70s Sitcom- Complete (Patreon)

70s Sitcom: Just Smile!

By Cooper and Kadee and An Anonymous Patron

Opening Credit: Grainy shots of a gritty, bygone New York City. Big, steel cars patched with Bondo line the streets. Women in skirts and dresses scurry along sidewalks crowded with men in suits. We see drug stores and delis, record stores and fancy restaurants with names on their awnings.  Two young men with sharp, collegiate haircuts and polo shirts are seen pointing, gawking, taking in the town as the theme song plays:

Guys. Guys just moved to the city

Thinking that life was so pretty

But then they found

Themselves wearing gowns

And it’s heels

And skirts all day

And it’s hands

Just groping away

But somehow these two guys

Will learn to be women

Will learn to be women

9 to 5 they will learn

To be women—

Just smile!

Mike and Jason, holding street vendor hot dogs, turns to look at camera with shocked looks on their faces.

Exterior: Red Brick apartment building on shady, tree-lined street.  A shabbily dressed hobo sits on the steps, drinking from a brown paper bag.

“Are you sure this is the address?” Jason asks, looking up at the five story building.

“Says so right here,” Mike answers, brandishing a newspaper. “14 Changemont Avenue.”

“I just thought it would be—“

“Nicer?”

“Less gross?”

Laughter.

The Realtor comes strolling up, snapping his fingers. He now has a big, curly mop of hair, and he is wearing a leather vest with  fringe and earth tone bell bottoms. He flashes a peace sign and says, “What’s cooking?”

Mike and Jason look at each other. Shrug. “Dinner?”  Mike guesses.

“Far out,” The Realtor says. “You’re gonna dig what I have to show you.”

“Hey, buddy, no offense, but we don’t want to purchase any of your drugs,” Jason says.

“Yeah, take a hike,” Mike adds.  “We’re just waiting for our realtor to show us this apartment.”

“Cuz, I am The Realtor.”

“You?” Mike and Jason say in unison.

“Are you freaking out right now? Did I blow your mind?”

“No,” Jason says.

“Not at all,” Mike adds.

“Not even a little?”

“My mind remains unblown,” Jason says with a shrug.

“And I was trying too hard,” The Realtor says, forlorn.

Silence. Police siren in the distance. Then—

“Hey,” the hobo shouts. “My mind is blown!”

“Your mind has been blown every day since Woodstock,” Jason says.

Laughter.

The hobo stares, then begins to laugh. “What’s a Woodstock?”

“Let’s go look at that apartment,” The Realtor says. He climbs the stairs and holds the door. “After you.”

Cut to Apartment.  It is a typical, cramped NYC apartment with a couple small windows offering views of the apartment across the street. The apartment is furnished in classic 70s style: A box couch with a coffee table, a bean bag chair, end tables with shaded lamps. A bead curtain separates the living room from a small kitchen, and two doors suggest the bedrooms. There is a high fi stereo system on a teak sideboard and a small tube TV with rabbit ears.  There are cracks in the nicotine stained walls, and the wooden floor is scuffed and worn.

“I don’t know,” Jason says. “I was hoping for something a little more upscale.”

“And I was hoping to play catcher for the Yankees,” Mike says.

Laughter.

“This is the perfect starter apartment for a couple of young ladies full of moxie!” The Realtor says, backing towards the door.

“Young ladies?” Mike says.

“You did say you wanted to play catcher for the Yankees,” Jason drawls.

Laughter.

“Shut it,” Mike says.

“All this apartment needs is for a couple peppy girls full of spunk to give it a warm, feminine touch!” The Realtor is now standing in the hall, doorknob in hand.

“Full of spunk?” Mike says.

“If you end up playing catcher for the Yankees, you probably will be full of spunk,” Jason says.

“Hey!”

“Enjoy your new apartment, and remember to smile!” The Realtor slams the door.

“Did we just agree to take this dump?” Jason says, going over to the window and looking down at the street.

Mike, who’d been fiddling with the Hi FI, looks over and does a double take. He now sees the faint shadow of a woman floating behind Mike. She is wearing a dress and heels. “Okay. What’s going on here?”

“What?” Jason says, turning.  Just as he turns, the record player starts to pay:

I can wash out 44 pairs of socks and have 'em hangin out on the line

I can starch & iron 2 dozens shirts 'fore you can count from 1 to 9

Jason’s mouth falls open as he sees a shadowy female soap hovering in front of Mike.  Jason points at Mike. Mike points at Jason. “Ghost!” They both say in unison.

I can scoop up a great big dipper full of lard from the drippins can

Throw it in the skillet, go out & do my shopping, be back before it melts in the pan

'Cause I'm a woman! W-O-M-A-N, I'll say it again

“Mike, there is a ghostly chick floating right in front of you.”

“No, there’s a girl ghost in front of you.”

Laughter.

“Okay. Stop repeating everything I say.”

“You stop repeating me!”

“Okay. Let’s settle this.” Jason grabs Mike and steers him to the mirror hanging above the stereo.  They both shout in fright as they see the faint faces of young women shimmering in front of their own.  The faces are just barely visible, like the shadow of a shadow.  “Ghosts!” They both yell, and run to the front door of the apartment.  Mike grabs the handle and turns and pulls, but the door is stuck.

“Why aren’t you opening it?” Jason yells, pounding on the door.

“It doesn’t want to open!” Mike yells.

Laughter.

“The door doesn’t want to open?”

“No!”

“Doors open. It’s what they do!”

“Not this one!”

Laughter.

“Get out of the way. Let me try.”

“I can do it—“

“Move!”

“Fine.” Mike steps away.

Jason grabs the handle and looks back at Mike. “Sometimes these old doors get sticky. You just have to use finesse. Watch and learn.”

“Finesse away.”

Jason turns the handle, shakes it, pulls.  Nothing.

Laughter.

“Well?” Mike says.

“Just give me a minute.” Mike now taps on the door frame. Turns. Pulls. Nothing.

“Hahaha! Oh, yeah, you are really showing me.”

“It’s just gonna take a little elbow grease,” Jason says, now putting one foot against the door frame, grabbing the handle with both hands, groaning as he pulls with all his might.

Mike looks at the camera and smirks.

“It’s coming free!” Jason yells, as the doorknob pops off and he flies back across the room, hitting the couch, rolling over it and face planting on the living room floor.

Laughter.

Jason, still face down, holds the handle up. “That’s what I call progress.”

Laughter.

“That’s what I call a real knob!” Mike says, pointing at Jason.

More laughter.

Cut to Jason and Mike sitting on the couch, reaching out toward each other.

“I can just barely see her, but she doesn’t seem harmful,” Mike said.

“Same here.”

“Say, why do you keep waving your hand in front of my chest?”

“To see if I can feel your boobs.”

Chuckles.

“Hey!” Mike leans back, wrapping his arms around his chest. “Keep your hands off my boobs! I mean my ghost’s boobs! I mean- just-- you know.”

“Yeah. I know. Do you keep hearing people clapping and laughing?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to mention it. Thought maybe I was going crazy.”

“If you are, we both are.  Another thing, I am missing time.”

“Missing time?”

“Yeah. Like, one minute we were talking about the doorknob, and the next? We’re sitting on the couch trying to touch our ghosts. I don’t remember what happened in between.”

“Come on. We --um-- then-- no.  Hunh. I can’t remember, either. Do you think that weird hippie Realtor slipped us some LSD?”

“Could be, but I have the strangest feeling.”

“What?”

“I think we may be living in a sitcom.”

“Wow. Okay. Time for you to get your head shrunk, mister.”

“I’m not crazy. I’m serious.”

“Trapped in a sitcom?”

“The laughter. The fade outs and ins. The corny, central casting hobo on the steps. It’s all exactly like a tv show.”

“Well, what would that mean, then? Exactly? I mean, why does it even matter?”

“Maybe it lets us know the way out. In every episode of every sitcom, there is a problem. Something they have to solve or figure out.  Maybe we have to figure out something to escape the show.”

“You are losing it,” Mike says, picking up a pack of Virginia Slims from the coffee table, tapping one out. He holds it with his fingers in a V and starts looking around for a lighter.

“Since when do you smoke?”

“Since forever, and I only smoke Virginia Slims, because you’ve come a long way, baby!” Mike finds a lighter, takes a puff and tilts his head back, blowing the smoke in the air as he plants a hand on his hip.

“You see? You just did a product placement. This is a sitcom, but it’s worse than I thought.”

“How could it be worse?”

“Because you are being absorbed into the sitcom, which means I probably am, too. We better hurry and get out before we are completely absorbed.”  Mike gets up and goes to the door.

“Now what?”

“The door. It’s so obvious. The door represents the wall between reality and this sitcom world. Fix the door, escape the world. There’s only one problem.”

“Which is?”

“In a sitcom, the characters make all kinds of zany and impractical attempts to solve their dilemma, sometimes making things worse before they get better.”

“Well, let’s just not do that, then.”

“Excellent. Excellent. Yes, let’s not do that. We’ll just think of a plain, common sense solution. No crazy schemes.”

