NOTE: This was written by a total of five people, although I did write most of the first draft on my own. A severely edited version of this script was used for shooting. Our drama teacher didn't like the idea of a giant talking razor blade. Go figure.
INT. BASEMENT. DAY.
MUSIC: The Elmo's World theme.
CONNER (16), a skinny, black-haired boy dressed entirely in black, slouches on a couch, sullenly facing the camera. Two SINGERS, dressed completely in white, pop up from behind the couch.
SINGERS: La, la, la, la . . . la, la, la, la . . .
They duck back down. CONNER holds up a small cardboard sign reading "EMO'S WORLD" in black marker.
CONNER: Emo's World.
He puts the sign down. The SINGERS pop up again.
SINGERS: La, la, la, la . . . la, la, la, la . . .
They hide again. CONNER holds up the sign again, annoyed.
CONNER: I said, Emo's World.
He throws the sign away and holds up a small paring knife that he pulls out from between the couch cushions.
CONNER: Emo loves his knife . . . and hates his life.
He pantomimes dragging the knife across his forearm. The SINGERS pop up again.
SINGERS: That's . . .
CONNER turns and glares at them both.
CONNER: Look, I already told you, it's Emo's World! Can't you singing strangers get out of my basement?
The SINGERS run away, in a very Zoidberg-like fashion. CONNER puts down the knife and faces the camera.
CONNER: Hi. I'm Conner. Current mood: Apathetic. Current music: That annoying theme song you just heard. I'd tell you that I'm excited to see you, but I know all too well that excitement leads to happiness, which leads to psychological vulnerability, which allows society to surround you with lies, rip out your soul, and plunge your entire being into a gaping black void of anger and resentment.
DARIA, CONNER's pet tarantula, appears next to his head, hanging on a string. CONNER gestures to her.
CONNER: Daria agrees with me. Don't you, Daria?
DARIA: Yes, Conner, I do. Life is meaningless, death is inevitable, and lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off. It's all so true.
CONNER: Indeed it is, Daria, indeed it is.
DARIA springs back up to the ceiling.
CONNER: And now for an extreme close-up.
The camera zooms in tight on CONNER's mouth, which continues to speak without emotion.
CONNER: Whoa. This is totally out of control.
The camera zooms out.
CONNER: Now for a quick word from our friend, Wallace the Razor Blade.
WALLACE, a giant pink Muppet-like razor blade, appears from behind the couch.
WALLACE: Hi. I'm Wallace, and I deeply enjoy cutting. Why, you ask?
A dramatic note plays in the background and a red light glows on WALLACE's face.
WALLACE: Because you bleeeeeeeed! Ya-ha-ha-ha-ha! Conner?
CONNER smirks and pats WALLACE on the head.
CONNER: That's enough for now, Wallace.
CONNER: Guess what Emo's thinking about today. La-di-dah.
He walks over to a closet and opens it. Taped to the back of the door is a sheet of paper reading "SANDWICHES." CONNER glances at it for a moment, then faces the camera.
CONNER: You know. Sandwiches.
He shuts the closet and walks back to the couch.
CONNER: Daria's been thinking about sandwiches today, too, and Daria has a question.
DARIA materializes next to him.
DARIA: What are the philosophical connotations of a sandwich?
CONNER: Good question, Daria. Let's ask Claire.
CLAIRE (17), a girl wearing a stereotypical emo outfit and a bored expression, walks into the shot and faces the camera.
CLAIRE: Well, Conner, sandwiches clearly foreshadow the moment in which we shall all eventually die alone. They are created for no other purpose but to satisfy the needs of a sole being. And so they are, collectively, a direct metaphor for what our lives are and what they will undoubtedly become.
She pauses, rocking back on her heels, then gives the camera a peace sign with her fingers.
CLAIRE: Peace out.
She walks out of the shot.
CONNER: Thank you, Claire.
He faces the camera again.
CONNER: And now I'm going to read you all my latest poem. It's called, "I Wrote This Poem Because My Elitist Peers Are Indirectly Responsible for My Miserable Existence."
He opens his mouth to recite. A door is slammed open in the background.
TIFFANY (OS): Con-ner! Did you take my eyeliner again?!
CONNER rolls his eyes.
CONNER: Oh, look, friends. It's my darling little sister, Tiffany.
TIFFANY (13), wearing a pink bathrobe, matching slippers, and a green facial mask, carrying a copy of CosmoGirl!, enters the shot.
