P106-The Car Accident(Rough Draft)

Harold gets into a car accident and is forced to walk down the 405 while trying to remember how the accident happened, trying to deliver an important package to the closed post office, and trying to deliver a gallon of milk for his wife.

This is something I've promised for a very long time, one of the few Presenter episodes that I thought had such potential that it would be worth writing about, but ultimately, like all of my ambitious ideas, it blew apart the minute I realized I wouldn't be up to the task of writing an entire episode, plus, the creative spark that lead to the episode's inception just hasn't returned in a versatile way. Despite those shortcomings, to satisfy the "audience" I have, I will post the incomplete first draft of the episode. Things to note: this draft only has half of the ideas from the original premise. Things that weren't included is a scene of 3-4 minutes of Harold talking to the milk as though it was his companion, similar to how I talk to myself in a state of paranoia when I'm alone for a period of time; another scene is where Harold is picked by a friendly stranger but kicked out when Harold decides to eat only a third of a candy bar; and even the original premise didn't have an ending. Admittedly, this premise borrows heavily from elements of Curb Your Enthusiasm, only exaggerated to levels even Larry David would never consider. The dialogue isn't as "fresh" as I remembered when I first tried to write this and may seem to be more disturbing than hilarious. Maybe I've become a harsh self-critic but recently, everything I've written hasn't been up to my standards, whatever those may be. Also, Season 3 will be posted very soon, but it will be the last season. I do love the premise of the Presenters, but I think it's time to move on. With that said, don't take this script very seriously as everything written is only for the sake of comedy, even if it's unfunny comedy. Thanks for reading and enjoy (if you do). Comments are always welcome. 

Things (in parenthesis) are alternatives to lines written. They also indicate actions the characters make. A (weird) running joke is that Harold's wife doesn't have a name. This issue is addressed with in a later episode.

(Amateur Version) A blank screen. Unlike previous episodes, it opens with the theme from Curb Your Enthusiasm. The song plays for several seconds until cutting to a flashing siren and a loud wail. We cut to tow officers discussing the wreckage. Another cut shows the 405 still active although there's a noticeable curve of red lights and a patch of red, blue, and white. Another cut shows a car that has been flipped upside down. The camera moves towards the front of the car and the vague representation of fingers curled around the wheel. At this point, the song abruptly stops; a close up reveals Harold, still grabbing tightly onto the wheel, eyes blank and staring straight ahead at the road or sky. He looks quickly to the left and the right and unbuckles his seat belt. His body drops onto the floor, and his head bounces off the surface. In a panic, he searches around his car, and sees a gallon of milk, still strapped in the back seat. He carefully unbuckles it and grabs once it drops. An outside shot shows the side door trembling until a foot pushes it out. Harold carefully crawls out of the car. Once out, he turns back and sees the wreckage just as a fire ignites from the underside.

Harold: Hmm...
Harold sees an officer making a call and walks up to him.
Harold: Scuse me.
Officer #1: Hm?
Harold: Are you busy?
Officer 1: A little. Wait just a second.

Harold waits and checks on the damage of the car. A weird feeling creeps in on Harold and he begins coughing and hacking up loudly. Off camera, he spits out his cell phone.

Officer 1: Sir, what seems to be the problem?
Harold: (cleaning up the spit with his sleeve) Uh, well, I was the person who just had an accident. I, uh, climbed out of my car. I might have damaged my internal organs!
Officer 1: Sir, calm down. You look fine. Please return to your vehicle.
Harold: Is that a joke?!
Officer 1: Yes. Terrible, isn’t it?
Harold: Where are the paramedics? I, I need to get checked out. Something might be out of place!
Officer 1: Straight ahead. And don’t scream in front of an officer. You could be seen as a threat. (walks away)
Harold: (raises his hand) Won’t do that again. Sorry. (under his breath) Asshole.