“Why not call the handyman?”

“Because I have a better idea.”

“I am going to regret asking this, but what is your better idea?”

“I crawl out on the ledge, go to the next apartment and get the neighbors to help.”

Mke looks at the camera. Shrugs. “And people say I’m the airhead.”

Laughter. Laughter.

“It’s going to be fine. Trust me. Nothing could possibly go wrong.”

“Oh, boy.”

Chapter Two

Cut to Jason on the ledge, arms pressed against the wall, screaming, “I’m afraid of heights!”

Mike is still in the apartment, his head stuck out the window. “Then why did you climb out on the ledge?”

“I didn’t know I was afraid of heights until I climbed out on the ledge!”

Laughter.

“So, come back inside!”

“I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“I’m afraid of heights!”

Laughter.

“So, you are going to stay out there on the ledge, at this great height, just an inch from plunging to your doom, because you are afraid of heights?”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

Laughter.

“That ghost is starting to become more visible,” Mike says, now sitting casually on the ledge. “I can see her gams. She has nice legs.”

“Never mind that. Okay. Okay. This is the heartfelt moment where you talk me back. It shows the depth of our friendship.”

“Is that so?” Mike says, examining his nails. “Well, I guess maybe this isn’t a sitcom, because that isn’t going to happen.”

“Are you going to just leave me out here?” Jason shouts, horrified.

“Nah. I believe in tough love. That Dr. Spock doesn’t know anything.” Mike pulls a box of cream puffs out and holds one in his fingers.

“What are you doing with that?”

“It’s called negative reinforcement.” Mike throws one at Jason’s head.  The creampuff explodes, leaving a splotch of white cream on Jason’s face.

“Ow! Stop that!”

“Not till you get in the apartment.” Another cream puff flies, exploding on Jason’s forehead, leaving another blotch.

“Jerk! I’m gonna get you for this!” Forgetting all about his fear of heights, Jason skitters down the ledge and dives into the apartment window, landing face first in the box of remaining creampuffs.  Jason looks up at camera, only his eyes visible amidst all the cream. He groans, “Disco.”

The audience roars.

CUT TO: Jason washing face. Toweling off. He looks in the mirror and sees the face of the woman is more clear now. She has a classic upflip, the hair framing her face, then curling up on either side, like Anne Marie on “That Girl.”

“She’s pretty cute,” Jason says, trying to touch her ghost face. “Big eyes. Little nose. She actually looks a lot like That Girl.” He makes faces, frowning, barring his teeth, smiling. He moves his hand. “She does everything I do. It’s so freaky deaky.”

Jason stops. Stands up. Slaps himself across the face. “I do NOT say things like freaky deaky!”

Jason goes out to the living room and sees that Mike has the phone on the table. It’s a desktop phone with a long cord that can be carried all around the apartment. “What are you up to?” Jason says. “Not some freaky deaky scheme?”

Laughter.

“I’m going to call the handyman to fix the door.” Mike picks up the phone and dials. “Oh? Hello? Is this Mario? Hi, I’m--”

Click. Mike looks to see Jason has disconnected the call.

“What gives?”

“Calling the handyman is way too complicated. Remember, we have to keep it simple.”

“It seems pretty simple to me.”

“It isn’t. I have a better idea.”

“I’m guessing this one doesn’t involve heights?”

Laughter.

“Haha. Make fun of my phobias. Real nice.”

“So, what’s your simple plan?”

“Well….”

Montage!

Jason trying to pry door open with spatula

Jason tipping couch up, letting it crash against door

Jason throwing his shoulder against door.

Jason karate chopping door, wincing in pain.

Cut to Mike on phone, hand cupped over the receiver, whispering.

Cut to Jason, wearing an Evil Knieval style motorcycle helmet, as far across the room from the door as he can get, in a runner’s stance.

Mike, sitting on the couch, a Virginia Slim in one hand, a magazine on his lap, watches with an amused look on his face. “So, you’re gonna run as fast as you can and smash the door open with your head?”

“Right! Exactly.”

“Well, as they say, knock yourself out.”

Laughter.

“Geronimo!” Jason yells, charging toward the door. Just as he is about to slam into the door, it suddenly swings open and he plunges through, out into the hall. We hear a crash, a shout, a series of crashes and a loud THUMP. Mike winces at each one, while the audience laughs.

Mario the handyman steps through the front door. The audience cheers. He is wearing jeans, a leather vest and a white t-shirt that hugs his muscular frame. His tool belt hangs low on his hips. “Who was that? SHEvil Kneival?”

Laughter.

“That was Jason, my roommate,” Mike says. “Do you think he’s alright?”

Mario peeks out the door. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t hold out much hope for the helmet.”

Laughter.

“Can you fix the door?”

“Yeah. No problem.” Mario eyes Mike. The woman’s image has grown stronger, and he can see a plaid mini-skirt, tight yellow top, and knee length socks. “I can see more than a few things around here I’d like to work on.” After the words “work on” he makes a purring sound.

Mike looks shocked. Does a double-take.  “What the what?” He says in a stage whisper.

The audience chuckles.

Mario starts replacing the door handle. “You know, I am really good with my hands.”

Mike’s eyes get wider and he takes a long drag on his cigarette. “I’m going to go in the other room for no particular reason,” Mike says, just wanting to get away from Mario’s roving eyes. But, just as he is about to leave the room, Jason comes stumbling in, slipping past Mario who is kneeling, putting in a new handle.

Mario looks up at Jason, seems disinterested. “How’s your head,kiddo?”

“Fine. This helmet really saved me.” Jason pulls the helmet off, and shakes his head. We can see the girl shadow’s hair tumble down and swirl as Jason shakes his head.  She has a full on Farah Fawcett.

Mario’s mouth drops open. “Foxy Mama.”

Jason doesn’t even seem to notice. He tucks the helmet under one arm and saunters off. Mario’s eyes follow. He sees a brown tunic dress, nylons, and shapely legs. Most of all he sees, “Cool. She’s so aloof!” He whispers.

Mario gets up, checks the handle. “All good,” he says.

“Thanks,” Mike says, suddenly feeling a little jealous now that Mario’s creepy attention has shifted to Jason. “You saved the day.”

“Well, anytime you-- or your friend-- needs anything, you know how to find me.” Mario wiggles his eyebrows and exits.

Laughter and applause.

Jason is over at the Hi Fi system, looking through the LPs. “Carole KIng,” he says. “Joni Mitchell. “This is all girl stuff.”

“I guess the people who lived here before were girls.”

“Maybe. I just… something is gnawing at me.”

“Oh, great. Another one of your theories. Like opening the door would set us free from this sitcom?”

“Yeah, well, that one wasn’t right.”

“So, what are we supposed to do now?”

“I don’t know.”

The door suddenly slams open and a man smoking a cigar and wearing a black suit steps into the doorway.

“Who are you?” Mike and Jason shout in unison, cowering together.

“Harry Instagliano . I am your landlord! I am stopped by to remind you that your rent is due by the end of the week! I have no tolerance for deadbeats! Pay up, or out on the street you’ll go!”

With that, he turns and leaves, slamming the door behind him.

“What was that?” Mike says.

“A clue,” Jason answers. “On what we’re supposed to do next.”

“Which is?”

“Go to work.”

The camera pulls away as we see NYC and then the Empire State Building.  The end credits roll as we hear the theme song play out:

Guys. Guys just moved to the city

Thinking that life was so pretty

But then they found

Themselves wearing gowns

And it’s heels

And skirts all day

And it’s hands

Just groping away

But somehow these two guys

Will learn to be women

Will learn to be women

Cut to Commercial. Two ladies are squeezing rolls of toilet paper. Mr. Whipple appears and begs them,”Please don’t squeeze the Charmin!”

Episode Two: Working Girls.

Opening Credit: Grainy shots of a gritty, bygone New York City. Big, steel cars patched with bondo line the streets. Women in skirts and dresses scurry along sidewalks crowded with men in suits. We see drug stores and delis, record stores and fancy restaurants with names on their awnings.  Two young men with sharp, collegiate haircuts and polo shirts are seen pointing, gawking, taking in the town as the theme song plays:

Shot of NYC skyline at night, the city lights twinkling above the Hudson River. Shot of NYC skyline as sun rises, a tugboat honks as it churns along the water.

Close up. Old fashioned alarm clock with actual metal bells starts ringing. Mike sits up and shouts, “Fire! Fire!” He leaps out of bed. The image of the woman is now very clear, almost obscuring his image. “Jason! Jason!” Despite the fact that he is just getting out of bed, her hair is in that perfect upflip. Mike climbs up on the bed and grabs a pillow, looking around frantically for the flames. “Fire!”

Jason walks in and slaps the alarm, turning it off. Jason’s female image is also strong.  We see that huge head of glamorous Farah Fawcett hair, and she is wearing a nightie that lets us see her gorgeous legs. The audience “ooooohhhs.”

“It’s just an old fashioned alarm clock,” Jason says. “Can you dig it?”

