, Detective Sully carefully approaches the mouth of the 
alley. Bendix pockets his pills and prepares to deal with the interloper. 
Sully pauses at the mouth of the alley when he hears a voice-over from Fred 
Allen:

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Sully, you're getting warm.

Sully peers directly into the CAMERA.

DETECTIVE SULLY
(to Fred Allen)
Did you see where they went?

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
They went that-a-way.

Sully points quizzically into the alley and nods to the CAMERA.

DETECTIVE SULLY
(to Fred Allen)
Oh. Thanks.

Sully ventures into the alley where he is waylaid by an angry Bendix who 
throttles him by the neck. Bendix mistakes him for a Gang member.

BENDIX
(yelling)
All I want out of life is a little place with a 
running brook and some chickens. Instead of 
that--

FRED FLOOGLE
(rises, recognizing the victim)
Sully!

BENDIX
A copper!

DETECTIVE SULLY
(recognizing his attacker)
Bendix! I thought you were dead.

BENDIX
I am.

Sully's eyes pop, his jaw drops, and he faints dead away.

BENDIX
(to Floogle)
Now, you've got me in a jam with the police.

Bendix places Sully on the boxes. Floogle hears a noise in the street and 
motions with the gun toward the mouth of the alley.

FRED FLOOGLE
Somebody else is coming.

Floogle tries to hand the gun to Bendix.

BENDIX
(off the gun)
Aw, no. I ain't gonna get my fingerprints on 
that.
(pushes Floogle toward the street)
You take this one.

In the street, Mr. Arnold approaches the mouth of the alley, looks left and 
right, then glances into the CAMERA with a supplicatory gesture.

MR. ARNOLD
(coolly)
I know.

Mr. Arnold enters the alley. Floogle tries to waylay him just as Bendix had 
done to Sully but Arnold merely throws Floogle to the ground judo-style. 
Picking Floogle up off the ground, Arnold forces him violently against a 
brick wall.

FRED FLOOGLE
Bendix! Bendix! What do I do now?

Bendix panics and tries to revive Sully.

BENDIX
(to an unconscious Sully)
You're a cop. Stop them -- they're killing 
each other.

Floogle has somehow managed to jump on Arnold's back. But Arnold spins him 
around, in the manner of a well-rehearsed professional wrestler. Bendix 
cringes at the horrific sight and ducks behind some boxes to hide. Arnold 
throws Floogle to the ground, then bends down over his inert body and starts 
pulling the money from his pockets. 

In the street, Homer arrives at the mouth of the alley and peers in. He 
rushes to his father's aid. Arnold fails to see Homer pick up Bendix's gun. 
Homer CLOBBERS Arnold with the gun, knocking him unconscious. Homer snatches 
the money out of Arnold's hand. Floogle awakens. Homer rushes to him, money 
in hand.

HOMER FLOOGLE
Dad!

FRED FLOOGLE
Homer! You saved my life! 
(instantly snatching at the cash)
Give me that money...

Bendix peers out from behind some boxes.

BENDIX
(off Arnold's body)
You shouldn't've done that to a total stranger.

FRED FLOOGLE
Total stranger? This guy had me put in jail 
-- he ruined my daughter's wedding -- he 
killed my grand-uncle and tried to put the 
blame on me...

BENDIX
Why don't you make him confess?

FRED FLOOGLE
Confess? How?

BENDIX
I know lots of ways but some of them is awful 
cruel.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. BENDIX'S MANSION - NIGHT

Minutes later. Bendix stands over Jefferson T. Pike and Mr. Arnold and 
conducts what appears to be a kangaroo court trial. Pike and Arnold sit in
front of him with glum faces, their bodies unseen for the moment.

BENDIX
Jefferson T. Pike! Didn't you kill Frederick F. 
Trumble by causing a bullet to unlawfully enter 
his head?

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
No.

BENDIX
(unconvinced)
Hmmph.
(to Arnold)
Didn't you, John Doe, do ditto?

MR. ARNOLD
No.

BENDIX
(unconvinced)
Hmmph.

We PULL BACK to reveal that Pike and Arnold sit in old-fashioned, Puritan-
style stocks, their hands and bare feet sticking uncomfortably through holes 
in a wooden frame. Directly beneath their four bare feet are four lit 
candles. Floogle and Homer look on as Bendix points to the nearby antique 
chairs.

BENDIX
(to Pike, off the chairs)
You never saw these chairs before in spite of 
the fact we found them in your office?

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
No.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
We saved a little money here. By killing one 
villain in the cafe scene, we saved two candles. 
It all adds up, you know.