Harold turns again to see the damage on his vehicle. (He pulls his wallet out and whimpers upon realizing the amount it will be to repair his car, or at least to be sold to a foolish buyer). Harold sees the paramedics.

Harold: Uh, scuse me?
Paramedic 1: What’s the problem, sir?
Harold: well, I just got into an accident and I was wondering if I might have any broken bones, or anything in that criteria.
Paramedic 2: What criteria?
Harold: Well, you know, the physical damage to the body. Look, can you just check me?
Paramedic 1: (shrugging at Paramedic 2) You look fine. Most people probably couldn’t walk up to us if their bones were broken. You did, so…
Harold: Walking is nothing! I might’ve gotten a temporary dose of adrenaline. My stomach might’ve been pierced. My small intestine twisted up! Please, just a quick checkup!
Paramedic 2: Sir!! You’re fine! Now, please, we have to see if everyone else is okay.
Harold: And who could that be?! I have the only upside down car right now!
Paramedic 1: Sir!
Harold: All right. God! (walks away)

Harold feels a rumble in his pants. He checks his phone. A close-up shows 6 missed calls from the Editor.

Harold: Oh, shit. (pushes send) ...helloooo?
The Editor: Harold, what the fuck happened to you? When I call a person, I expect him to fucking answer!
Harold: I know, I know. I’m sorry. I…I just got into an accident and-
The Editor: Harold, (don’t start flinging this shit in my direction). You’re supposed to be the reliable one.
Harold: I know.
The Editor: For God’s sake, I have to constantly hear this hullabaloo from those idiots you call friends and suddenly I get the same fucking routine from you?
Harold: Sir, it’s not a routine. I was driving down the 405 in a hurry, I black out for a second, and suddenly I’m upside down-
The Editor: Harold, you’re full of shit. Listen, I need you to do something for me.
Harold: What is it?
The Editor: There’s a really important package that you need to pick up from the post office.
Harold: Uh, I think it’s-
The Editor: I’ll text you the address. Now hurry. And next time, I will call you only once. If you don’t respond, you’ll be kicked out of my responsible list. Understood?
Harold: Yes, but-
The Editor: See you tomorrow. (hangs up)
Harold: How am I going to get there? (closes his phone) Damn it.

Harold holds his phone tightly and remembers the gallon of milk. He goes back to the car and picks it up. He begins walking away from the wreckage and towards the edge of the freeway when a huge explosion stops him. He turns back and sees his car smoldering and burning.

Harold: Course.

Harold walks away from the worse wreckage and walks into the darkness.

Harold shakes the gallon of milk to make sure it doesn't have any punctures or holes. Harold feels his phone vibrating and answers it.

Harold: Hello?
Wife: Hi, honey!
Harold: Oh, hi, (), how are you?
Wife: Fine, fine. Just been working on my (stuff). It's taking me a goddamn hour to complete it. How are you?
Harold: Uhhh...don't get worried. I'm fine...I kinda got into an accident-
Wife: WHAT?! Oh my god, are you okay?!
Harold: Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine, I only have a few scratches. 'Cording to the paramedics, I'm perfectly fine if I can take a few steps forward.
Wife: Oh, that's a relief! Did you get the milk?
Harold:  What?
Wife: The milk?
Harold:  Oh, the milk. Yes, it was...my second passenger. In fact, it was the first thing I thought about after I got flipped upside down that the milk was still intact.
Wife: I'm sorry, but you know how important the milk is for the cake. It's a specific brand that's very popular-
Harold:  I know, I know. I'm sorry, honey. Didn't mean to overreact on you.
Wife: It's okay. You have the milk, right?
Harold:  Honey, I'm cradling it in my arms as we speak.
(Wife: Good. Do you want me to pick you up?
Harold: You could...uh, it's gonna be a little tricky, though.
Wife: You can just stay at the edge of the highway and wait for me to pick you up.
Harold: I know, but...there's a lot of rapists in dark places. (You might not want to pick me up when you arrive.)
Wife: Harold, don't be silly. No one's sane enough(going) to rape you.
Harold:  How do you know?!
Wife: Harold.
Harold:  Sorry, sorry.
Wife: Where exactly are you?
Harold: You know that giant hotel that's right at the crossroads of the 405?
Wife: You know...I'm just gonna use the GPS. I'll be over there pretty soon.
Harold:  All right, see you later, then.
Wife: Bye. Don't get raped.)