“Alarm? Alarm? WHY are old-fashioned alarms so, so-- kangblabla?!”

Jason crosses his arms and shakes his head. “Were you planning to beat the fire out with a pillow?”

Laughter.

“Yes? No? Um, maybe?” Mike tosses the pillow away, embarrassed and gets down off the bed. “That girl image is getting clearer around you. She has great legs!”

Wolf whistles and cat calls.

Jason can’t help but put a hand on a hip and kick one leg up while tossing his hair, turning and smiling brightly toward the camera. “You ain’t just a woofin!”

Cheers and laughter.

Jason, realizing what he’s doing, yelps, and then tries to strike a manly pose.  “I gotta go do some push ups,” he says, exiting. We see him letting his hips sway, and the camera focuses in on the ghost versions perfect, heart shaped ass.

Mike looks at the camera and puts his hands to his cheeks, “Wowzers!”

Laughs.

Jason goes in the bathroom to shower, brush his teeth, shave. He sees the counter and cabinet are now cluttered with mascara, foundation, lipstick and eyeshadow, hand cream and there are old fashioned bras hanging from the shower curtain. Jason looks in the mirror, sees the pretty female face now superimposed over his own, framed by thick blonde hair. He picks up a tube of lipstick and examines it. “Freaky Deaky,” he says, and the audience laughs.

Cut to Mike and Jason on the sidewalk outside their building. They are looking each other over, curious. “The ghosts are following us,” Mike says. “Your dress looks cute.”

The “girls” are wearing tunic dresses. Jason’s is purple with a white, white color, and black tights. Mike’s wears a checkered yellow dress with a wide belt a a big, shiny belt buckle.

“I’m starting to think they may not be ghosts,” Jason says. “And please don’t talk about me wearing a dress.”

“I wouldn’t, but it is way cool!”

Jason is disturbed that part of him likes the compliment, almost seems to need it. It confirms his growing suspicion about what is happening. “Let’s just get to the office.”

They start walking down the street. As they pass a construction sight, the guys all start whistling and shouting. “Foxy ladies!” “What are you two bunnies doing tonight?”

“What the hell?” Mike says.

Jason grabs his arm and the two hurry by the site, cringing.

“They must have seen our ghosts,” Mike says. “I didn’t know anyone else could see them!”

“Me, neither. That was-- not fun.”

“Yeah. Made my skin crawl. Unreal.”

“I would go so far as to call it freaky deaky!”

The audience laughs.

Jason groans. “I can’t stop saying it.”

Mike shrugs. “Why does the audience always laugh?”

“I think it’s my catch phrase. It’s all part of the sitcom world we’re stuck in.”

“Do I have a catchphrase?”

“Probably.”

“Freaky Deaky!” Mike shouts.

Nothing.

“It can’t be the same as mine. We can’t both have the same catchphrase.  You have to find your own.”

“I want a good catchphrase!  Like, “I’ll be back!”

“That’s 80s, and we really have more important things to worry about.”

“Like what?”

“Getting out of this stupid sitcom before it’s too late!” Jason screams.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that,” Mike says. “How do we go that again?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I think it could happen at work.  That’s why that landlord character appeared and told us about the rent. It was a complication that would force us to take action.”

“Wow!” Mike says, turning to face the camera with a big smile. “I’m totally buggin!”

No response.

“Nothing? Really? Maybe if i say it different, like I am TOoooo-tally Buuuuuuuuuggin!”

Nothing.

“That’s 90s,” Jason says, grabbing Mike’s wrist and dragging him down the sidewalk. “We gotta book!”

Cut to shot of Empire State Building from the street. Then, a pair of glass doors on which the words “Chalker and Sons” have been written. There are plastic plants on either side of the door, and an ashtray. Two young secretaries stand smoking. They give Mike a once over and raise their eyebrows.

Mike nervously approaches the receptionist, a severe looking young woman with her hair pulled back, cateye glasses. “May I help you?” The woman asks in a cold, pinched voice.

“I’m new here. This is my first day. I’m so excited to be starting my first job here in New York City! I just moved here.”

The Receptionist looks over the tops of her glasses. “You certainly have moxie.”

“I do?”

“You are oozing moxie.”

“Thanks.”

“I HATE moxie.”

Mike yelps and jumps back.

Laughter.

“Let me see here,” the receptionist says, beginning to work through some file cards. “I need to find your assignment.”

“Why don’t you just use your computer?” Mike asks.

Once more, the Receptionist looks over the tops of her glasses. “Yes. Of course. How could I have been so ridiculous. I’ll just call NASA and have them look up your assignment. This isn’t Star Trek, young lady.”

“Oh, I’m--”

“Here we are,” The Receptionist says. “You will be reporting to Max Kincaid. Down the hall. Second office to the left.”

“Ok. Okay. Thank you.”

“Oh, and Miss Hope?”

“I’m not-” Mike starts, then stops, waving away his objection. “Um, yes?”

“Do be careful. Mr. Kincaid is very handsy.”

Mike shrugs. “Okay. I will be careful. Wooooo! Scary!” He chuckles and walks down the hall.

The Receptionist watches him, shaking her head. “Moxie!” She hisses.

Laughter.

Jason, whose job was on the 14th Floor, one above where Mike was now working, hurried down the hall, eager to avoid being late on his first day.  The 14th floor featured a series of identical wooden doors with frosted glass windows. Stenciled on each one the name of the business had been stenciled in black, block letters.

The muted rat tat tat of typewriters hacking away drifted from behind the office doors.  Finally, Jason came to Allen, Allen and Allen, Accountants. Opening the door, Jason looked into a small, tidy reception area, an old, steel desk sitting to the side, a bulky, old-fashioned phone with lights blinking, a typewriter. There were plastic plants on either side of the desk, and a sign on the wall that read, Have a Nice Day!

“Hello?” Jason called, stepping into the room. “Hello?”  The room was empty. There was another door, which Jason assumed led back to the partner’s offices, and he was just about to walk back and see if he could find someone when the door burst open and a thin, short balding man with red hair a thick, black framed glasses rushed out. “Oh, good. You must be Josie.”

“Jason,” Jason corrected.

“No. I’m Woodrow. Common mistake.”

Laughter.

Jason, having bought into the whole sitcom idea, started to have a very bad feeling. “I’m the new guy. Start today.”

“Right. Okay. You wanna be called a guy, that’s your business, but you might want to get a haircut.”

Laughter.

“So, the job.” Woodrow puts his hands on Jason’s shoulders, steers him to the receptionist chair and pushed him down. “You sit here, answer the phone, make nice with the clients. And, if you’re like the last one, spend a lot of time filing your nails.”

“I’m the receptionist?” Jason groaned, looking at his nails.  The ghost girl had long, perfectly ovals.

“No, I just sat you there and explained the receptionist job to you because I’m high.”

Laughter.

“I was supposed to be a junior accountant.”

“And I was supposed to be a spaceman. You grow out it.”

More laughter.

“Okay. Stay right there. You need to be there in case anyone comes in, to answer the phone. You think you can handle that?”

“I did go to college,” Jason says, perturbed.

“Well, unless you majored in typing you should try and get your money back.”

Laughter.

Jason feels himself seething, and even though he knows it’s all a sitcom and in a sense not even real, he can’t help himself. “I can do more than type.”

Woodrow looks at the camera and smiles. “I bet you can, and in a lot of different positions!”

The audience roars. Woodrow exits.

“The nerve!” Jason says, appalled. “I have a mind to just walk right out of here! Getting fresh with me on the first day.” But, then he remembered the rent, and besides he thought that maybe the answer to getting out of this crazy sitcom was here at the office.

Jason sits. Nothing happens. He starts to drum on his desk. Shifts his chair around. Opens and closes the drawers to his desk. Finally, he just rolls his eyes.  “No smartphones, no smartpads, no Internet. I gotta do something.” He picks up a ghostly nail file and starts to file his ghostly nails.

The audience laughs and applauds.

Cut to Mike sitting at his desk, filing his nails.

Laughter.

Mr. Kincaid opens the door to his office, looks at Mike, then the camera, waggles his eyebrows.  “Mia, can you fetch the Zander file?”

Mike looks up. “Of course.” He begins to look around the office. “My pleasure.”

Mr. Kincaid watches, amused.

Mike lifts his typewriter. Looks under the blotter on his desk. Then, he turns to Mr. Kincaid and says, “Actually, I have no idea where it is.”

Chuckles.

Kincaid smirks. “You don’t say?”

“I just did say.”

Laughter.

“You got moxie, kid.”

“Oh. Sorry. I need to work on that.”

Laughter.

“I LOVE moxie! Now, look in the bottom drawer.”

Mike opens the bottom drawer, looking through the files. “I don’t see it.”

“Stand up. That’s what the old secretary would do.  It’s the dim light.”

“Okay,” Mike says, wary. “If you say so.” He stands and leans down, looking through the files. “I still don’t see it.”

“Bend over a little more. A little more.”

Mike bends over more and more. Kincaid leers at his rear end, looks at the camera and waggles his eyebrows.

