“Mort?”
“Harry? You son of an old tin can of maggot infested tuna that a starving Tomcat wouldn’t go anywhere near, how are ya?”
“Mort, you dessicated hunk of disembodied flesh lying in a pool of industrial waste — I didn’t call to exchange pleasantries. I got an idea — it’s a killer. It’s gonna kill. I swear, it’s gonna knock ’em dead.”
“It’s good, hunh?”
“Big. The biggest.”
“Bigger than Bar Mitzvah Man Forever?”
“Hunh! Mort, Bubbe. You’re talkin’ molehills, I’m talkin’ mountains, here.”
“Bigger than tofu chewing gum?”
“Okay. Now, I’m insulted!”
“Alright, alright. Harry, you got me on shpilkes, here! Tell me your idea!”
“Too Stupid to Live.”
“Wha? We’re having a friendly conversation, and you go and say something like that to me? I been in the business 27 years, and nobody’s ever said that…to my face! WhaddIever –“
“Stay with me, here, Mort. Stay with me. It’s a TV show. You know, Too Stupid to Live?”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure. I knew that.”
“It’s about a couple of teenage boys in the suburbs –“
“Hoo boy, those teenager boys, they get into a lot of trouble. My brother’s son, Isaac –“
“Exactly. Now, these teenage boys, they got a strong sense of irony and a keen sense of popular culture, but otherwise they’re too stupid –“
“Stupid to live! Yeah, I’m way ahead of you, here, Harry. Sort of a Bill and Ted get Dumb and Dumber than Beavis and Butthead.”
“Uhh, actually, I was thinking about it the other way around.”
“Whaddever. You got any stories?”
“Do I got any stories? Does Henny Youngman wear a Borscht Belt?”
“What the hell kind of a question is that?”
“Of course I got stories. In the first episode, to establish the premise right off the bat, our heros are so stupid, they forget to breath for a week and a half! If we don’t get a 97 share, I’ll go back to selling surgical underwear!”
“Forget to breath, hunh?”
“Is that great, or wha?”
“Uhh, Harry, sweetheart, bubbelache, I don’t mean to get hung up on nitpicky details, but don’t human beings, like, need to breath in order to — you know — stay alive?”
“That’s just it! They’re so stupid, they don’t even know they’re dead!”
“Genius! But where can you go from there?”
“The possibilities are endless! Mort, baby, we’re talking stupidity here! In the second episode, the boys burn down their home and have to spend an evening in an emergency ward — I already got Christopher Walken signed to play a psycho with a pencil lodged deeply in his left ear. Then, we could have the boys responsible for…oh, I don’t know…the Oklahama bombings…the Menendez killings…”
“Rewriting the tax code?”
“You see! Once you’ve the premise of stupidity has been established, the scripts practically write themselves! And we’ve got the perfect season finale: the boys get loose in a nuclear reactor and blow up half of New York State!”
“Hmm…I don’t know.”
“You don’t love this idea? I don’t believe you don’t love this idea! How can you not love this idea?”
“I love it — I love your idea. Okay?”
“So, what’s with the hesitating clearing of the throat?”
“You’re gonna get letters, Harry. You know there’s gonna be letters.”
“I should hope so! If we can get enough of a fan base, think of the merchandising possibilities! Too Stupid to Live mugs with a hole in the bottom! Lighters! Barbecue charcoal! Chewing gum in the shape of plastic explosives –!”
“Harry…”
“T-shirts that say: ‘My parents went to Hollywood, and they were too stupid to bring back a t-shirt with a clever saying!’ Monogrammed whoopie cushions! Action figures that don’t do anything –!”
“Harry!”
“Mort?”
“I meant from parents. You’re gonna get letters from parents.”
“Sure. They can join the fan club if they want. You think we should have an age limit, or something?”
“Complaint letters, Harry. They’re gonna say you’re corrupting their kids with mindless fluff that celebrates stupidity.”
“No problem. You think that’s a problem? I’ll just give them the standard line: television does not incite stupidity, it merely reflects the stupidity that exists in society.”
“Ain’t it the truth…”