Bendix sits in one of the chairs and glances up at Floogle who stands nearby.

BENDIX
(to Floogle)
Rest yours.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, thank you.
(Floogle sits next to him)
You'll never get these guys to confess.

BENDIX
Keep your shirt on. 
(off the burning candles)
Things'll start cookin' in a minute.

HOMER FLOOGLE
Why, this is an old Puritan custom.

BENDIX
Yes, but the hotfoot part was my mother's idea, 
rest her soul. 
(a Moment Of Silence, 
then, to Pike and Arnold)
When you gentlemen are ready to 
confess, please signify by saying "Ouch." 
(to Floogle)
I can't look at this -- nudge me.

A pause. Then Pike and Arnold start SCREAMING.

FRED FLOOGLE
Homer! Start typing!

Homer rushes to a nearby typewriter.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. BENDIX'S MANSION - NIGHT

Minutes later. Bendix looks on as Homer pecks away at the typewriter and 
Floogle speaks on the telephone.

FRED FLOOGLE
(into the phone)
Yes, Eve, everything is all right now. Hold 
the wedding -- I'll be home in five minutes. 

Floogle hangs up.

BENDIX
Read the confession.

Pike and Arnold remain in the stocks, listening glumly.

FRED FLOOGLE
(reads)
I, Jefferson T. Pike, being of sound mind and 
blistered feet, do solemnly swear to looting 
the Trumble estate, forging checks, killing 
Trumble, and destroying the phonograph record.

BENDIX
(to Pike)
Right?

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
Yes.

BENDIX
And you, Arnold, you killed Gardiner because 
you didn't want to split that dough three ways, 
is that right?

MR. ARNOLD
Yes.

BENDIX
Ah. One more thing. Where is the chair with 
the moolah?

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
Moolah?

BENDIX
The three hundred thousand dollars.

JEFFERSON T. PIKE
If I only knew.

HOMER FLOOGLE
Why, Mr. Bendix, I believe that's in the chair 
the boys gave you for your birthday.

BENDIX
What? 
(awestruck)
Three hundred thousand dollars. The first money 
I ever came by honestly.

Bendix walks off in a daze.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. FLOOGLE'S SUITE - CLOSING MONTAGE - NIGHT

Busby, the Lilliputian hotel manager, enters with a humongous wedding cake.

BUSBY
(sings)
Here comes the bride! Here comes the bride! 
(talking to himself)
This'll be the biggest social event of the 
season. 
(places cake on table)
Reminds me of my own wedding day. Also reminds 
me of my wife.

At that dark thought, he scurries away. Elsewhere, Eve opens the door to 
Marion's room where a maid helps Marion with the final touches on a stunning 
wedding gown.

EVE FLOOGLE
Darling, your father will be here in five 
minutes.

MARION FLOOGLE
I'll be ready, Mother.

EVE FLOOGLE
Oh, you look beautiful.

Eve closes the door and walks away, lost in happy thought.

EVE FLOOGLE
(to herself)
My only daughter. 
(to the CAMERA)
And am I glad to get rid of her.

Eve hurries to the groom's room and KNOCKS.

EVE FLOOGLE
(calls through the door)
How is the groom? Nearly ready?

In the groom's room, Perry and his father suit up in tuxedos, near a mirror.

PERRY PARKER
(calls out, to Eve)
In a minute!

Parker's tux doesn't quite fit.

PARKER
(to Perry, off the tux)
In-law's suits never fit. Remember that, son.

PERRY PARKER
Oh, it'll be all right, Dad. 

Perry turns in horror at the sight of a flashing neon sign attached to the 
back of Parker's tux.

PERRY PARKER
Dad! Not at the wedding!

The neon sign reads: "PARKER'S PASTO KILLS FLEAS" -- Parker checks himself 
out in the mirror.

PARKER
Why not? It'll be the greatest advertisement 
we ever had.

Perry looks at his father doubtfully.

Two orderlies carry a sleeping, pajama-clad Dr. Greengrass out of his room on 
a stretcher. The well-dressed wedding guests watch with confusion as he 
SNORES loudly and then abruptly awakes and sits up straight in the stretcher 
as the orderlies pass Busby's humongous wedding cake.

DR. GREENGRASS
Aaaah! They finally brought the dessert! 

They pause in front of the cake. Greengrass eyes it critically.

DR. GREENGRASS
Where's the maraschino?! I distinctly ordered 
a maraschino! 

Greengrass grabs the entire cake off the table.

DR. GREENGRASS
Take me to the manager! What kind of a hotel 
is this?!

