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Act One


               JORGE (V.O.)

This is planet Earth. Here, we, humans, produced many things: Violence, corrupt politicians, cigarettes, racism, pollution, global warming, nuclear weapons and Satanist heavy metal. But our biggest export products, actually, are TV shows. However, unlike all the rest of our achievements, we never thought that things like "Jackass" or "Here comes Honey Boo Boo" could be the immediate causes of our extinction. In Brazil we have a saying: If you spit up, it will fall in your head. This was never as true as what you will see in a few moments.

The camera gets closer and down the atmosphere over Europe, until it reaches the ground level, on a road.


"Somewhere in Spain. Present time."

A white man in his late thirties ,slim, smiling like a moron, wearing a ridicule yellow workers' helmet marked with a letter "D", machine cut hair (to disguise his baldness),unshaven, nerdy glasses, backpack, waterproof jacket, sweat pants and all Star sneakers, is walking alongside the road , with a long staff. He shakes his head cheerfully, in the beat of "Good Morning Sunshine" from Hair's Original soundtrack he is hearing in his head-phones.

The man is happy and carefree, until he realizes he is being followed by black cars. The man quickens his pace and it increases the speed of the cars in pursuit. The man starts to run off the road, escaping into the fields. Men in black leave the cars and go after him. He does not smile anymore. He is freaking out. His yellow worker's helmet falls. He keeps running, but decides to return to take it back. He runs, in absolute despair. He realizes it was very stupid to comeback to take his helmet. The men in black are closer.


"Twenty-four hours ago"

Gigantic Ships entering the earth's orbit.

Cut to quick flashes of Rome, Rio de Janeiro, Tokyo, New York, Delhi, Paris, Moscow. Simultaneously in all major cities of the earth, a giant holographic image of a humanoid purple alien in uniform appears, causing chaos, panic and screaming.



Silence, You all! Do me a favor, please. Shut up and listen.

Cut to the faces of ordinary people around the world, staring at the hologram, in silence.


That's better. My name is Hwalat Boonderstol. I am the commander of the fleet in orbit of your planet. For decades we have been receiving your TV broadcasts. At first they were curious, interesting and even sympathetic.


Over time, what was an object of inter-species cultural studies became a mania.

The people of my planet became addicted to your "TV shows". Don't get us wrong. We loved Mister Ed, My Favorite Martian, I dream of Jeannie and Star Trek. I Envy Jim Kirk.I have been admiral for 300 years and I never got so many females during this time as he did in a single season. Bonanza was not bad either. I never understood what exactly Aunt Harriet was doing in the Wayne Manor, or how Elroy P. Lobo did have himself elected sheriff. I confess that I cried with the final episode of Fresh Prince of Bell Air. I always hated the hypocrisy of JR Ewing and Dr Zaius. Sometimes I had the feeling that they were relatives, until I discovered that humans and orangutans are monkeys of different species. And the end of Babylon 5 touched my hearts. All the six. Poor Susan Ivanova... However, with time, your shows were getting more and more stupid. My Species used to have an IQ of four digits. Now, our average IQ dropped to a half of it, slightly higher than your moronic winners of the Physics' Nobel Prize.


Things got completely out of control a few years ago, when one of our greatest scientists developed a system that allows your TV signals to be sucked through a wormhole and received in my planet within an interval of a few hours. Unfortunately, that's how we learned about the existence of "reality shows". This is perhaps your most perverse creation, even more perverse than your weapons of mass destruction. With your weapons, you cannot do anything but annihilate yourselves. With reality shows, you are dumbing down the galaxy...

Cut to


Caucasian male in his fifties, wearing tie, assists the transmission of the hologram speech.

AA Jacobs

(Dropping a cigar off his mouth)

Good Lord! That will be bad for the business.

Cut back to the hologram


So you have until the end of this season to make your shows watchable by intelligent, sensitive and sophisticated beings, and improve the level and content of your broadcasts.


By doing so, you will save us. And save yourselves. Otherwise, we will have to exterminate the human race to prevent Honey Bam Bam, Rehab Dancing Stars or Big Cousin to be produced again. We came in peace, with goodwill, HUGE weapons, and, most importantly, at the beginning of the season. Enjoy this chance. In 48 hours we will return to talk. Think a bit about it. Thank you.

The Alien Giant Hologram goodbyes, waving with a smile totally artificial (think of the android deputy Andy, from "Eureka"). The hologram fades away. The entire world screams again, in despair. (takes of several cities in the world showing the sound of the crowding screaming).



An African-American female in her sixties, stylish, well dressed, looks like intellectual, leaves on the coffee table a copy of Shakespeare's "Much ado About Nothing", and turns her attention to the TV where the news is showing the hologram's speech and the world's reaction to the event.


(Leading her free hand to her phone head-set)

We've just received a statement from the secretary general of the United Nations. He spoke with the flagship of the fleet and offered an alternative. Since most of the TV programming generated on earth comes from the United States, he proposed that the planet could be spared in exchange for the eradication of all carbon-based life forms between north of Tijuana and southern Canada.


However, the proposal was rejected by the aliens, because they consider humans "too much similar to each other" and there would be always the risk of some screenwriter escape American continent to another and tries to start all over again.


(Worried and disappointed)

Sweet Jesus...I always knew this day would come.

The phone rings. She answers, without looking away from the TV.


(With the receiver to his ear)

Yes? Who wants to know? No. I no longer work babysitting drunken writers. No. Neither maniac-depressive ones. If I've already worked with Damien Landlaufey? Never heard of him.

Listen young lady, I'm an academic, with several papers published in the best journals of literary studies around the world. I have better things to do in life. HOW? TEN TIMES MY OLD SALARY?? And what's about the health plan? Does It Includes liposuction and Botox? Seriously?! I'll be there in twenty minutes!!!


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