Ringo, no! Ringo, why?!

This is a really long one.  I actually wrote it a good two weeks ago, re-wrote the ending last week, and am only now posting it.  The "Scrambled Eggs" song and its first two lines are actually real, the rest is made up (obviously).  Who doesn't enjoy a little Beatles humor? (You tell me who right now, I'll kill 'em!!)

INT. RECORDING STUDIO

Three of the Beatles (John, George, Ringo) sit in the recording studio noodling around on their instruments and intermittently checking their watches.  They are dressed in the generic black Beatles suits.  Producer George Martin sits behind the glass in the production room.

JOHN

Any word yet, George?

GEORGE MARTIN

Not at all, John.

Just then, Paul finally comes running into the studio with his acoustic guitar and lyric sheet.  The other three Beatles look up at his with exasperated looks on their faces.

GEORGE HARRISON

It's about time!

PAUL

Sorry, George, I was working on this new tune.  It's the strangest thing, it actually came to me in a dream.

JOHN

That's great, Paul.  We've only been waiting for you for three bleedin' hours is all.

PAUL

Sorry again, John, I just had to get this down on paper while it was still fresh in me head.

GEORGE HARRISON

Alright, well, let's hear it.

PAUL

(unsure)

I don't know, I only just wrote it--

JOHN

C'mon, Paul, we've been waiting all day!

PAUL

It still needs some tweaking--

Paul cuts himself off as he gets a look at Ringo behind the drum kit.  Ringo is holding the sides of his face and looks like he could cry like a baby.  He is a spitting image of the painting "The Scream."

PAUL

(concerned)

No, Ringo!  I'll play, I'll play!

Ringo cheers up a little but looks apprehensive.  George H. comforts him while Paul sits down at a nearby stool with his guitar and puts his lyrics on the podium in front of him.  He strums the guitar lightly to make sure it's in tune.

PAUL

This is really my first run of the tune, but I think it's pretty good.

GEORGE MARTIN

What's it called?

PAUL

Oh, the title is "Scrambled Eggs."

Everyone looks around like that is the dumbest thing they've ever heard.

JOHN

You made us wait three hours so you could write a song about breakfast?  Are you mental?

PAUL

No, it's not about that at all!  I was actually inspired by the Vietnam War when I wrote this.

JOHN

Interesting...

GEORGE HARRISON

Get on with it then.

PAUL

Okay, okay.

Paul sits up and gets ready to play.  George Martin puts on his headphones in the booth.

GEORGE MARTIN

"Scrambled Eggs," take one.

Paul begins to strum the tune of the Beatles' song "Yesterday."  The lyrics he sings, however, are definitely not "Yesterday."

PAUL

(singing)

Scrambled eggs/Oh baby how I love your legs/And when I sit and eat my scrambled eggs/I look at you/And see your legs

The other Beatles and George Martin look at each other in shock and disbelief.  Paul continues.

PAUL

Suddenly/There are scrambled eggs in front of me--

GEORGE MARTIN

Alright, let's cut it right there.

Paul stops playing.

PAUL

What's the problem, George?  Is the microphone picking up background?

He turns and glares at the other three Beatles.

GEORGE MARTIN

No, it's just that--

JOHN

The song is shit, mate.

PAUL

(shocked)

What?

GEORGE HARRISON

Absolute shit.

PAUL

You're joking.  Ringo?

Ringo slowly gives Paul two thumbs way down.

PAUL

(extremely upset)

Ringo, no!

Ring, with both thumbs still down, shakes his head in disapproval.

PAUL

Ringo, why?!

He turns to face all of his bandmates.

PAUL

C'mon, fellas, I've only sung one verse.  At least let me get through the whole song!

JOHN

Does it at least pick up from here?

PAUL

It does!

JOHN

Finish your song.

Paul smiles and starts to set back up.

PAUL

(extremely smug)

Oh, and keep your ears open for any possible socio-political metaphors I might have peppered in the next few verses.

There is no reaction from anyone as Paul continues to grin like a douche.

GEORGE MARTIN

Let's take it from the second verse.  "Scrambled Eggs," take two.

Paul starts playing again, picking up where he left off.

PAUL

Suddenly/There are scrambled eggs in front of me/Obscuring view of legs I'd see/If these eggs weren't in front of me

Everyone is rolling their eyes out of control.  Paul doesn't notice as he takes the song to the bridge.

PAUL

Who served these eggs to me?/I don't know, I didn't see/Whose are those legs I see?/I don't know, they weren't of me-e-e-e/Scrambled eggs--

GEORGE MARTIN

(so done with this)

Cut it there.

PAUL

(innocently)

What's the problem?  Did I hit a stray note on me guitar?

GEORGE HARRISON

(pissed)

It's the song, mate.  It's bollocks!

PAUL

(hurt)

What?!

George H., John, and Ringo walk over to Paul and surround him.

PAUL

You all are being pretty close-minded about this one.

John reaches for the lyrics sheet.

JOHN

Let me read the rest of this.

He grabs the sheet just before Paul can snatch it himself.  He reads the lyrics.

JOHN

It just goes on like that!  "Eggs, legs, eggs, legs."  Are you mental?

