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FADE IN:

EXT. A WHEAT FIELD - DAY

In a surreal blue sky, the Sun hangs just over the horizon, over-lighting the field of wheat until it is glowing red-gold. A FRISBEE slides into frame, slow motion, until it is intercepted by a GOLDEN RETRIEVER, who catches it in its mouth. The dog trots through the wheat, its head barely visible, back to its owner, A WOMAN. She praises the dog and takes the Frisbee. We hear:

NARRATOR (VOICEOVER)
Life is about small moments.

The WOMAN prepares to throw the Frisbee. The dog bobs around amongst the luminescent stalks, anticipating.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
So why would you let a little thing like illness destroy them?

The WOMAN'S face changes for a second, contorting in discomfort. She drops the Frisbee, clutches her stomach, a doubles over, vomiting a spray of psychadelic colors, all over the GOLDEN RETRIEVER. In a matter of seconds, the dog is reduced to a skeleton. Clouds rush in to cover the sun. The whole picture goes gray.

[MORPH EFFECT TO SCENE CHANGE:]

EXT. ALLEYWAY - NIGHT

She continues to vomit, now in blacks and purples, until the entire field is flattened. She finds herself stumbling down a derelict alley in a city somewhere, lined with falling-down buildings, trash and zombie-like hoboes, who rise in slow pursuit.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
Only the weak allow themselves to get sick. Frankly, we think most of them deserve death.

The ZOMBIE HOBOES close in, an ever tightening circle, overwhelming her. She vomits on them and enough of them dissolve so she can scramble away. But there are too many. Too many.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
But there is hope.

The tiny hole breaks in the otherwise total cloud cover above. A single point of sunlight fights its way through.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
When your body fails you--and it will fail you--you know you can turn to the great American makers of pharmaceuticals to save you from everything from mild discomfort to certain, immediate death.

The ray of sunlight descends slowly from sky to ground. It rests on and illmuniates a little brown prescription bottle on the ground of the alley. Next to it lies a DEAD WOMAN, identical to our main character, her face stretched in a horrific rictus grin, the bottle just outside the grasp of her outstretched hand. The WOMAN (the still-living one) greedily snatches the bottle, tears off the lid and dumps an indeterminate number of pills down her throat. The clouds break immediately, reintroducing the sun. The old buildings crumble instantly to dust and green shoots grow from the barren ground until:

[MORPH EFFECT TO SCENE CHANGE:]

EXT. A WHEAT FIELD - DAY

The WOMAN wipes the last bits of drool and vomit from her chin with her shirt sleeve. She stands up, smiling. She holds a Frisbee in one hand.

WOMAN (TO CAMERA)
Thank you, Promethazine!

She throws the Frisbee. The animated skeleton of her GOLDEN RETRIEVER races after it, past the ring of ZOMBIE HOBOES engaged in a highly choreographed circular dance of joy.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
Ask your doctor about Promethazine for treatment of mild nausea associated with flu. If he or she resists, we encourage you to file a grievance with your state medical licensing board because they are clearly trying to kill you. Side effects include dizziness, drowsiness, sensitivity to light, headache, rash, anal seepage and--just for fun--also nausea. And death.



Pops (still medicated)
- posted by Pops @ 9:32 AM