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Dare to dream . . .
You’ll likely be screwed!
Suburban office of floundering Magazine Publisher of Poop Nation, Waiting for ToGo, and Stool Time.
LINDA LINKSY: A middle-aged woman, who is a perpetual dreamer in an obsessive, compulsive sort of way; a busy social secretary (never at her desk) and self-appointed clock-watcher.
JANE PLAIN: Twenty-something woman, who is a junior editor and known Germaphobe.
SKIP TOOMALOO: Twenty-something stepson of boss, twice removed from the home forcefully for running an illegal poker game, with fireplace utensils, from his second floor bedroom.
RITA MEETAMAID: A middle-aged, self-serving lunch lady, who likes to dish out the latest company gossip au fresco.
INT. SHOT LINDA’S BEDROOM – EARLY MORNING
LINDA has a disturbing dream that she is being stalked through a dark, never-ending staircase by a shadowy figure wearing a bloodied Armani suit; a long thin metallic index finger, resembling a letter opener, extends from his right hand. He bangs it against the stairs as he walks, making a clicking sound.
He soon catches up to her and yells, “Letter!” while thrusting an envelope into her hands, then cuts her arm with his rather sharp index finger. He wears familiar cologne she remembers seeing on the shelf of her neighborhood pharmacy but can’t place the name.
LINDA awakens to find a deep gash on her left arm; the scent of Brut cologne is in the air. “That’s it!” she exclaims, as she notices an envelope lying by her side. It says, “You’ve got mail!” She opens the letter. The words, “You’ve been terminated,” blaze across the page in red bold type.
The room begins to shake. LINDA screams, as her fake fingernails that she left on top the dresser, become dangerous projectiles, hurtling toward her, piercing her face, throat, and heart. She dies grasping the termination letter.
INT. SHOT OFFICE BUILDING LOBBY – THE NEXT DAY, LATE EVENING
JANE, SKIP, RITA, and coworkers, hold a candle light vigil in the lobby of the office building. They drink martinis; eat cheese fondue, while paying their respects. The air becomes heavy with Brut Cologne, making it difficult to breathe. One by one, JANE, SKIP, RITA and the coworkers pass out onto an extremely over-sized area rug and all have the same dream: They are being chased through a dark, never ending staircase by a shadowy figure wearing a bloodied Armani suit. He blasts fire at them from his index finger that resembles a flame-thrower, while yelling “Fondue.” JANE, SKIP, RITA, and the others awaken inside a giant fondue dish filled with hot Gruyere cheese, burning them alive. The flame beneath the fondue dish rages out of control, igniting the area rug, the lobby, then the entire building catches fire.
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EXT. SHOT OF OFFICE BUILDING
A man in an Armani suit emerges from the building unscathed. He brushes an ash from his shoulder then tapes a flame retardant sign to the window: It says, “Out of Business – Chapter 11. Now Hiring. Minimum wage applicants need only apply.”