Motivational Growth Page #3

Ian:
I haven't bathed in months.

Plasmoday:
You're suffering, I can stop that suffering.

Ian:
I'm still not sure what you're talking about,

but I need you to leave my apartment.

Plasmoday:
I tasted your suffering, I swallowed it!

You really should consider getting a plasma.

(vomiting)

(screaming)

(whimpering)

Ian:
What the f***?!

(crying)

What is this sh*t all over me?

It tastes like brussels sprouts

and melted plastic, and potatoes when

they've gone bad, I just vomited on this

seriously creepy guy on his seriously

creepy face off with it, it's all over my teeth

and it's all over my shirt, and it

The Mold:
Cool your jets, Jack

Take a blip and breathe in the atmo..

You only just narrowly escaped that one

and you haven't even started your journey.

Ian:
What are you talking about?!

Why RTE you talking?!

Journey, what journey?!

The Mold:
Don't answer the door again.

Ian:
Just tell me what's going on.

The Mold:
The Mold will, that and much much more,

but The Mold can't have you going square on it again.

When The Mold talks, you listen, you got it Jack?

Ian:
How can I have a journey if I don't open the door?

The Mold:
The Mold is about two shakes

from totally frosted right now.

Tell The Mold you won't open that door again.

Ian:
What if it

The Mold:
Say it!

Ian:
It could be Box.

The Mold:
Tell The Mold you won't open that dour again.

Say those words.

Ian:
I won't open the door again.

(door knocking)

The Mold:
Pull it back, Jack.

Ian:
I need to get that.

The Mold:
You need to sit down.

Ian:
But the door!

The Mold:
The Mold! got plans for you, kid!

Big Plans!

(The Mold laughing)

(knocking on door)

It goes like this, Jack.

You're in a bad way, something fierce.

The Mold can see that, The Mold can feel that.

Right now, you're a goldfish in an eight-ounce glass,

you got nowhere to go and you don't even know it.

You're stuck, you're clutched!

And the world is just gonna keep

getting smaller for you unless

you kick and scream and claw your way out of it.

Out of the mess and the hurt and the regret!

You've got to

Ian:
Who are you again?

The Mold:
Hohoh, don't do that, Jack.

Don't do that again.

Ian:
I'm sorry, what?

The Mold:
You interrupted The Mold,

that's not copacetic, Jack.

You and The Mold need to be crystal on that

or The Mold closes its

Ian:
I think that may actually be a great idea.

The Mold:
Hey, The Mold doesn't think you fully

Ian:
Disaster,

The Mold:
What?

Ian:
It was the first thing that came to mind, not necessarily

the idea of a disaster, but the word, you know?

I believe you were saying something?

The Mold:
You interrupted The Mold.

Ian:
I did?

The Mold:
Let's you and The Mold

get something daisies, okay?

The Mold is here to help you, Jack

The Mold wants to get you back on your feet!

The Mold wants to get you rocked rightways,

on the stick locked, loaded, ready for action.

Ian:
I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're saying.

I mean I'm still trying to deal with the idea

that you are saying, that you can say.

I mean, all things considered, isn't this

you talking thing a bit out there?

The Mold:
Out there?

Out there, Jack, is a wet

t-shirt contest and a nursing home!

Out there is running against Reagan in '84.

Out there is locking yourself up from

the better part of forever stuck in front of the

boob tube eating eight-day-old take out from the floor!

This isn't out there, bub.

This is an opportunity!

Ian:
An opportunity, for what exactly?

The Mold:
An opportunity for growth, Jack.

Look you don't have anything

penciled in for this week, right?

Give The Mold till the weekend to get you straight.

If you don't like it, you can go back

to your sh*t standard torpor,

no questions asked.

Ian:
What's the catch?

The Mold:
Catch?

Well, little things, nothing really,

The Mold has very few needs.

Just do a few odd bits and bytes here and there

and our deal is made in the shade,

YOU dig it?

Ian:
You kind of get to a point

in which all television can be plotted

into two main categories,

Star Trek and everything else.

Everything else is mostly

sentimental high school bullshit,

and the Star Trek can only be

distinguished by the fact

that there's so damn much of it.

I'd like to see Gene Roddenberry,

the creator of Star Trek,

and Aaron Spelling, the creator of

well, everything else, pitted against each other

in some sort of barbaric trial by total ass-kicking,

wilderness, survival, huntsman thing,

where out of the box, each man gets a

2-lb slab of beef, canister of castor oil,

and a UV-reactive poster of a unicorn,

and they must survive the elements and kill the other

guy before the audience changes the channel.

Then again, Gene Roddenberry just died, and so did Kent.

Sure, why not.

The Mold:
Wise choice, Jack.

Ian:
Ian.

The Mold:
Wise choice.

Ian:
With Kent busted, and StarTrek

at an all time low anyway, I thought

I might as well give him the week.

How else am I gonna spend my time?

The Mold:
First thing's first.

(grumbling)

Eat this.

Take it.

Eat it.

Ian:
I'm not sure what

(laughing)

Hello?

Zygor:
You're a rookie, huh?

I remember when I was a rookie.

Ian:
What the f***?

Zygor:
That was like

three episodes ago, I guess.

Wow, time does fly.

Ian:
Officer Zygor, alien cop?

Starr:
He doesn't get it, Officer Zygor.

Zygor:
I know it good buddy,

you're still all twisty in the noodle.

Ian:
But what is it that I don't get?

Starr:
Well, you see, you probably think

you're standing here, butt naked

with Officer Zygor, alien cop,

and his trusty side-kick, Barnard Starr, right?

As evidence would suggest.

Ian:
Hey, ow, ow, ow!

Starr:
Evidence aside, I would suggest

that you re-evaluate your situation.

Ian:
Hey, man,Jesus christ.

What the f*** is going on?

Zygor:
Is this real?

I want you to tell me If this is real or not.

Ian:
How the sh*t should I know?

Zygor:
You're asking me a very human question.

L, as you may know, am not,

in point and fact, at all human.

Ian:
This can't be real.

Zygor Why not?

Because I'm from the eastern rim

of the Nartarian sector?

Is that too out there for you?

Ian:
Look, wait, no!

(painful groan)

Dog Homey Bro:
'Sup dog?

Homey Bro, yo. It's on!

Ian:
I don't even like tomatoes.

(scream s)

(genie laughing)

(Ian vomiting)

[crowd jeering]

Genie:
It sates itself on the life-blood of fated men,

paints the powers homes with crimson gore.

Black become the sun s beams

in the summers that fallow, weathers all treacherous.

Do you still seek to know? And what?

(alarm blaring)

(ominous music)

Ian:
Mold.

The Mold:
The Mold.

Ian:
The Mold?

The Mold:
Yes, Jack?

Ian:
What's happening to me?

The Mold:
That's easy Jack, you're coming around.

You need a few Z's though.

Crank out some drowsy cloth

and get back to me when you're ready to get going.

Ian:
Going where?

The Mold:
To Successville, Jack, Successville!

Mighty night.

(door knocking)

[keys jingling)

(laughing)

Hey, Jack.

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