She hangs up.

Harold: I'll try not to. Harold: Hmm...
.......................
If you want to see a visual interpretation of this scene, go here.

Now What? - A Death in the Family

October 11, 1011...
I’m afraid to type about anything this week since it’s mostly very personal. Also, I have a crapload of work due next week, but that’s probably everyone’s situation. My brother hastily admitted that things have taken a turn for the worst since I left, and although it’s an expected reaction, it doesn’t make me any less guilty for “causing” it. My brother is only 13 years old, and only begun to realize how many challenges life will give him, and while I can advise him on most things, saying goodbye to your big brother is something he and I guess, all of my family, will have to learn to deal with, eventually. And to think the only problem I thought I had this week involved telling someone my religious affiliation (that doesn’t exist…yet.) As a creative thinker, an occasional thought can be something I love to dwell in for hours at a time, but sometimes, I suddenly get shoved right into a really uncomfortable thought that takes much effort and/or time to escape from. This week’s really terrible thought stems from the ongoing feeling I’ve had for this friend of mine. I never would’ve assumed anything about her, as to the possibility of a relationship and would’ve just waited to see what happen, but that’s never the way it works for me. The minute a conversation ends, my mind races with the numerous amounts of possibilities that this may lead to. I don’t know why that always happens, but I just can’t help it. It’s an internalized bad habit, and that much more difficult to break. In other news, I have a job. It’s not a very intense job, so…yeah, progress all around. Truthfully, I have nothing else to say about this week; in fact talking about anything just stresses me out further as I have to analyze on the many mistakes I keep making, and I’d prefer to just sleep on it right now. Sorry, bit of a cop out, but I couldn’t give any less of a damn right now.

October 25, 2011...
The wheel of life continues to spin on a flat. Since last week, and although I’ve had the support of my friends and loved ones, I’m still in a state of shock. The whole matter seems to be very simple and almost painfully complicated all at once. People keep asking me how I feel, and I can’t answer properly. How am I supposed to feel? Should be I grieving immensely, faking happiness to fill the hole, crying uncontrollably, or damning cars forever for being people killers? In a specific sense, I feel absolutely nothing at all, but much like there was no time in the beginning of the universe, at this moment, I might be experiencing every possible emotion but choose not to decipher any of them.  To assign a feeling to my current state of mind feels cheap and artificial, just posting another symptom on the goddamn bulletin board, and since there’s no pin, it’ll stick right off. It’s been more difficult than on Saturday, when I went shopping for the first time (don’t judge me, at least I did it), it was the first time I realized how distant we truly were: the distance of myself at the ancient, filthy bus station and her body back in El Salvador. The distance of her and I: infinite. Life does go on, and much like Spielberg bringing Seinfeld tapes with him on the set of Schindler’s List, I will do the same by listing off my favorite Seinfeld episodes on my blog, an unoriginal idea but…fff!! Also, my feelings towards a certain someone grew unexpectedly. As I’ve mentioned, life can be pretty complicated about things like that.

