“FRED BITES”
INT. WINNEBAGO - DAY
The inside of a beat-up WINNEBAGO hurtles down HIGHWAY 101. FRED ARMISEN (40s, looking deceptively sweet, a glint of manic energy in his eyes) is behind the wheel, foot pressed firmly on the gas. The speedometer needle is way past the limit.
In the passenger seat, a frazzled-looking BAND MEMBER #1 (30s, anxious) grips the dashboard. In the back, BAND MEMBER #2 (30s, spacey) stares blankly at the ceiling.
BAND MEMBER #1 Slow down, Fred. Seriously.
FRED (Grinning widely) Nah.
Fred reaches down and cracks open a tall can of FOUR LOKO. The sickly sweet smell fills the cramped space.
BAND MEMBER #1 Is that a Four Loko? It's barely noon!
FRED (Taking a long swig) Shut your face. Road sodie.
The Winnebago swerves violently.
BAND MEMBER #1 YO! BE CAREFUL, DAWG!
FRED (Chuckling) I'm… careful. In my own way.
He lets out a wild laugh. Band Member #1 and #2 exchange terrified glances.
BAND MEMBER #2 (Looking around) Hey, uh… why are there no windows in here?
BAND MEMBER #1 Yeah man, what the—
The Winnebago swerves again, even more dangerously this time.
BAND MEMBER #1 AGHHHHH!
CUT TO: INT. GENERIC OFFICE - DAY
CONAN O'BRIEN (60s, unmistakable red hair) sits at a desk, a half-eaten slice of pizza the size of his head clutched in his hand. He shoves a massive bite into his mouth, cheeks bulging.
OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) Meanwhile, in that other thing…
OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) (CONT'D) Where rational thoughts go to die, apparently.
OFF-SCREEN VOICE (V.O.) (CONT'D) Or just get really hungry.
Two WRITERS (30s, sarcastic) watch Conan with a mixture of amusement and disgust.
WRITER #1 I hope you croak.
WRITER #2 You should choke on that, honestly.
Conan finishes chewing, licks his greasy fingers with exaggerated relish.
CONAN (Mouth full) I didn't.
CUT BACK TO: EXT. PRIVATE BEACH - DAY
The Winnebago screeches to a halt just off a pristine beach. SUNNI BLŪ (30s, cool and unimpressed) stands near the water, looking annoyed.
FRED (Grinning, stepping out of the van) …hi Sunnï.
SUNNI BLŪ What up… C-list show people… Plus two skags?
Band Member #1 and #2 wave awkwardly from the open van door.
FRED We got you a Winnebago! Surprise!
SUNNI BLŪ …for what? Is this some kind of bit? Because it's not funny.
FRED (Eyes gleaming) Don't you want to take… a closer look—?
Sunni takes a step towards the van, a flicker of curiosity on their face. Suddenly, Fred's demeanor shifts. His sweet smile vanishes, replaced by a primal intensity.
FRED (Snarling, voice low and menacing) —ah shit— Seth Meyers?
He lunges at Sunni with surprising speed, grabbing a drumstick from behind his back and jamming it against their head. Sunni cries out, collapsing.
FRED (Animalistic growl) JUST GET IN THE VAN!
Fred and the band members quickly grab Sunni, who is now limp, and hoist them up. They carry Sunni, tied up with what looks suspiciously like floral garland, like a luau pig towards the Winnebago. They toss Sunni unceremoniously into the back.
Fred hops back into the driver's seat, cracks open another tallboy, and chugs the rest of it, littering the empty can out the open door before starting the engine.
SUNNI BLŪ (suddenly alert, from inside the van) YO! DID YOU JUST LITTER ON MY BEACH?!
BAND MEMBER #1 (Looking horrified) Not cool, bro.
BAND MEMBER #2 That was wrong, man. Seriously uncool.
Fred slams on the brakes. He gets out of the Winnebago, a look of pure fury on his face. He stomps over to the discarded can, picks it up, and then gets back in the van, restarting the engine and speeding off down the road, even angrier than before.
FADE OUT INTO ORANGE CALIFORNIAN SUNSET.
L E G E N D S
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