Toby Keith resigns

Like many an American tonight, I couldn’t sleep very well due to the exciting explosion of news about Osama Bin Laden’s capture/death. So, after a few hours combing the web for more Bin Laden details, I tried to work on some stuff I’ve been putting off. Couldn’t do that either. Then, a friend of mine, Patrick, posted something on Facebook which reminded me that there is one man who will be resting well tonight. TOBY KEITH. I found that I could write about THAT, at least:

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FADE IN:

INT. TOBY KEITH’S KITCHEN – NIGHT
TK leans over a Kitchen island counter, staring at the TV. He takes a puff of his cigarette and ashes into a beer can. He appears weary. CAMERA PANS UP to reveal that he has the entire population of the United States sitting on his shoulders.

INSERT SHOT OF TV SCREEN
…On screen we see a NEWS REPORTER talking of Osama Bin Laden’s death.

NEWS REPORTER (ON SCREEN)
Finally, after nearly 10 years, justice has been served, Americans can perhaps rest a bit eas…

TK turns the tv OFF, and drops his cigarette into the beer can. We hear it briefly SIZZLE.

CUT TO:

INT. TOBY KEITH’S OFFICE – NIGHT
Affixed to the walls of his home office are numerous gold record plaques and framed photos of TK with his fans and various celebrities and politicians.
TK walks over to a large DRESSER the size of the continental United States. He begins to slowly take each GOD FEARIN’ CITIZEN from off his shoulders, one by one, and places them into the drawers of the dresser.

GOD FEARIN’ CITIZEN #1
You the man, Toby!

GOD FEARIN’ CITIZEN #2
Thanks, TK.

He pulls the DIXIE CHICKS down from his shoulders and looks at them lovingly.

DIXIE CHICKS
(singing in perfect harmony)
Fuck you, Toby Keith!

TK laughs warmly and pets their hair, and then gingerly places them into the drawer. Finally, he places the last American Citizen into the dresser. He SIGHS DEEPLY and pushes the drawer shut. TK stares at the dresser, wiping dust from the top.

TK
(grinning, shaking his head)
Shit.

CUT TO:

INT. TOBY KEITH’S BEDROOM – NIGHT
TK enters his bedroom, switching on a Lamp by the door. His wife gently SNORES in bed. In the background, across the hall, we see his Office, a cone of light directly pouring over the dresser. TK takes his Carhartt jacket off, exposing a shoulder strap HOLSTER. In the holster, a single MICROPHONE. He takes the Mic from the holster and stares at it, turning it, inspecting it. The microphone glints in the light – dents and scratches showing its age and mileage. TK puts the microphone into an old purple Crown Royal bag and then tucks it into his night-stand. He walks back to the door and stares at the U.S.A-sized dresser across the hall. He rubs his right shoulder, massaging it. He shakes his head and turns the lamp OFF.

In the DARKNESS, we can barely make out a moonlight-rimmed TK, sitting down on his bed, rubbing his shoulder again.

TK
(softly)
Damn.

FADE OUT.

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