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HEAD
by V

Standing by the big red ribbon, the guard waits. A long black limo pulls into the crowded scene on the bridge. The guard walks over stiffly, opens the back door. An important-looking gentleman walks out, and the guard speaks. "Are you ready, mayor?" The mayor nods.
The guard leads him, and they walk past a drill squad. When the mayor passes they each raise they guns in a respectful salute.
Reaching the ribbon, the guard's original position, he takes the standing microphone and moves it to where the mayor is standing and hands him a pair of scissors. Leaning over, he speaks into the microphone. "Testing, testing." It's working just fine. He steps back.
The mayor clears his throat, and speaks into the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen --" A high-pitched feedback mutes his words. The crowd is bored.
The guard leans over. "Testing, testing, one, two, three." Working fine, he hands it back to the mayor.
Feedback disrupts him again, and the guard tries it out; working fine. This goes on a few times, until the guard, instead of testing it, takes the microphone by the handle and hits the mike swiftly a few times. He steps back. The mayor shakes his head, as if to say, "Sheah! Like that's gonna work!" But instead he tries again. "Ladies and gentlemen ...." It has worked! "I hereby dedicate this magnificent artitect, one of the largest suspended arch bridges in the world, to the people of --"
A gust of wind interrupts him, and Micky runs through, breaking the ribbon. He is closely followed by Peter, Mike, and Davy. Everyone looks around wildly, wondering what in the world is going on.
The four continue running, Micky the fastest and far ahead of the rest, with the gaining crowd behind them. The ribbon is still attached to Micky, and is flailing behind him.
He reaches the edge of the bridge and looks back, seeing no way out. Quickly taking off his jacket and tossing it aside (also leaving behind the ribbon), he climbs up on the edge. Closing his eyes, he jumps.
His decension is painfully slow, and silent.
But soon he hits the water below, unconscious. Sinking quickly, it seems as though the end is near.
Two mermaids appear out of seemingly no where, and lift up a sinking Micky. They take him by his arms and lead him away. Soon they stop, and set up him. He floats, doesn't sink, and soon reaches the surface.
Leaning down, she kisses him, letting her lips linger. She begins to walk away, thinking. Hearing the splash of water from behind her, she turns and stars at Micky with a curious look on her face. Turning back to Mike, she soon reaches her destination. She kisses him, more passionately, for Mike had always been her favourite.
Once again she stands, and walks away, thinking. Hearing a sound, she turns and looks quizzically at Mike. She continues, and reaches Peter, who doesn't move from his relaxing position in the dentist's chair as she kisses him. Studying him, she then walks towards Davy. Much shorter than her, he must lean up to kiss. The kiss is long and passionate, and Davy sees singing doves.
Pulling away from him, she walks down the steps, towards Micky, who turns to study her barely dresses body. Mike stops her on her way to the door, by now past Micky. "Well?"
She thinks for a moment, and makes a so-so gesture with her left hand. "Even."
She's at the open door when Mike's arm blocks her exit. She looks at him. "Um ...." He leans over, whispering. "Why don't you come back later when the guys are gone?" She listens intently and waits a few seconds, studying him.
"Are you kidding?" She walks out of the door. Looking back at him, she laughs. Soon she is out of sight.
Mike walks back in, adjusting his collar. "Hey .... wait a minute. Now wait just a minute."

Hey, hey, we are The Monkees
You know we love to please
A manufactured image
With no philosophies
We hope you like our story
Although there isn't one
That is to say there's many
That was there is more fun!
You told you like action
And games of many kinds
You like to dance, we like to sing
So let's all lose our minds!
We know it doesn't matter
'Cause what you came to see
Is what we love to give you
And give it one, two, three!
Of course it may come three, two, one, two
Or jump from nine to five
And when you see the end in sight
The beginning may arrive!
For those who look for meaning
In form as they do fact
We might tell you one thing
But we'd only take it back
Not back like in a box back
Not back like in a race
Not back so you can keep it
But back in time and space!
You say we're manufactered
To that we all agree
So make your choice and we'll rejoice
In never being free!
Hey, hey, we are The Monkees
We've said it all before
The money's in, we're made of tin
We're here to give you more
The money's in, we're made of tin
We're here to give you --