GREENGRASS' DOCTOR (o.s.)
Quiet!

DR. GREENGRASS
No maraschino!

A platoon of uniformed police officers burst in. They escort Floogle who 
enters and looks around. Eve sees him.

EVE FLOOGLE
Fred! I thought you were free!

FRED FLOOGLE
Of course I'm free. I just brought the Police 
Glee Club home with me.

THE GLEE CLUB
(hitting a note)
Dooooo!

FRED FLOOGLE
That's plenty, boys! We'll save the rest for 
the ceremony.

Elsewhere, Parker confers with the MINISTER.

PARKER
Have you been paid yet?

THE MINISTER
Why, no.

PARKER
You'd better get it in advance.

Parker leaves the Minister and confronts Floogle and Eve.

PARKER
(holding Floogle's bad check)
There's the little matter of a check, old man.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, yes. 
(hands a huge wad of cash to Eve)
Would you hold this money, please?
(takes the bad check from Parker)
Twenty-five thousand dollars, wasn't it?

PARKER
That's right.

FRED FLOOGLE
(tears up check, throws it to floor)
Well, we'll just let bygones be bygones. And 
after the ceremony I'll thank you to get your 
ant paste and mousetrap off my premises.

Floogle briskly walks off, past Marty the Goniff who demonstrates the 
mousetrap to an apple-chomping Detective Sully.

MARTY THE GONIFF
(to Sully)
You see, this is a mousetrap...

FRED FLOOGLE
(to Marty, off the trap)
Say, I've got one just like that at home.

Without waiting for a comment, Floogle rushes up to Marion's room.

FRED FLOOGLE
(calls out)
Marion, you can come out now! The dress has 
been paid for!

The maid opens the door to reveal Marion in all her bridal finery.

MARION FLOOGLE
(glad to see him)
Dad!

Busby, the height-challenged hotel manager, enters the suite, carrying a 
small, stuffed mounted, moose's body -- with no head. He presents it to 
Floogle and Marion.

BUSBY
Compliments of the management!

FRED FLOOGLE
What is this?

BUSBY
The rest of the moose.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh! Oh, yes. Thanks, old man. 

Two hotel employees follow behind, carrying the giant moose head. The head 
is clearly too large for the body.

FRED FLOOGLE
(off the head)
Wait a minute, Busby. That doesn't fit.

BUSBY
Doesn't fit? 
(briskly, to the employees)
Attach!

The employees miraculously attach the moose head to the body. It looks 
ridiculous but it actually does seem to fit somehow.

FRED FLOOGLE
Oh, yes. My mistake. I'm sorry. It's 
perfect.

Floogle walks off chuckling, with Marion on his arm. They approach the 
minister. Everyone is in their place. The wedding is about to begin.

THE MINISTER
Are we all here?

Suddenly, the tribe of Native American Indians that tried to sell Floogle a 
blanket bursts in, beating war drums and hollering in a convivial, if 
stereotypical, fashion.

FRED FLOOGLE
(annoyed)
All we need now is a brass band.

Instantly, the tribe is followed by a skimpily-clad, all-girl brass band 
(with a baton-twirler, no less) BLARING a merry march tune. Floogle's eyes 
pop, his jaw drops, and he stares in shock into the CAMERA. The band marches 
through the suite. Busby hops atop some furniture and yells:

BUSBY
Compliments of the management!

Dr. Greengrass, in full tribal regalia, hollers a war cry and starts dancing.

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Well, that's it, folks -- you've just seen a 
picture made with a hundred and twenty-three 
relatives, five chairs, and four fleas. 

After the band marches past the CAMERA, the rest of the cast follows along: 
Marty the Goniff carries the mousetrap and tries to sell it to Detective 
Sully...

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
Don't let anybody tell you this is one of those 
Hollywood million dollar productions. 

...Marion and Perry gaze into each others eyes and kiss...

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
A million dollars today is peanuts. 

...Parker marches past the CAMERA and turns his back to it to reveal the 
glowing PARKER'S PASTO KILLS FLEAS sign affixed to his tuxedo jacket...

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
And speaking of peanuts, on your way out, 
folks... 

...Fred and Eve Floogle walk by, arm in arm. Eve reminds Floogle of 
something...

FRED FLOOGLE
(to Eve)
That's right!
(into the CAMERA)
You'll have to come back for the next show!
(jerks a thumb)
Immediate seating on the inside!

FRED ALLEN (v.o.)
... don't forget to buy some popcorn. It's in 
the bag, folks!

The Police Glee Club marches by as we finally...

FADE THE HECK OUT