The audience roars.

“I still don’t see it.”

“Let me help,” Kincaid says, moving over and positioning himself behind Mike. The position is suggestive and the audience titers.

“I don’t think that’s helping,” Mike says.

“Maybe this will make things more clear,” Kincaid says, putting his hands on Mike’s butt and squeezing.

Mike shrieks and leaps away, spins around.  He wags his finger at Kincaid. “I should slap you for that!”

“Sounds good. Come on back to my office!”

The audience is roaring now, clapping and cheering.

Cut to Jason, sitting at his desk, his chin in his hands. “I want to be a part of it, New York, New York” he murmurs, forlorn. “How am I supposed to escape from this when I’m stuck behind this desk?” He says.

The phone buzzes. Jason sits up, excited. He picks up the phone, punches the blinking light and says, “Allen, Allen and Allen?”

“Josie,” we hear Allen says. “Come back to my office. I need you to take dictation.”

“Thank God,” Jason says. “I’m losing my mind out here.”

“Well, I can understand that,” Woodrow says. “It’s mostly composed of air.”

Laughter.

Click.

Jason huffs, but gets up and exits.

Cut to Woodrow’s office as Jason enters.. It’s dim. Disco music plays from the stereo system.  Woodrow stands at the full bar, pouring drinks. A grand, oak desk rests before wide windows with a view of Manhattan, though the blinds are partly closed, so we only see it in slashes.

“Is this an office or a nightclub?” Jason says.

Laughter.

“A little of both,” Woodrow says. “Take a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

Jason starts toward the chair sitting near the desk.

“Please,” Woodrow says. “The couch.”

Jason looks to see a long, leather couch, a bucket chair, a glass coffee table. “Maybe since this is work, we should keep it formal?” Jason says, continuing toward the desk.

“Nonsense,” Woodrow says, intercepting Jason and steering him back toward the couch. “We like to keep a mellow vibe here. It’s a groovy place to work. Kind of like the Studio 54 of the accounting world.”

Jason reluctantly allows himself to be steered to the couch. He sits. Woodrow slips onto the couch, right next to him, handing him a drink.

“Did you want me to take dictation?” Jason says.

“I do want you to take DIC-tation,” Woodrow says, chuckling.

“Mr. Allen!” Jason says.

“Please. Call me Woody.”

Laughter.

“I’d really prefer to keep this professional,” Jason says. “I’m not the, um-- girl? You think I am.”

“Relax.” Woodrow takes a big gulp of his drink. Puts it down. “Don’t make me drink alone,” he says, looking at the glass still held in Jason’s hand. “That would make me an alcoholic!”

“Fine.” Jason takes a sip of his drink and sets it down. Then, he holds up his steno pad and pen. “Ready?”

“I was ready as soon as I saw you,” Woodrow says.

Laughter.

“Mr. Allen--”

“Woody.”

“Woody. Please.”

“Before we get started, I do have one question.”

“What is it?” Jason sighs.

“Do you like to boogie?”

“Boogie?”

Woody picks up a controller and pushes a button. A disco ball starts to spin and little balls of light swirl around the room. “I like to boogie the night away.”

“It’s ten o’clock in the morning!”

With that, Woody lunges at Jason, trying to kiss him. Jason puts his arms on Woody’s chest, pushing him back. “Stop! Woody!”

“I can’t help myself! You’re a stone cold fox!”

“Ahhhhhhh!” Jason wrestles himself free and runs from the office.

Woodrow takes a drink and smiles at the camera. “Oh, I do love it when they play hard to get!”

Laughter.

Cut To Mike and some girls from the office at the ashtray outside the doors to Chalker and Company. “And then he squeezed my booty! Mike says, finishing his story.

The girls all nod. “Sounds about right.”

“Yeah. Welcome to the big city.”

“Wait, this is normal?”

The girls laugh. “You’re not in Iowa anymore.”

“Actually, Lancaster.”

Laughter.

“Well, back to the grind,” one of the girls says, crushing out her cigarette. The girls exit as Jason enters. “Hey, Jason” Mike says.

“Apparently, I’m Josie now,” Jason says. “Give me one of those.”

“I guess I’m Mary.” Mike hands the pack of Virginia Slims to Jason. Since when do you smoke?”

“Since my boss tried to put the moves on me.”

“You, too?”

“In the worst way.” Jason taps a cigarette out of the pack and waves to Mike to hand him the lighter. He lights the cigarette and takes a drag, not realizing he is holding it with his fingers in a V. He puts a hand on his hip and blows the smoke toward the ceiling.

“My boss squeezed my booty.” Mike says. “The girls tell me it’s pretty copacetic.”

“I’d call it freaky deaky!”

Laughter.

“I’ve got to stop saying that.”

“So what is going on, anyway?” Mike says.

“We’re trapped in a sitcom, like I told you. And I recognize the subgenre more clearly.”

“Subgenre?”

“It’s working girls in the city,” Jason says. “Like Mary Tyler Moore or That Girl. You even look like That Girl.”

The camera zooms in on Mike, whose eyes go wide with surprise.

“But, a darker, grittier sitcom that’s maybe a little more real to what things were like for women in the 70s-- but exaggerated for comic effect!”

“So, the ghosts?”

“We’re turning into them! You’re becoming Mia, and me? Look at this hair? I’m turning into Farah Fawcett.”

“I always thought Farah had great faucets!” Mike says, chuckling.

“Just stop.”

“Anyway, Farah didn’t do sitcoms. I’d say you’re turning into Lonnie Anderson from WKRP.”

“That isn’t any better.”

Laughter.

“How am I supposed to live in this world as a blonde bimbo?”

“Easy,” Mike says. “Peroxide.”

Laughter.

Jason takes another drag on his cigarette. “At least these smokes are actually pretty good.”

“They’re slender so they fit in a woman’s small hand,” Mike says, looking at his cigarette. “They aren’t all thick and clumsy like cigarettes made for men. I read it in a magazine.”

“Then I have one thing to say. I am never smoking another one!” Jason tosses the cigarette in the ashtray, spins and storms off.

The camera follows Jason, focuses on his swaying hips.

Mike looks at the camera. “Lonnie Anderson. I’d recognize that booty anywhere.”

Laughter.

The camera pulls away and rises up to show the Empire State Building. We hear the theme song play:

Guys. Guys just moved to the city

Thinking that life was so pretty

But then they found

Themselves wearing gowns

And it’s heels

And skirts all day

And it’s hands

Just groping away

But somehow these two guys

Will learn to be women

Will learn to be women

Black and white flashbacks of Kincaid grabbing Mike’s butt and his shocked and appalled reaction, Jason struggling to get away from Woody.

-------------- here----------------

Episode Three: Wowzers

Opening Credit: Grainy shots of a gritty, bygone New York City. Big, steel cars patched with bondo line the streets. Women in skirts and dresses scurry along sidewalks crowded with men in suits. We see drug stores and delis, record stores and fancy restaurants with names on their awnings.  Two young men with sharp, collegiate haircuts and polo shirts are seen pointing, gawking, taking in the town as the theme song plays:

Jason lies in bed, his sheet pulled over his face. The sun shines through his narrow, bedroom window. The alarm rings. Jason groans and pulls the sheet off, and we now see the pretty blonde with the Farah Fawcett hair completely. Jason’s own face has disappeared. He rolls out of bed and turns off the alarm, looks down to see he is wearing a teddy.  He plucks at the diaphanous fabric, looking down to see he has impressive d-cups. “Freaky Deaky,” he says in a breathy, woman’s voice.

Laughter.

Jason grabs his throat. “Freakier Deakier!”

Roars of laughter from the invisible audience.

“I have to stop saying that!”

Laughter.

Jason yawns. “My mouth tastes like an ashtray. I need to brush my teeth.” He starts to leave his room to go to the bathroom he shares with Mike, stops. “I don’t want Mike to see me wearing this!” Looking around, he sees the living room is empty and tip-toes to the bathroom. His boobs bounce, and he looks down at them, putting a finger to his lips. “Shhhss!” The audience laughs.

Reading the cramped little bathroom, Jason picks up his toothbrush. He sees himself in the mirror and his mouth drops open. “I am a stone cold fox,” he says.

Chuckles.

“I think I’m going to call in sick. I don’t think I can face another day with Mr. Allen, especially now that I have these jugs!”

Laughter.

Jason turns on the tap and the faucet shakes. We hear knocking sounds from the pipes, but no water comes out. Just then, Mike pokes his head in the door. He also now looks fully female, and is wearing pink polka dot pajamas. “No water?” He says.

“Something is wrong with the pipes!”

“Something is wrong with your pipes,” Mike says. “You sound like a girl.”

“YOU sound like a girl.”

“But you sound more like a girl.”

Chuckles.

Jason turns and tries to cross his arms over his chest, but his breasts are too large. He struggles, before finally crossing them under his boobs.

Laughter.

“I’m going to call in sick. I’ll stay home and fix the pipes.”

