A Futile and Stupid Gesture Page #5

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I appreciate that. Yeah.

- Doug, if you want my advice...

- Hold that thought.

Done. Here's your sketch.

I was stuck on that last line.

You were punching up my sketch

while I was attempting to be earnest?

Look, I know I f***ed up.

I'm f***ed up, all right?

But there's

just too much work to be done, huh?

I mean, we have a nation to amuse.

We're at war, son,

and it's our duty to serve.

Doug, we can't afford any...

Now, let me tell you what it's like

to run a successful comedy empire.

The more ads you sell in the magazine,

the more pages you print.

Someone has to write those pages.

Then there's the other pieces to edit,

art to commission,

headlines, captions and cartoons to fix,

all on a deadline.

On top of that,

you expand into books, albums,

then, oh, the radio show

based on your successful magazine

is also successful.

And holy sh*t,

an hour is a lot of time to fill.

Couldn't we have called it

The National Lampoon Radio Half-Hour?

If we don't cut that gag

about Nixon's daughter,

RCA is gonna drop the album!

Then you start a live show.

And that's a hit, too.

Yes, I know success is a great thing,

that we all want,

but I'm trying to explain

why maybe you can't handle it.

To deal with the stress, you smoke dope,

but that makes it harder

to meet the deadlines,

and someone else has to pick up the slack.

Doug! How much time

did you spend on this coupon?

Well, sh*t, maybe a little LSD

for inspiration would help,

but now it's five hours later,

and you're still tripping,

and that thing you wrote

makes no sense, even to you.

You feel bad about

letting your partner down.

Not that one. No, that one.

Well, that one, too.

- Doug!

- Are you even listening to me?

You probably shouldn't stay out so late,

but you want to prove that you can run

with Chevy and Belushi.

Tony slept with O'Donoghue's girl,

and now O'Donoghue won't work with him.

Anne says you're all sexist,

which is true, but that's not the point.

And oh, right, the magazine circulation

is how high now?

- Doug. Doug. Doug.

- You'll just be over here in your office.

Doug?

Doug? Come on, Doug.

- Doug!

- Doug!

- Doug!

- Doug!

Doug?

Doug, did you break the machine again?

Doug?

Doug?

Peter, Lucy,

is this where the college reunion is?

Hey, man, good to see you.

"To produce a mighty book,

you must choose a mighty theme.

No great and enduring volume

can ever be written on the flea,

though many there be who have tried it.

'Ere entering upon the subject

of fossil whales.

I present my credentials."

All right. Let's go.

Doug.

Come on.

Doug.

He can stay in the car for all I care.

Thanks for coming. He'll be missed.

My brother. Dad's favorite.

Kidney failure.

"The golden boy who died too soon."

See why I didn't want to start the movie

with this stuff? It's a total bummer.

You know the nice thing

about dying young?

You stay perfectly frozen in time.

You never have to grow up.

"Entering upon the subject

of fossil whales,

I present my credentials as a geologist."

Lucy?

Yeah?

I did the right thing, right?

I had to leave.

- I know.

- Right?

I just didn't...

I didn't know how to do it anymore.

How do you think

they're doing without you?

Oh, they're big boys.

They can handle themselves.

Michael, you're being unreasonable.

Somebody really didn't like

The Vietnamese Baby Book.

Is it wrong that I'm jealous?

I always knew I'd die from dynamite

being sent to an office,

but not like this.

Guys, we have to evacuate.

Come on, everybody, move, move, move!

- Michael.

- Come on.

- To think, Tom Jones only gets panties.

- Stop smoking. That's not safe.

If you put it down,

I'll let you take me to dinner.

- I'm listening.

- Hi, is this the city desk?

- I have a story for you.

- Don't be a bunch of sissies.

If the nitroglycerin hasn't leaked out,

it's harmless. I could eat it.

But it has leaked out.

That's what I'm telling you, is that

the nitroglycerin, it's leaked out.

- Sh*t.

- All right, come on. Come on.

- Let's get him out of here

- That is my dynamite!

It was addressed to me.

You can't have my dynamite,

you fascist goons!

- That's L-a-m-p-o-o-n.

- That is mine! Mine!

- Oh, he's coming back.

- Mine!

It's mine! Mine! Gimme! Gimme!

- Rape!

- Stay back, sir.

I'm warning you

that I'm going to rape you. Ow!

I don't want to kick him out,

but he's been here for weeks.

He needs us right now. Maybe we should

take him to the carousel again.

No. Hey.

What's this?

Oh, this is

Teenage Commies From Outer Space.

The great American novel.

I finally started writing it.

- That's great, Doug.

- Yeah. Thank you.

It's 1956 and aliens attack.

It's like Salinger

meets Mark Twain on acid.

- Wow.

- Yeah.

They're sharing a drink with Bukowski

while going down on Jane Austen.

Just stay with that metaphor for a second.

Oh, no, here comes James Joyce.

He's got some baby oil.

As you go through it,

pay attention to what you're doing

so I don't have to deal with it.

That's the whole point.

Where's my stuff?

- I know what a dictionary is.

- Henry, where's my stuff?

- I don't know where your stuff is.

- Okay, cut the bullshit, I want an answer!

- Whose stuff is on my desk?

- I don't know whose stuff...

We were gone for two days,

and you gave her desk away?

Doug's gone for months,

but you don't touch his desk.

You won't put my stuff in the magazine,

now you really want

to send a message, right?

- Clearly, you hate women.

- Look, it was probably the cleaners.

- Then fire those b*tches, okay?

- Henry.

Because here's the option,

either they go or we go.

Henry. Henry. This water fountain

hasn't been operational in 15 days.

That's what you've been

saying "Henry" for?

I'm very thirsty.

Look, you're not quitting.

We'll talk to Matty. He'll smooth it over.

I would rather butt-f*** cancer...

- God.

- than shake hands with Matty Simmons.

- It's called...

- This is half what you owe me,

you cheap f***.

Between the ticket sales

and the albums...

It's National Lampoon's Lemmings

not Tony Hendra's Lemmings.

What are you doing?

I'd like to report a robbery, please.

Okay, come on.

A man called Matty Simmons,

whom I have apprehended at 635 Madison,

has stolen money from me.

And another thing.

If I choose to bring a grenade to work,

that is my right as an Irish-American!

- You people.

- What the hell, man?

You people. You're dangerous.

- Let's go.

- Are you all right?

Holy sh*t.

I left a half-empty grape Fanta here.

Has anyone seen it?

No?

It was about yay big.

Should I be

for the Black Panthers or against?

So, uh... what's going on?

What's going on?

Well...

O'Donoghue quit again.

He and Anne are now dating,

so she quit, too.

Tony stole a sketch from Monty Python

and used it in Lemmings,

which is fantastic.

And Matty is claiming he can't afford

to buy us out next year,

in flagrant violation of our contract.

Oh. Gosh.

But, you know,

I meant, what's going on with you?

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