November 1, 2011...
This is it! November will be my month of triumph. No longer will I hinder my own progress on long-term projects by watching comedies until 1 in the morning.  No longer will I stare at a blank page for hours with all of my books and resources carelessly spilled out onto the tables. No longer will I grovel about how much of a failure I am. No, enough is enough! I will be a college student! Wait, hold on… How many papers have I written in two months? 5, technically, and have I enjoyed writing those papers? Well, yes, since I chose the subject for each. As it turns out, I’m already a college student and have been one since August 24. There might be one overarching problem that continues to be a problem, but in all other regards, life as a college student has been wonderful. By joining a fraternity, I’m learning about how to be a responsible person in an irresponsible world, whatever that means. I set my own schedule, do my own laundry, and so on, and so forth. I finally have two jobs and making enough to live by, and overall, I’m amazed at the amount of friends I’ve made in the first 2 months after fearing I would only make a couple. Of course, seeing if those friendships will remain by the end of the year is another story. No one ever considers that unless they have a personal relationship with their friends; usually, we stroll across the days thinking it’ll be the same for the rest of our college experience, unaware of the possibility of change. Whether or not that possibility makes us happy or not is another question to ask on another day. Either way, it’s going pretty well so far, and aside from the warmth that grows in our dorm, I’ve got no complaints…yet.

Editor's note: October 18th's entry was The Twentisecond One, with a few edits before posting. 

NW? - This Room...                                        NW? - Fixing the Flat

Accident on Freeman Ave.

Originally typed in 8th grade.
 
This is the beginning of my creative writing career, and the very first time I was able to express myself without censoring my thoughts. Also, it was the final project for my 8th grade creative writing class. Since this was my most enjoyable project of the year, it did take a while to realize the story is severely flawed and incomplete. The story has an interesting plot, but it moves quickly and never feels complete. I remember a generous ovation the first time I presented the story to the class, but for an eighth grade story, it is depressing and overly dark and paints a picture towards how my first year was in a new school. Even with a story like this, it still has to be acknowledged as an important first step in my exploration of a new idea, and as life shows, every mistake is a step forward. Inappropriate content ahead. Read with caution.

Part 1

Everything is black. I don’t hear a noise. I guess no one else is here. I take off the sheets and try to walk. I fall straight to the floor. My back is really killing me, my feet feel like mush, and my spine seems as fragile as glass. Damn. That annoying ring tone is playing again. It seems like forever till I grab the cell phone from the table. I accidentally push some ornaments and they fall on the floor and break on impact, the water splashing on my fingers. I check whose calling me and at that moment, I lose my breath. I frantically crawl to the kitchen, open the refrigerator door, and gulp down a bottle of water. I check who it is again and find out it was from my friend Elizabeth. It was a text message that read, “GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE! WE NEED TO TALK!” If Elizabeth doesn’t use the landline phone, I can tell it’s not good news. It feels like forever till I can finally stand up and walk normally. Forgetting that I actually have a car, I toddle to Elizabeth’s house while negative thoughts are pouring into my mind. Why does she want to see me? Why is she infuriated? Why in hell did she use the word ass? Walking nervously to the front door, I touch the doorbell and get an unexpected reaction. She opens the door and I become aware of her eyes filled with tears, runny nose, quivering mouth, she held tissues tightly in her hands, and says, “Curt’s dead!”

For a reason I can’t explain, I accidentally say, “whose dead?”

“That’s not funny!” she yells while wiping away her tears. “You know what I’m talking about, JOHN!” She’s right about one thing. I do know Curt but I don’t know why she’s yelling. Curt, a quarterback for the high school, known as a jock, always had a huge ego, and my best friend. He always acted like an ass at our high school years but we had been friends since preschool, always shared laughs and told ourselves inappropriate things at sleepovers. Yeah, nothing would keep our friendship apart…or so I thought. The day I thought as hell turned out to be more than that…it’s also death. “Do you remember that accident, John?”

“Don’t remind me about that day, damn it!”

“He was your best friend and you killed him because of your carelessness!”

“Now wait just a-“I stumbled back and sat on the couch by the wall. Killed Curt? Why the hell is she saying that I killed Curt? “That’s crazy talk! I wasn’t anywhere near Curt when-“

“Well you could’ve at least stopped him before he did the last decision of his life. You didn’t think at all of what could’ve happened and…” she went on and on and on for minutes but it felt like forever, the most painful torture I could ever get.