“Um, remember what happened the last time you tried to fix something? I’m calling the handyman.”

Mike exits.

Jason shakes his head. “At least he didn’t say anything about my nightclothes.”

Mike pokes his head back in the door. “You look cute in your teddy!”

Laughter as Jason covers his face in shame.

Cut to: Mario the handyman kneeling down under the sink, a pipe wrench in his hands. Mike and Jason, now wearing fluffy bathrobes and fuzzy slippers, stand in the doorway. “So what was it?” Jason asks.

“This,” Mario says, holding up a gloppy lump of hair.

“A dead rat?” Mike says.

“Hair,” Mario says. “Women’s hair. The bane of every plumber in the world!”

The audience chuckles.

“Yuck,” Mike says as Mario gets up, holding the hair out as if it were a dead rat. “I’ll get rid of this, but now that you guys are girls, try not clog up the drain.”

“Wait,” Jason says. “You know we were guys?”

“Sure. Of course. You just turned into girls like all the other guys who rent this unit. Happens all the time.”

“And you didn’t think to warn us?” Mike says.

“Wouldn’t do any good,” Mario says, then heads toward the door. “Let me dispose of this disgusting hairball before it turns into some kind of radioactive monster.”

“Wait!” Jason says. “Hold on. Do you know-- is there any way for us to get out of here?”

“Oh, yeah.” Mario says. Then, he starts toward the door again.

The audience laughs.

“Wait!” Jason says, grabbing Mario’s arm. “Could you possibly tell us?”

Mario thinks. “Sure, I could possibly tell you.” He starts to leave again.

Now Mike grabs his other arm. “Tell us!” Mike and Jason shout in unison.

“You gotta go out on a date with a guy,” Mario says. “Really find out what it’s like as a woman.”

“A date with a guy?” Jason says. “You must be joking.”

“Afraid not. That’s just the way it is. Either that, or get used to those jugs!”

Jason covers his chest, mouth gaping.

“And you only have two days!”

Mario finally exits. The audience applauds.

“There is no way I am going to go on a date with a guy.”

“Maybe we can find some nice fellas?  You know? Sweethearts that won’t try and take advantage of a girl on the first date?”

“On this show?” Jason says.

Laughter.

“Where are we supposed to meet guys, though?” Mike says. “I want someone to take me to a nice place. You know, someplay classy!”

“You’re actually getting excited about going on a date with a guy?” Jason says.

“Hey, there are advantages to being a girl. I won’t have to pay!”

“Oh? Well, just don’t order the lobster.”

Laughter.

“There’s really only one place for us to find dates on this show,” Jason finally says.

“A bar?” Mike asks.

“The office. Looks like I am going to work after all!”

Cut to Jason opening the top drawer of his dresser. He stares down, face a mask of horror, “Noooooooooooo!” He screams.”No! No!” Then, he hesitantly reaches into the drawer and using his first two fingers and pincers, pulls from the drawer a bra.

The audience chuckles.

“I like taking these off, but I never wanted to put one on!”

Laughter.

Mike holds the bra up to the light, turns it this way and that, examining it as if it were some alien species. Finally, he looks down at his boobs and says, “I’m doing this for you.”

Laughter.

Cut to Mike. He’s wearing a red skirt and a polka dot blouse, posing in front of his full length mirror, smiling. “Oh, this old thing?” He says with a giggle. “I just threw on the first thing I saw.”

The camera pulls back to show clothes scattered all over the room.

Laughs.

Mike finishes admiring his outfit and shouts, “Next!” He runs back to the closet, buzzing with excitement.

Cut to Jason with his hands over his eyes, creeping toward his full length mirror. He wears a turquoise jacket and skirt. “Don’t look foxy. Don’t look foxy. Don’t look…”

He takes his hands from his eyes, “Oh, man. I am totally foxy!”

Mike pokes his head in and whistles. “You sure are!”

Laughs.

Mike steps into the room. He is now dressed in a mod look, with a white leather skirt and jacket, knee high white leather boots.  He puts a hand on his hip and dramatically asks, “How do I look?”

“You look--”

“Nevermind!” Mike says. “Next!” He prances off to try another outfit.

“You’re actually enjoying this!” Jason shouts.

“You aren’t?” Mike shouts back.

Cut to the boys walking down the street. They are both wearing skirts and blouses, office wedges, their purses slung over their shoulders.  “I will say I learned something,” Jason says.

“That is?”

“It’s a lot of working being a woman!”

Applause, and the cheers from the audience are mostly women’s voices.

“So, how are we supposed to do this anyway?” Jason says. “I don’t know how to get a date from a guy.”

“Are you kidding? All you need to do is shake those maracas! Guys will be falling all over each other to take you out.”

“I prefer to call them bongos.”

Laughter.

“Think about how hard it will be for me. I’m the perky brunette, the girl a guy wants to marry. How am I supposed to get a date without sullying my reputation?”

‘It’s the 70s,” Jason says. “Just let him know you’ll put out. He won’t care what color hair you have.”

Laughs.

“I’m not that kind of girl!”

More laughs.

“Anyway, I read an article about this in Vogue.”

“You read Vogue?”

“Yeah, but mostly for the pictures.”

Laughs.

“The pictures?”

“There are so many ads for cute clothes you wouldn’t believe it!”

Chuckles.

“What did the article say?”

“Just smile, play with your hair and laugh at all his jokes.”

“That’s it?”

“And wear tight clothes, but you’re already doing that.”

“Am I ever. I feel like I’m suffocating.”

Once more, we hear female dominated laughter.

“Beauty is pain,” Mike says with a wistful air.

‘Well, then these shoes must be gorgeous.”

Laughter.

Cut to Mike at the office. He’s standing with his back against the wall. One of the guys stands very close, and he has an arm planted against the wall, blocking Mike in. “To be frank,” the guy says, “I’d have to change my name.”

Mike delivers bubbly giggles, twisting his hair around his finger. He brushes his fingers down the man’s chest and gushes, “you’re so funny.”

“Say,” the guy says, “wanna go out sometime?”

Cut to Jason. There’s a man sitting at his desk, reading a newspaper. Jason is looking at him from around the corner. “What a dog,” Jason says looking at the man who is fat, sweaty and has a terrible comb over. “He’s perfect.”

Jason adjusts his clothes. Checks his breath. Nods. “You can do this. You can do this,” he whispers. “Smile, play with your hair, laugh at his jokes.”

Jason walks into the office. He’s exaggerating the sway of his hips, looking like a man parodying a feminine woman.

Laughter.

He walks past the guy, who doesn’t even look up from his paper.

“Nothing?” Jason fumes. He waves his arms up and down his body. “I got all this and nothing?”

Laughs.

Jason looks down at his breasts. “You’re not giving up that easy,” he murmurs. Then, he looks back at his butt. “You neither.”

Laughs.

“This guy? Ignoring me, with this body?”

Jason walks back into the office, now sitting boldly on the man’s desk, crossing his legs at the knees, smoothing his skirt. Jason plays with his hair, but it’s awkward and comical. “Smile,” he reminds himself. And he then forces a crazy smile onto his face. The audience laughs. The guy doesn’t look up from his paper.

Jason pushes the man’s paper down, still smiling. “Hey,” he says in an extra breathy and feminine voice. “I’m Josie. Wanna go out sometime?”

The man’s mouth drops open. He kicks and his office chair rolls back until it slams against the wall.

“Hahahaha!” Jason laughs, playing crazily with his hair. “YOU’RE SO FUNNY!”

“Y-y-you’re foxy,” the man says, getting up and running from the room.

Jason turns to the camera. “Freaky Deaky!”

Laughs and applause.

CUT to Jason and Mike the ashtray, smoking.

“Did you get a date?” Jason asks.

“No,” MIke says.

“Me, neither--” Jason starts, relieved, but then Mike cuts him off.

“I didn’t get A date. I got three.”

Laughs.

“Three dates? How?”

“I smiled, laughed and played with my hair! It really is easy for a girl!”

“I got flat turned down.”

“You?”

“Us!” Jason says, looking down at his breasts.

“What kind of guy turns down Lonnie Anderson?”

“Farah Fawcett. I picked him ‘cause he was a dog,” Jason says. “He ran from me like I was Godzilla.”

“Oh. I see.” Mike says, nodding. “You tried to shop discount when you’re a luxury girl.”

“What does that mean?”

“A blonde fox with a body like that? Regular guys are gonna be intimidated. You gotta find a guy with confidence. You better hurry.”

“Where am I supposed to find a guy with confidence on short notice?” Jason asks, puffing smoke into the air.

CUT TO Jason fighting off Woody.  Even as he struggles to keep Woody from kissing him Jason is giggling and smiling. “You’re so funny!” He says, as he struggles to get to the door.

Laughs.

“Come on. Just one kiss, baby.”

“Not until after our date!” Jason squeals, twisting away and running toward the door.

“But I’m crazy for you!” Woody says. “What am I supposed to do with all this burning desire?”

Jason, relieved, gets to the door. He stops and turns, one hand on the knob, the other reaching down to adjust his shoes. “I don’t know,” Jason says. “Sit on it?”

