Here's something old I wrote for any future editions of Missing Scene. Thought I'd throw it up here as only had feedback from Bussell and Stott in the past.
PART 1
EXT. STREET. DAY
STOCK FOOTAGE OF 50S CAR PULLING INTO DRIVEWAY OF 50S US HOUSE. TITLE OF 'MY
NEIGHBOR, THE CYBORG' SUPERIMPOSED ON SCREEN. AUDIENCE APPLAUSE.
INT. PHIL'S HOUSE
PHIL ENTERS THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR OF A CLASSIC US SITCOM OPEN PLAN HOUSE. HE HANGS HIS HAT UP AND LOOKS AROUND.
PHIL:
Hi, honey! I'm home!
SILENCE.
PHIL:
Come on now, honey, don't be playing games! We've got the golf club dinner tonight.
PHIL SCANS THE LOUNGE AND FOCUSES ON A CHARRED PAIR OF WOMEN'S SHOES. HE PICKS THEM UP.
PHIL:
CYYYYYYYYYYYYBORRRRRRRRRGGGGGGG!
PHIL STORMS OUT THE HOUSE.
INT. CYBORG'S HOUSE
IDENTICAL HOUSE TO PHIL'S, BUT DRESSED DIFFERENTLY AND WITH A PORTRAIT OF STALIN ON THE WALL. THERE IS A FURIOUS HAMMERING AT THE DOOR. CYBORG APPROACHES AND OPENS. PHIL STORMS IN PAST HIM.
CYBORG:
(SARCASTIC RUSSIAN ACCENT) Why don't you just come in now, Phil?!
PHIL:
Did you vapourise my wife again?!
CYBORG:
She was being a democratic pig. She belong in gulags.
SFX: AUDIENCE SHARP INTAKE OF BREATH
PHIL:
Oh yeah? Well why don't I rearrange your gulags?!
SFX: AUDIENCE CHEER AND WHOOP
PHIL LUNGES AT CYBORG.
CYBORG:
Hey Hey, comrade! I thought you wanted wifey back!
PHIL:
Gah! The damn pumpernickels right. He's got me right by the gulags.
CYBORG:
I will reconstitute your wife, but must wait til tomorrow.
PHIL:
But I've got the golf club dinner in 3 hours, you barmy Bolshevik!
CYBORG:
Sorry, but I'm busy with special project.
CAMERA MOVES ACROSS TO REVEAL ATOMIC BOMB ON THE TABLE.
PHIL:
Is that one of them ato-mic bombs?!
CYBORG:
No! Is big time firework for 4th of July. I want to show America how much I love her! (LAUGHS)
SFX: AUDIENCE BOO AND HISS
PHIL:
Say, why don't you work on the wife and I'll finish your firework off? Because, hey, no one loves America more than Phil Kaplutz!
PHIL PUTS HIS HAND ON HIS HEART AND STARTS HUMMING THE US NATIONAL ANTHEM.
SFX: AUDIENCE GO BANANAS
CYBORG:
Hmmm, I could do with a break. That uranium's making me woozy.
PHIL:
Then why not pick yourself up with a Jenkins cigarette?
PHIL PRODUCES A PACK OF CIGARETTES THAT HE HOLDS TO CAMERA. PHIL AND CYBORG EACH LIGHT ONE UP. THEY INHALE DEEPLY. PHIL COUGHS HEAVILY.
CYBORG:
Jenkins cigarettes sure do cure what ails you.
PHIL DOUBLES OVER COUGHING. CYBORG LEANS IN CONCERNED.
CYBORG:
(QUIETLTY AND AMERICAN) Frank? Frank? Are you alright?
PHIL RECOMPOSES HIMSELF.
PHIL:
(WHEEZES) Jenkins cigarettes are recommended by 9 out of 10 doctors.
PART 1 ENDS
PART 2
INT. CYBORG'S HOUSE
CYBORG IS USING A BLOWTORCH ON A PAIR OF FEMALE LEGS DANGLING OVER THE END OF A SOFA.
PHIL:
(OOV) The firework's all finished, cyborg!
CYBORG LOOKS ROUND TO SEE PHIL WHO IS GLOWING WITH RADIATION. CYBORG STARES AT HIM.
PHIL:
What? What's the matter? Is it my fly?
CYBORG:
Oh look. I've fixed your wife.
RITA JUMPS UP FROM THE COUCH. SHE LOOKS ANGRILY AT CYBORG.
RITA:
You're going to vapourise me?! You can't do that. I'm an American and... wait... where am I? Where's my refrigerator?! And, Phil, dear, why are you glowing?
CYBORG:
It's a tan! A lovely tan!
PHIL:
Must be the I-talian in me!
RITA:
Oh, well, I guess we've all learnt important lessons today, haven't we? I for one know that I shall never challenge an ideology simply because the government tell us we must. I mean, how is that a democracy?
PHIL:
And I've learnt you've got to trust your neighbours. (PUTS ARM ROUND CYBORG)
CYBORG:
And maybe I should integrate myself into your society instead of wantonly destroying it.
ALL 3 SAGELY NOD.
PHIL:
Well we better be heading off to the golf club. I'd let you come, but they've got a strict no cyborg policy.
RITA:
And I'm only allowed in if I wear this.
RITA PUTS ON A LARGE, FAKE MOUSTACHE.
CYBORG:
Surely you've got time for a quick bowl of borscht?
PHIL:
Ah what the hell!
RITA AND PHIL TAKE A SEAT AT THE TABLE WITH THE ATOMIC BOMB. CYBORG COMES RUNNING OVER WITH A LARGE PAN OF BORSCHT. HE KNOCKS THE ATOMIC BOMB WITH THE PAN. IT STARTS TICKING.
CYBORG:
Chyort voz'mi!
STOCK FOOTAGE OF A HUGE MUSHROOM CLOUD.
PHIL:
(OOV) CYYYYYYYYYYYYBORRRRRRRRRGGGGGGG!
ENDS