“Okay, I’ve had enough of this! I’m getting the hell out of here!” I leapt off the couch, stormed towards the door and flung the door open.

“You step out of my house and I’m calling the cops. Then you’ll become a runaway and your life will become so screwed up that you’ll want to commit suicide!” Those words flew into my eardrums, became transmitted into my brain, and chilled the rest of my body. But I still grabbed the door handle and slammed the door shut. I start running for my life and wondered if she was bluffing but I didn’t want to take any chances. I immediately reach home and turn off all the lights. By this time, I’m breathless and fall to the floor. Can’t believe this. Of all the crappiest things that ever happened to me, this is the whole shitload. Things have happened and I can’t change it. But I still remember that accident clear as day and maybe I can reveal whose fault it truly is.

Part 2

A normal, cloudless afternoon, students from campus with vehicles would drive away to hang out with their girlfriends, or go to the movies, or whatever the hell they would do after school. I, on the other hand, would just drive home and type on the laptop for hours and hours and hours, thinking that I’ve wasted my entire life. Then there’s Freeman Ave, a crosswalk which gave me frozen nerves, every time. I had a certain feeling that sometime, at that very crosswalk, chaos would strike. And strike it did. Kurt was driving next to me in a Honda Accord, in shimmering jade. I drove a Volkswagen Buggy, in unembellished red. By the millions of times he was beeping that horn, I could tell that he wanted to race. No damn way was I gonna risk my neck in an insipid stunt as that so I drove away, trying to lose him. Unfortunately, I had just “started” the race so he tried to catch up. I couldn’t take this any longer so I called him on my cell phone and screamed the F-bomb in his ears. He knew that I wasn’t kidding so he said fuck back at me, told me he was gonna find some other sucker to race, and then hung up. Curt began screaming towards random people to race and they either called him drunk or a mentally retarded ass. One person reluctantly agreed and the race was on. This would be his fatal mistake. I drove behind them, in case anything happened. It was an intense race with twists, turns, and nearby runovers. Ironically, the next street coming was Freeman Ave. Curt was in the lead. He didn’t look at the traffic lights. From our side, it turned red so the other side just became green. The cars kept driving even though Curt was in full view. I jumped out of my car before someone rammed into it. The other guy smashed Curt’s car from behind and pushed it forward. Curt’s car was instantly crashed from the left and began spiraling when another car smashed it from the front. People began dialing their cell phones and calling for help. When his car began to spiral, I just ran away from the scene and hoped that he was okay. I had fainted while running and then everything went blank. The last thing I remember is the wailing of ambulances.

My god…the worst thing that could’ve happened but I survived and he didn’t. And it’s my entire fault. Had I’ve told him not to insane enough or imprudent enough to race in the hazardous, urban city he would still be alive right now, enjoying popularity, acting like a big ass big shot, and snapping twigs while playing football. I grab my skull tightly and massage my brain to think clearly; what do I do, should I accept his death, should I move on, should I…cry? A big boom disables my concentration and suddenly the door flies off. It’s smashed into the wall and breaks into pieces instantaneously. That bitch did call the police and wants me to pay for my crime. Another option pops into my head and I choose it immediately as it came: Run. I climb from the floor and rush to the bathroom. Bullets are instantly fired and destroy everything in sight. I nudge the window open, inch by inch and leap out. It’s a painful landing as I fall on some razor-sharp, bristly bushes. I wait for a while and quickly rush under the sewers. One sniff and I start coughing like hell. The odors of dead animals, shit and urine from all over the city mix with the sea green, chocolate-imitating liquid all in one ostentatious aroma. Well, are you happy now, you bitch?! I’m a runaway from a murder which is believed to be my entire fault, police are chasing me day in and day out, and you’re dead, Curt! Form loss of blood, smashed bones, shards of broken glass piercing your skin, I don’t know how it happened but you’re dead…and very soon, when the cops find me, I’ll find you so we can do that race that you wanted, no matter how long it is.