Laughter.

“You’re a cruel, cruel woman!” Woody says.

Jason smiles and plays with his hair. “You’re so funny!”

And then he slams the door.

We see Jason, back against the door, breathing heavy, sighing with relief. “I have gotta get out of here.” He adjusts his clothes, musses his hair, then walks to his desk. We see him sit, seethe and then hiss, “Men!”

The women cheer.

Cut To Jason with his head tilted sideways as he slips a large, golden hoop earring into his ear. When he’s done, he looks himself over, dusts his face with a fluffy camel hair brush.  He wraps a patterned scarf loosely around his neck. Takes it off. Puts it on.

The audience chuckles.

“I just can’t decide,” Jason says. “Scarf or not scarf?”

“Scarf!”

“It’s a date. With Woody,” Jason says, plucking the scarf off and tossing it aside. “He is not scarf worthy!”

Laughs.

Jason gets up, and we see he is wearing a red knee length A line dress with very small polka dots and a plunging V neckline. Sleeveless, the dress celebrates his tiny little arms and pretty rounded shoulders.

The audience cat calls.

“Stop,” Jason says. “This is humiliating.”

He sits to slip on his pumps, looking elegant and feminine as he does so, despite his objections.

Mike pops in. He’s wearing a purple dress, slightly above knee length, with white buttons down the front and a wide, white collar. Darker purple hose. He has his hair in side ponytails, tied off with bows that match his dress. He throws a hand on his hip, tosses his hip out to the side and says, “Dynomite!”

No reaction from the audience.

“I thought that might be my catch phrase.”

“It belongs to someone else,” Jason says. “Anywho, you look great, but isn’t that dress a little short?”

“I have to work harder,” Mike says, “since I don’t have the Boobsy Twins,” he says, pointing to Jason’s breasts.

Laughter.

“You ready to do this?” Jason says.

“I am,” Mike says. “Che Valiant? I mean, it’s only the fanciest restaurant in town!”

“Yeah, well I hope Woody doesn’t expect me to be desert.”

Laughs.

“It’s kinda of funny both our gents invited us to the same restaurant, don’t ya think?”

“Well, we are stuck in a sitcom.”

Laughs.

“My first date with a man,” Mike says, looking through Jason’s makeup collection. “It’s kind of scary.”

“I don’t even know how to be a girl on a date,” Jason says.

“Smile, play with your hair, laugh at his jokes. I read it in Elle.” Mike opens a tube of Jason’s lipstick. “This is a nice color.”

“Smile. Play with hair. Laugh at jokes? Isn’t that the guide to flirting?”

“It’s also their advice for marriage, only you also have to cook.”

Laughter.

“Let’s be men about this,” Jason says. “It’s just a date, and we’re only doing it so we don’t have to be foxes. You know what? I am not going to laugh at his jokes and be all-- hehehe I’m a silly girl and you’re a guy so I have to worship you. I will not laugh at any of his jokes. In fact, if he tells a joke, I will slap him. We are guys. We are men. We are heroes. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Mike says.

In unison, they pick up their purses. “Your bag is tres chic,” Mike says.

“I love yours,” Jason says. “It’s cute and so perfect with that dress.”

The audience laughs as the men gush on over their purses.

Cut to Woody. He has a pair of tweezers stuck up his nose. “You can run but you can’t hide,” Woody says. “Got ya!” He yanks and thanks to special effects wizardry pulls a thick, fuzzy nose hair out that looks almost like a caterpillar.

The audience groans in disgust.

Woody looks at it appreciatively. “Rest in peace, soldier,” he says, tossing it away. Woody is wearing a white leisure suit, a black silk shirt unbuttoned down to show off a few scraggly chest hairs.  “And now, my secret weapon,” Woody says. “The thing turns all these foxy foxes into puddy in my hands.”

He picks up a bottle of Faberge Brut. Splashes it on, slapping his face.  “I’m a disco warrior,” he says. “And I am going fox hunting!”

Laughs.

Cut to Harry picking Mike up. He opens the passenger door for him, and as Mike gets into the car, Harry puts a hand on the small of Mike’s back. “Oh!” Mike says. “You’re such a gentleman!”

Cut to Woody picking up Jason. Woody opens the passenger door. “Are you serious?” Jason says.

“I know how to treat a lady,” Woody answers.

“That’ll come in handy one day if you meet the queen.”

Laughter.

As Jason tries to get into the car, Woody reaches out and puts his hand on the small of Jason’s back. Jason squirms away. “Don’t touch me!” He says.

Woody looks at the camera. “Raaarrrrr!”

Cut to Mike and Harry in the car. They are laughing and singing along to “Play That Funky Music White Boy

“Lay down that boogie and play that funky music till you die.”

“Till you die?” Mike says. “That’s a little grim.”

Harry laughs. “You’re so funny.”

Cut to Jason and Woody. Jason is sitting pressed up against the passenger door. He bats Woody’s reaching hand away with a kind of detached boredom.

Laughter.

“I have the best toilet of anyone in my building,” Woody says as he tries to grope Jason. “It’s a Kruegler-Hassan. Imported from Germany. It’s like the BMW of toilets.”

The audience laughs.

“That’s so impressive,” Jason says, in a dead, flat voice.

“My neighbors are seething. Seething. And I don’t even want to get started on my new television.”

“Then don’t,” Jason says. “Follow your instincts.”

Chuckles.

“It’s a Panasonic!” Woody shouts. “The Excelsior!”

“Um, hey?” Jason says.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know any good jokes? Please, tell a joke.”

“Do I know-- do I know a few jokes? I’ve memorized over 5000 jokes. I am known as the Joke Guy down at my club. People are always begging for me to tell my jokes!”

Jason looks at the camera, which is set outside the passenger side window, and he whispers, “I get dressed up for this?”

Laughter.

Cut back to MIke and Harry. They are now bobbing their heads up and down, singing, “meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow.”

“Meow Mix Catfood,” the voiceover guys says as the ad finishes. “Your cat will sing for it!”

Mike and Harry laugh. Harry playful bumps his shoulder up against Harry. “Once I hear that ad, I can never get it out of my head.”

“I’m the same way,” Harry says.

They drive for a time in silence. Then Mike starts whispering, “meow meow meow…”

Cut to Woody talking to the valet. “This is no ordinary Cadillac. It’s a one of a limited edition, extra big engine.”

Jason groans. “Talk about overcompensating.”

Jason opens his own door, but when he tries to reach one leg out as he did as a man, he can’t due to his tight dress.

Chuckles from the audience.

He shifts from side to side, pulls the hem on his dress up a little, but he still can’t get a leg out. “It’s not a dress,” he says, “it’s a prison!”

Laughs.

Mike finally lifts both legs higher than he needs to, then swings them out and plants them on the sidewalk. Then, he grabs the door frame and struggles to get to his feet in the most awkward and clumsy car exit of all time. Finally, he gets to his feet and sighs dramatically.

The camera pulls back, and we now see Woody has come around the car and is watching along with a small crowd of pedestrians, who are all chuckling at Jason’s antics. Jason suddenly realizes he has an audience.

“Whaddya looking at?” Jason bellows.

The audience scatters.

Laughs.

“People,” Jason says, tossing his hair. “You’d think they never saw anyone get out of a car before.”

‘Not like that, they didn’t.” Woody says.

Woody approaches Jason and tries to walk him into the restaurant. Once more, he goes for the hand on the small of the back move, and Jason keeps squirming away. “Stop!”

Inside the restaurant, Woody pulls Jason’s chair out for him. Jason glares. “You’re joking, right? When are you gonna get that I don’t want all this fru fru stuff?”

“I know how to treat a lady,” Woody says. “Whether she wants it or not.”

“I was thinking the same thing when you were mauling me on the couch in your office.”

“You gonna sit down, or we gonna stand here like this all night?”

Jason reluctantly sits.

Woody looks at the camera. “Hard to get is one thing. Hard to sit is another.”

A waiter arrives and hands them menus, fills their glasses with water. “Can I get you started with some drinks?”

“Wine!” Jason says. “Bring the bottle.”

“Sir?” The waiter says.

“Make it two bottles,” Woody says.

The waiter leaves.

“I love a woman who drinks,” Woody says.

“Well, don’t get any ideas, because nothing is gonna happen.”

Jason starts looking over his menu. Woody sets his down without looking and gazes in wonder at Jason. “You’re eyes, the way they sparkle, they are like--”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jason says. “I hope you brought your wallet ‘cause this place ain’t cheap.” He notices Woody isn’t looking at the menu.  “You aren’t eating?””

“I know the menu,” Woody says. “And I did bring my wallet. It’s the biggest wallet you ever...”

Cut to Mike and Harry, leaning toward each other, their hand son the table, fingers just touching. They gaze into each other’s eyes. “Tell me about yourself,” Harry says. “I find you so fascinating.”

Mike giggles. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, I work as a secretary. And, trust me, it’s not that interesting.”

