MISS HANDCRANK IS FAST ASLEEP IN HER BED. SUDDENLY THERE IS A RUDE KNOCKING AT THE DOOR.
MISS HANDCRANK: (STIRS) What in the… (ROLLS OUT OF BED) I swear, if this is another person from the cable company here to ask about my provider…
RUDE KNOCKING CONTINUES.
I’m coming, I’m coming!
MISS HANDCRANK OPENS THE DOOR. MR. COPPAFEEL AND MR. IMMATOOL STAND THERE HOLDING CLIPBOARDS.
Do you have any idea what time it is?S
MR. COPPAFEEL AND MR. IMMATOOL EXCHANGE A LOOK. MR. IMMATOOL SHRUGS.
MR. COPPAFEEL: No, I’m afraid we don’t.
MISS HANDCRANK: Oh. Well, neither do I. But I assume it’s too late for someone to come knocking at my door and waking me up when I have a long day of crippling unemployment and existential dread ahead of me.
MR. IMMATOOL: My apologies, Miss… (CHECKS CLIPBOARD) Alyssica Handcrank?
MISS HANDCRANK: That’s right. What’s this about? Why do you have my name written down there? Does this involve you giving me money somehow?
MR. IMMATOOL: I’m afraid not, Miss Handcrank. I’m Mr. Immatool, and this is my associate, Mr. Coppafeel. We’re here to inform you that you have been specially selected for a very special, very important matter.
MISS HANDCRANK: Oh? What sort of very special, very important matter?
MR. COPPAFEEL AND MR. IMMATOOL EXCHANGE ANOTHER LOOK. MR. IMMATOOL GESTURES TO MR. COPPAFEEL.
MR. COPPAFEEL: Well, as you know, it’s very special…
MR. IMMATOOL: And very important.
MR. COPPAFEEL: And very important, yes.
MISS HANDCRANK: Have you been drinking?
MR. IMMATOOL: Have we been drinking?
MISS HANDCRANK: That’s what I asked, yes.
MR. IMMATOOL: I was afraid of that.
MR. COPPAFEEL: (SCOFFS) Well, of course we’ve been drinking, Miss Handcrank. It’s not exactly everyday you’re tasked with knocking on strangers doors at strange hours to inform them they’ve been selected for death.
MISS HANDCRANK: What do you mean, “selected for death”?
MR. IMMATOOL: As you know, Miss Handcrank, we are living in unprecedented times – plagues, war, an overabundance of mostly well-priced digital streaming services.
MISS HANDCRANK: Yes, of course.
MR. COPPAFEEL: Then you must also be aware of the poor quality and limited choice of telecommunication infrastructure in this country.
MR. IMMATOOL: Our internet speeds are terrible. Simply terrible.
MR. COPPAFEEL: I mean, how can anyone be expected to watch an endless buffet of programming these days without a consistent, full 4k resolution and the sexual delicacy of High Dynamic Range color palettes?
MR. IMMATOOL: Impossible. Simply impossible.
MR. COPPAFEEL: Sacrifices must be made, Mr. Handcrank.
MISS HANDCRANK: I see.
MR. IMMATOOL: So, my associate and I got to talking…
MR. COPPAFEEL: And drinking.
MR. IMMATOOL: And drinking, of course. But we eventually came to the conclusion that the only way to ensure our way of life continues would be if a not-insignificant portion of the local populace were selectively killed off…
MR. COPPAFEEL: A “culling,” if you like.
MR. IMMATOOL: But a humane culling, of course.
MR. COPPAFEEL: Oh, most certainly a humane culling.
MISS HANDCRANK: Well, I’m sorry. I know we all have to do our part, but I don’t feel like being culled today.
MR. COPPAFEEL AND MR. IMMATOOL EXCHANGE A FINAL LOOK.
MR. IMMATOOL: We were afraid that might be the case.
MISS HANDCRANK: (CONSIDERS THIS) Well, you might want to try Mr. Scrotum down the hall.
MR. COPPAFEEL: Do you think he might be interested in a humane culling?
MISS HANDCRANK: No, but that sonnovabitch keeps parking in my assigned spot. You’d be doing me a favor.