Scene: Johnny’s bedroom. Johnny and Mack sit in front of an Apple IIc with a green screen. Pictures of 1980s models wearing leotards line the walls.

JOHNNY: You’re the computer geek. You figure it out.

MACK: Just a minute, Johnny. (Typing.) By my calculations, when we create this woman, she’ll have the teeth of Lauren Hutton, the freckles of Cheryl Tiegs, and the acting chops of Christie Brinkley. Then, we’ll both lose our virginity!

JOHNNY: Take it easy, nerdenheimer. Just make with the lady.

MACK: OK, I just need to press this Alt button, and …

(Smoke and fog fill the air. When it clears, a beautiful woman stands in the middle of the room. She is wearing a leotard.)

JOHNNY: All right!


JOHNNY: Fix her voice, Mack! She sounds like a robot.

MACK: Okey-dokey, let me just press the Ctrl key …

GIRL: Hello, boys.

JOHNNY: That’s better. Hello, yourself. Are you ready to party?

GIRL: We’ll get to that. Let me ask you a question first. What are your feelings on foreign policy?

MACK: Wha—?

GIRL: Personally, I’ve had just about enough of the stale whines of pussy McGovernites and their vague, soy-eating peacenikism.

MACK: I’m sorry?

GIRL: Listen, we’re living in a new age and a new paradigm is necessary. We must maintain American power against foe or so-called friend, and not back out of pre-emptive self-defense because of wimpy Vietnam-syndrome horseshit.

MACK: “Pre-emptive self-defense” is an oxymoron!

GIRL: Oh, I see, American freedom is an “oxymoron”? You damn liberals.

MACK: Hey, that’s not what I said!

GIRL: Ohhhh, so that’s how it is! There’s never any moral clarity when it comes to you limp-wristed bleeding hearts. You sound just like Fidel. And Hitler!

MACK: That’s slander!

GIRL: You’re slander. Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me carbon emissions are a problem.

MACK: They are a problem!

GIRL: Well, well, look who worships at the altar of wishy-washy moonbat science! I’ve got an idea: why don’t we just call off American industry altogether! Can I also sell you the Brooklyn Bridge, Mr. Farrakhan?

JOHNNY: You ready to party, baby?

GIRL: First you have to agree that the protection of American hegemony should recognize no so-called “international law” constraints. Sweden keeps ranking No. 1 on the U.N.‘s Human Development Index? Hey, I hear they eat a lot of fish in Sweden. Maybe they’d like a fish made outta cluster-bomb nukes. And do you know who’s a member of the U.N.? That’s right, the Soviet Union! I know you must agree with me, Johnny.

MACK: Don’t do it, Johnny! I must have accidentally programmed her incorrectly. My computer indicates the Fred Barnes factor is at radioactive levels. Don’t sell out!

GIRL: Ohhh, I see. So conservatives are programmed, eh? But not you, huh? Oh, perish the thought!

MACK: You were programmed! I did it myself!

GIRL: (Sarcastically.) Of course! Let me submit to your will, comrade! You want America to be destroyed, don’t you?

MACK: No!!

GIRL: That wasn’t a no.

MACK: Yes it was!

GIRL: Well, it wasn’t definitive enough. And you just said yes, anyway.

MACK: You’re taking me out of context! I said “Yes it was” to the “no”!

GIRL: How’s that for muddled logic? “Uh, yes, no, yes, no, death to America, Hezbollah is misunderstood, blah blah blah.”

MACK: That’s a misrepresentation!

GIRL: I’m done talking to you. Now, Johnny, your friend Mack here is clearly both anti-American and insane. Do you think the insane should be allowed to run this country?

MACK: How dare you! You’re assassinating my character!

GIRL: Assassination, eh? My goodness, you sound exactly like Sirhan Sirhan. Why are you so angry? What’s with this hate and hostility? I think you must have a mental disorder.

MACK: This isn’t a fair debating style.

GIRL: Crybaby. If it weren’t for you, we would have won Vietnam. Quagmire, my ass. You think I like being a veteran of our only lost foreign war? Defeated by traitors on college campuses and not by Charlie in the jungle, I’ll tell you that much.

MACK: I wasn’t even born. And I created you five minutes ago! You couldn’t be a veteran.

GIRL: That’s not what this National Guard payment slip says!

JOHNNY: What do I have to do to get into your pants, baby?

GIRL: You can start by repealing the death tax. If you gut the EPA, run a Southern strategy, and throw a Ronald Reagan film marathon on your dad’s Betamax, I may even let you get to third base.

JOHNNY: Meh, Bedtime for Bonzo’s probably gonna be a deal-breaker.