“Hilarious,” Harry says. “Is that what you wanted to be?”

“Not hardly,” Mike says, chuckling. “I was actually a-- let’s say I was a tomboy.”

“Groovy,” Harry says. “Far out. What else?”

“Well, actually, I’m cold,” Mike says, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering.

“Let’s take care of that,” Harry says, getting up, taking off his jacket and draping it over Mike’s shoulders.

Mike smiles, pulling the jacket tight, delighted. “That’s so nice of you.”

“Better?”

“Much,” Mike says.  “It’s not so bad being a fox,” he says.

Laughs.

Cut Back to Jason and Harry. “Are you ready to order?” The waiter says.

“Yes, I--”

“I’ll have the Porterhouse,” Woody says. “And the lady will have a caesar salad.”

“Very well,” the waiter says, jotting the order down in his little book.

“Hold on,” Jason says. “I can order for myself.”

The waiter looks at him, chuckles and says, “blondes.” Then he walks off.

“What, am I a child? You have to order my food for me?”

“It’s a manly gesture,” Woody says. “It shows I can take charge. As a woman, you love that whether you realize it or not.”

“As a woman,” Jason says, “I am about to kick you in the shin.”

“Kick you in the shin. Is that some hip, new, OW! You just kicked me in the shin!”

“You’re lucky I didn’t aim a little higher!”

The audience roars.

Woody looks at the camera and grins. “I like it when they play rough!” He waggles his eyebrows. I am going to enjoy watching this one eat with those lips”

Laughs.

Jason groans. “Waiter!” He calls. “More wine!”

“Sir?” The waiter says, turning to Woody for permission.

“What are you asking him for? Sexist? Don’t think a woman can make up her own mind?”

“It has nothing to do with your being a woman,’ the waiter says.

“What then?”

“It’s because you’re blonde.” He turns on his heel and marches off to get more wine.

“This Farah Fawcett hair isn’t worth the trouble,” Jason says.

“To me, you look more like Lonnie Anderson,” Woody says.

Laughter.

Cut to Mike in the ladies room, at the mirror, fussing with his hair. He is humming, “meow, meow, meow, meow…”

Jason storms into the room, slamming the door behind him. “Whew!” He says. “Finally the eyes of every guy in the place aren’t burning a hole in my booty!”

“Meow, meow, meow, meow meow?” Mike finishes, then adds, “stop bragging.”

“Har de har har,” Jason responds, not catching Mike’s sincere tone. “I am so done being a fox.”  Jason walks to the bathroom mirror, fishes his compact out of his purse and powders his nose.

“What’s so bad about it?” Mike says, doing the same.

“What’s not so bad? Heels? Dresses? Spending two hours to get ready?” He puts his compact down, starts to grab at the bra strap across his back. “And this bra! It pinches and cuts and chokes me!  Who designed this thing, the Marquis Desade?”

Laughs and applause of recognition from the audience.

“Yeah, but besides all that?” Mike says.

“Besides all that? Isn’t it enough?”

“Maybe you're wearing the wrong bra, sister. My maidenform bra gives me support and freedom!” Mike says, turning side to side, proudly.

“That does really give you a nice shape,” Jason says.

“Thanks!”

“So, it’s not so bad being a fox!” Mike giggles, taking out his lipstick.

“It’s terrible! Because all that, plus, men. Why are men so-- so---?”

“Manly?”

“No. They are apes! Apely! That’s what they are!”

“I take it the date isn’t going well?”

“What gave you that idea?” Jason says, now slipping one of his heels off and rubbing his foot while leaning against the counter. “How about yours?”

“Mine? Oh, it’s okay.” The soundtrack swells: “We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun” as Mike smiles and talks, he waves his hands and we see a montage of Harry’s gentlemanly behavior.

The music fades. “When he put his coat over my shoulders? Oh! It was just perfect!”

Jason throws his shoe at Mike. It hits him on the chest and falls to the ground. “That’s blogus!” Mike shrieks.

The audience roars. Mike does a double take. Claps. “I found my catchprase!” He heads toward the bathroom door.

“Blogus isn’t even a word.”

“It’s more than a word, it’s my catchprase!” Laughter. Mike exists.

“Don’t let that guy talk you into sleeping with him!” Jason yells, turning back to the mirror.  Mussing his hair. “He will! They are all the same!”

“Blogus!” Mike says, adding an index finger wave.

The audience roars some more.

“That is so much better than dynomite,” Mike murmurs as he leaves.

“Catchphrases,” Jason grumbles.  “Ask me this whole thing is getting even freakier and deakier!”

Laughs.

Jason fusses with his hair for a bit. The set is quiet. Then, Jason starts to sing, “meow, meow, meow. meow….”

Montage: Mike and Harry eating a piece of spaghetti like the dogs from The Lady and the Tramp. Jason drinking wine. Woody talking. Jason pouring more wine into his glass. Jason pouring more wine. Harry and Mike sharing desert, gazing into each other’s eyes.  Woody talking. Jason picking up the whole bottle of wine and guzzling.

CUT TO Harry helping Mike out of the car.  He walks Mike to the door to his building. The two are laughing and talking.

Music: We hear the opening trumpets from the Theme From Rocky. Mike lingers at the door, smiling up at Harry, who tugs at his collar.  The Theme From Rocky rises toward its crescendo. Then, he steps forward and kisses Mike.  MIke’s leg kicks up as he leans into the kiss. We hear the chant begin in the wong “Gonna Fly Now…”

Cut to Jason. Extreme closeup. We see only his face. He stares into the camera. He looks stunned.  The camera pulls back, and we see his neck, then his bare shoulders, and then a sheet pulled across his chest. It pulls back further and we see he is lying in bed, a cigarette in his hand, tendrils of smoke curling up toward the camera.

“I was really on tonight,” he hear Woody call from off cameras. “Welcome to the big leagues, kid. I know it was good for you, so I don’t need to ask.”

Jason takes a puff on his cigarette. Blows the smoke toward the camera, which keeps rising away from him. He whispers, “meow, meow, meow, meow , meow…”

The camera pulls away and rises up to show the Empire State Building. We hear the theme song play:

The closing credits roll as the theme song plays out:

Guys. Guys just moved to the city

Thinking that life was so pretty

But then they found

Themselves wearing gowns

And it’s heels

And skirts all day

And it’s hands

Just groping away

But somehow these two guys

Will learn to be women

Will learn to be women

Episode Four

Cold open.  Mike and Jason’s apartment is shadowy and blue, as if early morning. We hear keys clicking in the lock. The door creaks open and we see Jason wince. He’s holding his heels with the fingers of one hand, and begins to tip toe across the apartment floor.  Just as he reaches his bedroom door and puts his hand on it, the lights turn on.

Jason leaps and screams.

We now see Mike was sitting on the couch the whole time.

“Well, well, well,” he says. “Look who’s walking the walk of shame.”

“You scared me half to death!” Jason says, then turns back to his door. “Bye.”

“Hold on,” Mike says. “You don’t get off that easy.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Jason says, his body language all uptight and cringy.

“I mean you sneaking back in the early morning hours? After a date? With Woody? You have to tell me what it was like!”

“I can’t,” Jason says.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a 70s sitcom and that kind of talk wasn’t allowed.”

The audience laughs.

“Well, can you at least give it a thumbs up or down?”

Jason nods. He slowly raises his arm. Once more we hear the theme from Rocky. Jason holds his hand out, waiting for the chant, and then gives an emphatic thumbs down.

The music screeches to a halt.

“Bad?” Mike says.

”Worse than heels!”

Laughs.

“But, why are we still foxes?” He looks at himself, at MIke.

“Good point,” Mike says. “Mario said we’d get out of the sitcom if we went on dates.”

“We’ll have to talk to him.” Jason says. “Maybe we missed something.”

Cut to Mario. “You didn’t miss nothing,” he says.

Laughs.

Mario, Jason and Mike are gathered in the kitchen area now. Mike and Jason smoke. “So, then, why?” Jason says, gesturing down at his body.

“It means you were too far gone already,” Mario says. “You waited too long.”

“Too long?” Jason says. “No. That’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair,” Mike says. “It’s blogus!”

The audience roars.

“THIS is not the time!” Jason says.

Mike smiles sheepishly. “Blogus!”

Laughs.

Jason, fuming, turns back to Mario. “There has to be another way. Some way. We can’t be stuck like this. We can’t!”

“I wish I had a better answer for you,” Mario says. “But listen, ladies. If you want a guy to show you the ropes, so to speak, you know, the birds and the bees, I am a very sweet and gentle lover.”

“Really?” Mike says. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“I know,” Mario says. “And you’re both just my type.”

Laughs.

“Are you seriously hitting on us?” Jason says.

Mario pauses to think. Looks down at Jason’s breasts, looks up and nods. “I could spend a few hours watching the boob tubes.”

“GET OUT!”

“Hey, no reason to throw a hissy…”

“OUT! OUT!” Jason screams, slapping Mario toward the door. “OUT!”

Mario pauses in the door. ”Maybe one quick kiss?”

