Sherm, a local dustmite with an Icarus complex, is struck in the head by a ceiling fan blade.
Now Sherm lays unconscious on an extra firm, overly starched futon. Several minutes later, the rustling flurry of emergency personnel can be heard attending to him in the background. DR. QUINTON JAMES and DR. ANNA BELLE can now be heard OFF SCREEN through Sherm’s brain, which has now officially slid into a coma-like state.
DR. BELLE: Sooooo… what do you think, Dr. James?
DR. JAMES: About what?
DR. BELLE: About this critter-like insect here. What is it exactly?
SHERM: ( comatose thinking ) Well… obviously I’m a dustmite.
DR. JAMES: Well, obviously it’s a… actually I have no natural selection, genus, phylum, fucking idea what this thing is.
SHERM: ( thinking ) Dustmite… dustmite.
DR. BELLE: Could it be a… dustmite?
SHERM: ( thinking ) It could, it could.
DR. JAMES: I don’t think so. Dustmites aren’t usually this ugly.
SHERM: ( thinking ) What? I came in fourth place in the Mr. Dustbowl pageant… twice.
DR. BELLE: Noted, Dr. James… but how can the ugliness factor be considered when the critter is face planted into the fabric of the futon?
DR. JAMES: Futon? I think this particular type of furnishing would be classified more correctly as a couch, don’t you think?
DR. BELLE: No, this is definitely a futon. I have one in my guest room. My Uncle Robby, the former pirate, sleeps on it when he visits us from upstate New York.
DR. JAMES: Oh, the uncle with the stutter? The one who takes ten minutes to say Arrgh?
DR. BELLE: Yeah, but it’s more like ( pirate voice ) Arrrrr… Arrr …. Arrrr… Arrrr… Aaa…. Arr…
DR. JAMES: I got it.
DR. BELLE: …. Arrr …Arrr … Arrr…. Arrrrrrrr… Arrgh!
SHERM: ( thinking ) Where walking the plank becomes a life sentence.
DR. JAMES: Let’s focus.
DR. BELLE: Right.
DR. JAMES: This is very perplexing.
SHERM: ( thinking ) Only for an idiot.
DR. BELLE: Perhaps was should call in someone with more expertise in this area of study.
SHERM: ( thinking ) Yes, yes, please!
DR: JAMES: You mean like an interior decorator? Nah, I’m telling you this is a couch.
DR. BELLE: Not that.
DR. JAMES: Oh, well maybe a speech pathologist with a background in swashbuckling might help, but…
DR. BELLE: Not about that either! I’m talking about this critter. We don’t even know what it is.
DR. JAMES: I’m not sure… ( thinks ) but perhaps this critter maybe some kind of down trodden, emaciated roach with antennae envy issues.
SHERM: ( thinking ) Not a roach, not a roach, and my antennae game is fire!
DR: BELLE: Perhaps we should call in a team that specializes in unusual types of critters.
DR. JAMES: Mmmm… perhaps you’re right.
Dr. Belle and Dr. James look at Sherm and then at each other.
DR. BELLE: Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
DR. JAMES: Yes!!! If you’re thinking about playing nineteen holes of golf tomorrow afternoon with an emphasis on the nineteenth hole!
DR. BELLE: No, I was thinking we call down to WormHole Square and see if we can get MW and his team up here to help us figure this critter situation out.
SHERM: ( thinking ) I’m fucking doomed.
DR. JAMES: ( thinks ) Hmmmmmm… ( disappointed ) no golf?
DR. BELLE: No golf?
DR. JAMES: ( relents ) Fine. ( whispers to self, touches couch) Couch!
SHERM: ( thinking ) It’s a futon, idiot! Hmmmmm… actually, I think someone has farted into this futon recently. I’m getting the faint whiff of strawberry Poptarts and organic cranberry juice residuals. This can’t be good for my current condition. Although, the smelling salt effect might have some benefit. Wait… is it effect or affect in this case. Don’t know… damn. Will somebody please turn me over. For the love of God, will somebody turn me the fuck over?!
THEND ( PART 1 )