The Celebrity Recluse Club

INT. BUILDING—————-Day
We are behind a man. He’s standing in front of a door. The man is nervous, shaking his shoulders and cracking neck. We move slightly to the right. There is a label on the door. It says: CRC.

VOICE
(o.s.)
Come in!
The man opens the door and enters.

INT. ROOM——————–Day
The man enters in a darkly lit room, with only one light bulb swinging  above a dark, circular, mahogany table. He is a man in his late 30s, slightly balding and is chewing gum. On the other side of the table, away from him, are seated three people. They have dark burkhas on, all emblazoned with the logo: CRC. 
VOICE
Sit!
The man pulls back the chair in front of him and sits down. He places a white envelope on the table. It has CV written on it. The middle cloaked man drags it to him and opens it. 
MIDDLE GUY
Welcome, Mr…..?
TOLKIEN
J.R.R. Tolkien.
Tolkien speaks with a British accent.
THIRD GUY
I’m sorry?
TOLKIEN
J.R.R. Tolkien, you know, from the Lord of the Rings books, the Silmarillion, the Hobbit?
The three men scratch the top of their cloaks.
FIRST GUY
J.R.R. Tolkien is dead…for many years now…
TOLKIEN
I’m very much alive as you can see…
THIRD GUY
We can see that….
TOLKIEN
What’s with all this skulduggery, I say? All this mystery, you might as well call yourselves the Black Ku Klux Klan. 
MIDDLE GUY
The what?
TOLKIEN
The Black Ku Klux Klan, you know, because you’re wearing black cloaks…I heard that there actually was some kind of organization like that…bent on killing us whites, they were. 
MIDDLE GUY
Well, we’re not the Black KKK. 
TOLKIEN
Well, stop this tomfoolery and show me who you are…
The guys look at each other, shrug and take off their cloaks. They are: Terence Malick, Bill Watterson and Thomas Pynchon, who still has a paper bag on his head with a question mark.

PYNCHON
I apologize for the inconvenience of the paper bag. If I expose my face to sunlight, it withers.
WATTERSON
I’m a big fan, Mr. Tolkien. 
MALICK
Okay, now that we’ve done the formalities, Mr. Tolkien, are you aware of the eligibility for admission into this exclusive club?
TOLKIEN
No, I’m not. 
WATTERSON
First rule of Celebrity Recluse Club: You do not talk about Celebrity Recluse Club. 
TOLKIEN
Why?
WATTERSON
We’re recluses, remember?
MALICK
The second thing…you need to be known for a couple of works in your whole career. Being prolific is not an option. 
PYNCHON
We had to kick out Cameron because of that. 
WATTERSON
We kicked out Cameron because he had so many girls around him man…he was like Hefner after a point.
MALICK
You’re just jealous you creep out girls because you still draw a little kid and his stuffed tiger. 
WATTERSON
I am NOT jealous, you old coot!
MALICK
That’s outta line! Pynchon’s way older than me! 
They start bickering. Tolkien looks around the room and notices an empty chair at the left extreme of the circle. 
TOLKIEN
Whose chair is that?
The recluses become silent. 
PYNCHON
That was for J.D.
TOLKIEN
James Dean? John Dorian? Jack Donaghy?
MALICK
You do know that two of those names are for characters right?
WATTERSON
J.D. Salinger, our dear friend.
MALICK
Yeah, he was a ton of fun. Remember the time he flashed those little girls on Halloween?
They all guffaw.
MALICK
That’s another requirement for the club, Mr. Tolkien. You need to do a bunch of crazy shit while you’re in the club, to gain notoriety. 
TOLKIEN
I’m already crazy! I created Gollum and Orcs, right? And a transsexual Peter Pan with a pornstar rod, right?
PYNCHON
That’s right! Wait a minute, that last part sounded just wrong…
TOLKIEN
(to Pynchon)
Have you noticed your ears look as big as Dumbo the elephant’s?
PYNCHON
It’s because of the bag! It’s not fair…
Tolkien gets up and slaps Pynchon’s bag. 
TOLKIEN
Stop whining, you puss!
The other guys are kind of shocked…and then the door bursts open and two burly men clad in white rush in and grab Tolkien. 
MAN 1
We apologize, this guy escaped from the mental hospital. He thinks he’s some guy called Tolkien. 
MAN 2
Yeah…sorry. What were you guys doing here, anyway? Costume party?
The celebrities are back to wearing their hoods. They are as silent as stone, as the men try to speak to them. 

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