TIFFANY: What friends? You don't even have a —
She notices the camera and gapes, hiding her face with her magazine.
TIFFANY: AAH! Camera! Don't look at me, I'm uglified!
She starts to hyperventiliate. CONNER smirks.
TIFFANY: Now Billy Johnson will never ask me to the school dance!
CONNER: Tiffany, you're breaking the fourth wall. Get out of my basement.
TIFFANY stops hyperventilating, lowers the magazine, and turns to glare at CONNER.
TIFFANY: It's my basement, too, stupid.
CONNER: Billy Johnson, Tiffany . . .
She runs out of the basement.
CONNER: That was pointless.
He faces the camera.
CONNER: Now I'm going to give a biting social commentary on Hawaiian shirts as a symbol of the decline of goodness and morality in society. I think —
The door creaks open in the background.
CONNER'S DAD: Conner? Your mother and I have something to discuss with you!
CONNER: Come on in, parentals.
CONNER'S PARENTS, both looking like they've just stepped off the set of The Stepford Wives, enter the shot. CONNER'S MOM sits on the couch.
CONNER'S MOM: Conner, your sister just told us what you said to her, and —
She notices the camera and quickly puts on a huge smile, patting her hair in place.
CONNER'S MOM: Oh, hello . . .
CONNER'S DAD: Alice, remember what we came for.
CONNER'S MOM: Yes, um . . . we feel that you owe Tiffany an apology.
CONNER: Tiffany was interrupting my moment of introspective self-discovery. I had to regain my concentration somehow.
CONNER'S MOM smiles sadly, stretching her arms out.
CONNER'S MOM: Oh . . . I think someone needs a hug!
CONNER: Don't touch me.
CONNER'S MOM sighs and stands up.
CONNER'S MOM: Again with this dark, depressing angst? We try to tell you that you're special and we love you, and you just — don't — get it!
She puts her head in her chin, looking worriedly at CONNER'S DAD.
CONNER'S MOM: Warren, where did we go wrong?
CONNER'S DAD: Now, honey, remember what Dr. Lumbago said. It's just a phase he's going through.
CONNER silently mocks his dad with his hand.
CONNER'S DAD: He'll grow out of it in no time.
He turns to CONNER.
CONNER'S DAD: Right, son?
CONNER quickly hides his hand and puts on an appropriately shit-eating expression.
CONNER: Dr. Lumbago says that this is when teenagers commonly try on different identities to find the one that best suits them. I have yet to find mine, but for now, it's best to let me grow at my own pace.
CONNER'S DAD grins and claps CONNER on the shoulder.
CONNER'S DAD: That's my boy. Now whaddya say we go out and toss the ol' pigskin?
CONNER: But I was just about to deliver a biting social commentary.
CONNER'S DAD's eye bulges slightly out of his head. CONNER'S MOM rubs her temples, speaking through clenched teeth.
CONNER'S MOM: Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean . . .
CONNER'S DAD: Come on, dear. Wheel of Fortune is about to start.
They leave the basement. CONNER sighs heavily.
CONNER: That made me a little sad. Guess it's time to write a suicide note.
He picks up a notebook from the coffee table in front of him and begins to write.
CONNER (VO): "My life is crumbling around me, and all I can do is watch the sand sift through my shaky fingers. Everything I touch is destroyed in a matter of days. I am a plague, cursing all those around me. I am scorned every waking minute of every blazing day. With a fake smile on my face, and tear stains in my heart, I make the best of each day. Less painful than the wicked truth. Life spiralling out of control . . . why won't it stop? When will it end? The time is now. I must leave you. And never forget — I love you. No matter what."
He puts the notebook down.
CONNER: There, that should do it.
He picks up the paring knife and heads for the door. WALLACE pops out from behind the couch.
WALLACE: Uh . . . Conner?
DARIA lowers herself onto WALLACE's head.
DARIA: Where are you going?
CONNER faces them both.
CONNER: To do something I should have done long ago.
He walks out of the basement.
INT. KITCHEN. DAY.
CLOSE-UP: A knife slices a smooth beige surface in two, drawing a red liquid.
ZOOM OUT to reveal CONNER putting the knife down and lifting half a sandwich to his mouth. He pauses before biting and glares at the camera.
CONNER: What? I'll get to it eventually!
He starts to eat the sandwich.
ELMO (OS): Copyright infringement! Copyright infringement!
ELMO runs into the shot and starts to beat CONNER up as the closing credits roll and My Chemical Romance's "I'm Not OK" plays in the background.