“OUT!”

Jason slams the door.

“So, what do we do now?” Mike says.

“We handle it. Like men!” Jason says.

CUT TO Jason crying, mascara running down his cheeks, cigarette in one had, glass of wine in the other. “I don’t want to be a fox…” he murmurs.

“Oh, sweetie,” it could be worse, Mike says.

“How?”

“You could be a dog?”

Jason sobs.

Montage Jason doing his makeup. Fixing his hair. Mike posing in a skirt and blouse, smiling. Mike and Jason walking to work. Mike walking down the hall, and all the men poking their heads out their doorways to check out his booty. Jason on the office couch, struggling to fight off Woody’s advances.  Mike and Harry ice-skating at Roosevelt Center.

Mike standing outside office doors, smoking with the other girls.

“How are things with Harry?”

“Really, really, good. He’s such a perfect gentleman. But, I’m kind of ready for him to be a little dirty.”

The girls laugh. “Well, just so you know, the first time is usually a drag.”

“The first time?”

“Yeah. The first time. You know. You’re first time as a girl?”

“My?” Mike is shocked. “You mean, you know?”

The girls all laugh. “We could see the “guy” on your first day.  Of course.”

“I had no idea,” Mike says. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Oh, don’t be. We’ve all been through it.”

“Yeah, well that makes me-- WAIT!”

Laughter.

“You’ve all been through it?”

“Sure.  All the girls who work here were guys. We all got trapped in the sitcom.

“Or decided to stay,” a petite brunette added.

“You decided to stay?” Mike says. “You mean you waited to long.”

“No, decided. When the handyman took me to the VCR, I just broke it.”

“Mine was a laserdisc.”

“Laserdisc?” Mike says.

“Outdated video format that never really caught on.” One of the girls says. “You mean your handyman didn’t tell you? The handyman is really supposed to tell you.”

“Ours didn’t,” Mike says, taking a toke. “Because he is totally blogus!”

The audience roars.

“So what are you going to do?”

“Oh, jelly brain, that part is easy. I am going to Freak Out!”

“Far out.”

The girls look at Mike, who is still just standing there. “I thought you were going to freak out?”

“I am. But I have to finish this cigarette first.”

CUT TO: Mario sitting as Jason and Mike shout at him, wagging their fingers. Each time Mario tries to speak, they shout even louder.

“I-”

“You-”

“But--”

We hear them shouting, but the image now fades to a clock with the hour hand spinning round and round. Fade back to Mario, glazed eyes, drooling. Jason and Mike are now sitting, legs crossed, smoking.  They both look very relieved and satisfied.

“Can I say something now?” Mario says sheepishly.

“NO!” Mike and Jason shout in unison.

“But I have to go to the bathroom!”

“Ha!” Jason laughs. “This is a 70s sitcom. No one ever goes to the bathroom!”

“Sometimes on Fish they--”

“This isn’t Fish.”

“So, what now, Mario says? You gonna break my knee caps?”

“I probably should,” Jason says. “But, instead I am happy for you to just show us where this VCR is so we can get out of here.”

“Okay. Okay. Done.” Mario says, raising his hands in surrender. “It’s down in the basement. You wanna go now, or you need to freshen up first?”

Jason raises a fist. “I swear to God!”

“Okay. Okay!” Mario says. “Right this way.”

Cut to Mario leading Mike and Jason down a old set of concrete stairs into a basement room-- pipes run along the ceiling, wires, there is a huge boiler, steam hisses from one of the pipes.

“Hold on,” Mike says, patting his head. “That steam is going to ruin my hairdo.”

Laughs.

“Who cares? You’ll be a guy again soon.”

“It’s in the storage room.” Mario fishes a key from the ring on his belt, unlocks a big, metal door. “Ladies?” He says, gesturing.

“Merci!” Mike says, entering.

Jason glares.

“Okay. Okay.”

Mario takes a cart from the corner, there is a huge, old-fashioned VCR, bulky and as large as four DVD players stacked on top of each other.

“Wow,” Mike says. “That thing is ancient.”

“Ancient? It’s the hottest thing out there. Latest and greatest, man. This is like NASA stuff. I there’s even a store out in California where you can rent movies on video tapes! How crazy is that?”

The audience laughs, knowingly.  They seem to have knowledge of the contemporary world.

“Just set it up,” Jason says.  “I can’t wait to get out of this-- prison.”

“It’s not so bad,” Mike says. “I actually kind of had fun dating Harry.” He lights up a cigarette. “One more. I don’t smoke in my other life.”

“Bum one?” Jason says.

The two light up, puff. “Is it really so bad being a fox?” Mario asks.

“It’s not so bad,” Mike says.

“It’s terrible,” Jason says, putting a hand on his generous hip, waving his cigarette around for emphasis. “Like I said before, it’s a prison, and I can’t wait to be free, free from teetering around on heels, mincing in tight little skirts, and you have no idea what it’s like to have these!” He looks down at his chest. “Back aches. They give me back aches! And at night when I come home from work, I have welts on my shoulders from the stupid bra digging into my skin! Plus, I get stared at by guys, hit on constantly, and my boss won’t keep his hands to himself, and--Oh!”

Mario has gotten the VCR running, and it is projecting onto the wall. There is an image of Mike and Jason at a bar, drinking beer, checking out the ladies. “Oh, wow!”

The image is actually grainy, but Mario nods. “Look at that picture! Clear as can be!”

Laughs.

Jason starts walking toward the screen. “How do we go back there?”

“It’s easy. Just walk into the image. You’ll find yourself back in your old lives.” Mario picks up a pitcher and fills it from the utility sink. “So parched.”

Jason stares at the image of his old self. “Freaky Deaky,” he whispers.

Laughter.

“Oh!” Jason says, admiring his old self from a female’s perspective.” Look at my stubble! Those arms! I’m a stud!”

“Come on,” Jason says to Mike. “Let’s blow this taco stand.”

“I-- I don’t know,” Mike says, stepping back, away from the screen.

“You don’t what?”

“I’m not sure i want to go back,” Mike says. “I kind of like it here.”

“Here is not real,” Jason says. “It’s some weird sitcom world, where you are always being watched by an invisible audience.  Where your life will consist of a series of sketchy plots and you are always played for comic effect. How can you want that?”

“I’ve fallen for Harry. I just-  I don’t know. I feel so happy with him, and besides, it’s kinda fun being a fox. I like the attention.”

“Buddy, this isn’t you. It’s Mary, the character you’re becoming.”

“I’m fine with that.”

“Buddy? Really?”

“Yes. I’m sure. I want to stay.”

“I’ll miss you,” Jason says. “I gotta go. I can’t spend my life as a woman.”

“I understand. You’ve always been a good friend. I’ll miss you.”

“You, too. Mary.”

Jason starts toward the screen. “No more dresses. No more high heels. No more shaving my legs.” He reaches his hand toward the screen, his fingers just entering the image, going from grainy VCR to HD.

Mario, behind him, pours the water onto the VCR. It sparks and smokes, and the image sputters. “No!” Jason screams, throwing himself at the image, but it is gone and he bounces off the wall, falls to the ground on one knee.  He looks back at Mario. “Why?” Jason asks.

“I have a thing for Lonnie Anderson,” Mario says.

“I look like Farah Fawcett!” Jason yells.

Laughs.

Cut to Mike and Jason sitting in their living room smoking, legs crossed. Jason wears a dress. Mike a skirt. They each have a ladies’ magazine in their lap, which they page through idly.  Mario is painting the door. “How much more work I gotta do to make it up to you?” He says.

“Infinity,” Jason says. “Plus one.”

Laughs.

“Well, I’m done with the door. I’ll be back tomorrow for the next job.”

“Bye!” Mike says.

Mario exits.

The audience claps.

“So, I wonder what zany antics today holds?” Mike says.

“The writers always seem to come up with something.”

The phone rings. “Yes?” Jason says, effortlessly slipping an earring off and answering. “Of course. Yes. YES, I will be ready on time! Okay. Bye.” Jason hangs up, slipping his earring back on. “That was Woody. We’re going to meet his parents.”

“Oh! Wow! That’s gonna be full of laughs!”

“And a wrestling match or two.!”

Laughs.

“I’m surprised you and Woody ended up getting together.”

“Really? Why?”

“I thought you hated him.”

“Oh, I do. I hate him. I mean, I hate hate hate him.”

“Then why are you two together?”

Jason thinks, shrugs. “He makes me laugh.”

The audience laughs.

“Also, conflict is more entertaining, so I guess the writers wanted to keep that going for the fun of our invisible friends.”

“That’s so blogus! Mike says.

The audience roars.

“Freaky Deaky!” Jason shouts.

More roars and applause as the scene fades, and the credits start to roll.

Guys. Guys just moved to the city

Thinking that life was so pretty

But then they found

Themselves wearing gowns

And it’s heels

And skirts all day

And it’s hands

Just groping away

But somehow these two guys

Will learn to be women

Will learn to be women

9 to 5 they will learn

To be women—

The End