PAUL

Hey, just because you lot are too daft to understand the meaning of my song--

GEORGE HARRISON

What's there to get?  It's nonsense!

GEORGE MARTIN

(calmly)

If I could be an objective voice in the room...

PAUL

Yes, George, please.

A beat.  George collects himself.  Then:

GEORGE MARTIN

The song sucks dog dick.

PAUL

What?!

Paul faces Ringo, who has yet to react.

PAUL

Ringo?

A beat.  Ringo slowly frowns at Paul.

PAUL

(extremely upset)

Ringo, no!  Ringo, why?!

JOHN

Come on, then, the tune is okay.  If we get some better words to it--

PAUL

(reluctantly)

I do have some alternate lyrics...

JOHN

Yeah, then let's see those.

Paul reluctantly pulls a folded lyrics sheet out of his pants pocket and hands it to John.  John unfolds it as he and George H. read over it.  Ringo stares off into the distance.

JOHN

(reading)

"Yesterday..."

GEORGE HARRISON

Okay, these are passable.

JOHN

Slightly less terrible than "Eggs My Legs" or whatever.

PAUL

(correcting him)

"Scrambled Eggs."

JOHN

"Scrabble Legs" or whatever--

PAUL

SCRAMBLED.  EGGS.

JOHN

Yeah, that.  Let's use these instead.

He hands the sheet back to Paul, who snatches it out of his hand.

PAUL

You know, I don't think you all are getting the metaphorical value of the lyrics to "Scrambled Eggs."

John and George H. are dumbfounded.

GEORGE HARRISON

We're all ears, Paul.

JOHN

Yeah, spell it out for us, professor.  What is the social commentary meant behind "Scrambled eggs, oh baby how I love those legs"?

PAUL

I'm glad you finally asked, I've been dying to share.  Let's start from the beginning.  "Scrambled eggs."  Eggs.  Birth.  Born.  Child.  BUT... scrambled?  Ah, now it gets interesting.

FADE OUT.

FADE IN.

INT. RECORDING STUDIO - Later

VOICE OVER

FOUR. HOURS. LATER.

Everyone looks so bored at this point like they could pass out at any second.  Meanwhile, Paul is rolling.

PAUL

 That's what Hitler was trying to say!  Half the time, they ARE just eggs!  BUT, if you look at the Jews through the scope of the egg ratio, a legs-worth will otherwise--

JOHN

Alright, enough!

Paul reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of papers.

PAUL

I've actually prepared a few brochures to help you all understand--

George H. knocks the papers out of Paul's hand.

GEORGE HARRISON

We get it, mate!  We ain't a Hitler Youth group, save your propaganda for your own time!

PAUL

If you would just read the pamphlets, I'm sure--

JOHN

Hey!  Save it for Nuremberg, Goebbels, we got an album to record!  Just do the song and be done with it, then you can practice all the hate speech you want out in the streets!

PAUL

It's not really hate speech so much as it's a new way of--

JOHN

Don't care!  Do the bloody tune!

PAUL

Okay, okay.  Which version shall I do?

JOHN

"Yesterday"--

PAUL

(flatly)

No.

Everyone glares at Paul.

PAUL

Okay, I can tell everyone is tired.  I'll do the bleedin' song with the "Yesterday" lyrics.

Everyone is very relieved by this declaration.

GEORGE HARRISON

Thank God!

PAUL

ON ONE CONDITION!

Everyone immediately looks horrified as Paul makes his demands.

PAUL

For the rest of the band's existence, any out-and-out retarded idea I have goes.  And believe me, if today is any indication, which it is, I have plenty of terrible ideas.

JOHN

Such as?

Paul counts his bad ideas off on his fingers as he names them.

PAUL

(smugly)

I've an idea for a concept album about a crazy carnival, an idea for a condescending ska song that might be the worst song ever recorded, I want to name that song "Ob La Di, Ob La Da" and say that several times in the song itself, I want to write roughly a million songs that would sound better if recorded in 1925--

GEORGE HARRISON

Fuckin' hell, you got a lot of bad ideas!

PAUL

AND I want to be referred to as "the Walrus."  But ONLY after it's been established that John is the Walrus so that people will think it's cool and then I'll swoop in and ride that wave.

JOHN

You are insane.

Paul begins grinning with wide-eyed glee.  John looks creeped out.

GEORGE MARTIN

Boys, I hate to be pushy, but it's four in the morning.  If we're going to do this, let's do it already.

JOHN

God.  It's up to Ringo.  Let Ringo decide.

GEORGE HARRISON

Sure, let Ringo decide.

All eyes on Ringo.  Ringo exhales deeply.  He nods in exasperation and makes a relenting gesture with his hand to show he'll go along with the idea.  Paul grins.

PAUL

Alright, let's record this ditty!

Everyone returns to their area of the studio as Paul gets ready to record his song.

GEORGE MARTIN

What's the new title again, Paul?

PAUL

"Yesterday," George.

GEORGE MARTIN

"Yesterday," take one.  And rolling!

Paul begins to play.

PAUL

(singing)

Yesterday...

BLACK OUT.