Party

[TW's trailer. TW types furiously. There's a knock on the door.]
TW: Enter.
MR: [Comes in] So you coming tonight?
TW: [Still typing] To what?
MR: The party.
TW: What party?
MR: The season wrap party.
TW: [Finally stops typing] Who's season wrap party, Supernatural?
MR: No, ours.
ED: [Enters] Michael, I've got the Margarita's and Kristen is hooking us up with a keg. Are there any pork rinds left over from Allison's stash?
MR: I don't know. [Tosses ED a set of keys] Try her trailer. [ED exits]
TW: Why are you guys planning a wrap party? Our season hasn't wrapped yet.
MR: Sure it has! Haven't you heard about the strike?
TW: You mean the writers strike?
MR: Yeah, [noticing TW's screen] hey are you working on a script!?!?! Pencils down means pencils down, man!!!
TW: Michael...
MR: What the hell do you think you're doing!?!? [Closes the trailer door and locks it. Whispering] OK, Tom, erase that file right now and this will be our little secret.
[Banging on the trailer door]
BS: Tom! Are you in there!?!?
MR: Oh, crap! Delete it! Delete it now! I won't rat you out, I promise!
TW: Relax, Michael. We're not in the Guild. The strike doesn't affect us.
MR: What?
TW: We've been scabs since day one. If the way they bulldozed our first season of episodes doesn't make that clear I don't know what does. The strike doesn't change anything.
MR: You mean... the season's not over?
TW: [returning to typing] Not by a long shot.
MR: Dammit!
TW: Be quiet. I have to get as much of this as I can done now because I don't know if I've be able to get to it later.
BS: I know you're in there, Tom!
MR: So we are going to strike after all?
TW: No. I'm going to talk with Bryan. It might take a while.
MR: So we aren't striking?
TW: No. We're not striking.
MR: Dammit! And I ordered a stripper to jump out of a cake, too!
TW: [Looking back up] You ordered a what?!?!
MR: A stripper.
TW: Why would you do that? Most of our cast is female...
MR: And the best part...
TW: ...John is gay...
MR: ...with the success of Caprica...
TW: ...and I'm married!
MR: ..I found a cylon sex goddess package!
TW: You asked for an Allison look alike?!?!
MR: I figured if she can't make it in person why not have her here in spirit?
TW: In spirit, huh? [Returning to typing] You're seriously demented. You know that, don't you?
MR: Come on, Tom. It will be fun!
BS: Welling! Come out here!
[The phone rings. TW answers]
TW: Hello.
TW: Yes. I can hear him banging on my door.
TW: In a minute, I'm still working on my script!
TW: No, the season is not over! [handing the phone to MR] Tell Erica the party is off.
BS: I know you're working on a script! I want to see it!
MR: Me? [taking the phone] Hi, Erica.
MR: No, we're still going to have the party.
MR: Did you try all the closets?
MR: I see. Well, Tom wants to cancel the stripper so maybe we can use that money for pork rinds.
MR: No offense, but I don't think anybody wants to see a pregnant woman pole dance.
[ED's yelling becomes audible through the reciever. MR puts his hand over his ear and holds the receiver at arms length.]
TW: Heh, smooth move, Ex-lax.
MR: [Handing the phone to TW] She wants to talk to you.
TW: Tell her I'll take care of Bryan in a minute.
BS: My changes better be in there!!!!!
TW: [Typing a few final times.] And there we go.
MR: [Still holding the phone at arm's length] Who'd you send it to?
TW: John.
MR: John!?!? You picked John for co-author!?!!?
TW: I tried to reach you but I kept getting voice mail. [Yelling to BS] I'll be out in a minute!
MR: You wouldn't believe how many different places I had to call to find a cylon sex goddess.
BS: Welling?!?!
TW: You ever try Google?
MR: Dammit!
TW: Coming! [Stands up and heads for the door.]
MR: You're not going to let him in, are you?
TW: Hell, no. We're going to his office.
MR: Can I hide behind the door while you leave?
TW: Sure. [MR hides. TW opens the door]
BS: It's about time!
TW: Just adding a couple of final touches to the script. [Exits]
BS: [Following] And what we talked about?
TW: Don't worry Bryan. I have it covered.
BS: You know, I have a lot more ideas from where those came from!
TW: [gritting his teeth] Why don't you tell me all about them.

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