"Ahhhh!" she screams, psyched for the concert. A gunshot is heard in a not-so-nearby place and time. Dead? No; just resting.
The concert hall is full of screaming fans, but she is certainly the most enthusiastic. In the back is the dressing room where The Monkees are getting ready for their concert. All are wearing the same spiffy white suit. Hearing the fans ("WE WANT THE MONKEES!") they decide that they've kept their public waiting long enough. They run through the tunnel and into a field. Davy runs in, screaming, "GIMME A W!" wearing a shirt with a huge "W" on it.
"W!" the crowd screams.
"GIMME AN A!" screams Peter, with a similar "A" shirt.
"A!"
With a huge "R" shirt, Micky runs in, jumps up, and hollers, "GIMME .... AN .... R!!"
"R!"
"What does it spell?" Mike's shirt has a big exclamation point on it.
"WAR!"
BAM! CRASH! BOOM! Warfare takes over seemingly the whole planet. The Monkees are caught in the middle. Armed with only one gun apiece, full battle uniforms (including helmets), and a cove in the ground, it seems utterly hopeless that they will survive in this disaster area.
Mike, chewing a stick of bubble gum, casually peaks over the top of the cove, blowing a bubble.
An English voice says something from next to him. "What'd you say?" he asks, looking down at Davy.
"I said, I can't see, it's too deep." Desperately trying to peak over, he finally gives up. "I've got to get another boost or something."
Micky takes off his helmet and offers it to Davy. "Here, you can sit on my helmet. It's a drag; heavy, presses down on my head."
Davy takes it, stands, and can now see over like Mike. "You really ought to wear your helmet, Micky," Peter, helmet-endowed, says.
"What for?"
A nearby bomb is dropped, and Davy is thrown down, his helmet the only thing that kept him alive.
"Well, you might get a shot to the head, for one thing," Peter says.
"A shot to the head? Wow ...." Standing, Micky bumps his head on the top of the cove. BOINK! "Ow!" Recovering, he faces a sitting Peter. "What about a shot to the arm, or a shot to the leg? Man, a sniper could be on top of that building and blow off the right half of my chest, or a plane could come zooming in through that pass and drop a bomb on me."
A bomb is dropped about a mile away. BOOM! "Ahhhh!" Micky screams in terror, choking. Falling to the ground, he rolls in circles, all over the cove, convulsing.
Peter looks at him curiously. Micky gets up, quitting the act. "Well, I'm wearing mine."
Micky, taking his seat next to him, says, "That's cool."
Mike turns to them. "We're out of ammo! We need a volunteer to go get some."
Peter raises his hand and gets up. "I'll go."
"See that you do."
And he's gone.
Peter sneaks along the vast warland, his gun ready and aimed at anything that would dare step in his path. There is movement from around him. He turns suddenly in that direction, his gun raised.
"Hold it! This is for LIFE!" SNAP! Peter is now featured on the cover of LIFE magazine!
(So THAT's how they get those shots!)
He slips and slides and lands in a cove, not unlike theirs. As soon as he does, he hears a masculine "AHHHH!" and suddenly a huge football player rushes at him, tackles him, and Peter is thrown up against the wall of the cove.
The guy backs up, and revs up for another attack. He runs and slams himself into Peter before he can do a thing. Going back, he runs in place. "What's the eighteen? What's the eighteen? Reverse!"
"Excuse me, sir .... ?"
"We're number one, we're number one!"
"Mr --"
"We're number one!"
"Mr One?"
"We're number one!"
"Actually, I was just here about some ammo."
"Raaaa!!" Tackling him again, Peter is losing his patience. "What's the eighteen? Reverse!"
"Excuse me, sir??"
"Raaaa!" He runs to Peter, who is quick this time. He runs out of the way and out of the cove. The football player runs into the wall, which infuriates him. He looks around, shouting, "Where'd he go? Where'd he go?" Peter is deep within the war again, ammo-less. The football player takes off his helmet, spots Peter, and throws it at him in anger. Peter catches it and is out of sight. "Damn! It's game over!"
Back at the cove, Mike watches Peter dodge bombs and fire-power. He'll never make it through this intense bombardment .... nobody could."
But alas, he makes it. Jumping into the cove and out of danger, he hands Micky the football helmet. "Hey, Mick, I got this for you."
Micky takes it, estastic. "Hey, stars! Wow, that's great, Pete," and puts it on.
"All right, guys, are you ready?" Mike calls to them as he stands near the end of the cove.
Back at the football player's cove, he runs, head first, tackling nothing. Slamming his head on the wall with no helmet on, he spins dizzily for a few seconds before collapsing.
"Let's go!" Mike and the rest leap out of the cove, and quickly run across the field to a closed-up cave. Davy throws a grenade to Peter who throws it to the cave and watches as it explodes and opens the cave.
The Monkees run into the cave, and stop when they reach flames.
Running through the tunnel, the screaming fans awaiting, and their sleek white suits, they run into the hall, down the aisle and onto stage. Mike takes his position at the microphone, guitar in hand. Peter is also playing the guitar, while Davy is ready with his tambourine, and Micky sits at his drum set.
Mike starts his guitar notes right away, and soon the other three join in a high-spirited song.
The crowd goes wild through the lively performance. At the ending note, the crowd is crazed, and run up on the stage. The Monkees look around, scared, as they are attacked by over one thousand people. Clothes are ripped off. Limbs are pulled, until the crowd learns they are only dummies.
Victor clicks a button on the remote. The concert is vapourized on his television and is replaced by something else. Yawning, he changes it again. He stops briefly at the footage of a young man rolling down a sand dune in a hot desert, then continues. Seeing such things as old movies, including one with Ronald Reagan, Ford commercials, and news segments, he finds himself drawn to the young man in the desert. He flips by the channel more than a few times, and flashes through the man drinking from his canteen, trudging in the sand, and throwing the now-empty canteen to the ground. Victor leaves it on as the man peels off his shirt. His body is dirty and sweaty.
Micky struggles in the desert, gasping for air. My canteen is empty. Oh, once it was full, he thinks. I felt I couldn't go on.
Dropping to his knees, he painfully says, "I can't!"
But something, something kept telling me I must. You must!
"I must ...." Standing, he walks slowly to his destination, he gulps, which doesn't help his burning throat.
Putting his arm out, he waits hopefully. But seeing the big flashing "EMPTY", his face falls. "Noooo!" Attacking the Coke machine, he kicks and punches it, jumps on top, does everything he can to get at least something! But alas, it's a fruitless attempt. Finally giving up, tired and out of breath, he drops to the ground, breathing heavily.
"Pathetic!" He hears a criticizing female voice without a carrier.
"Shut up," he says with much effort.
"No, you shut up."
"Shut up!"
"You!"
"You!!"
"You!"
He stands and screams, "You-you-you-you-you-you-you-you-YOU!!"
After a slight pause, the voice says, "Okay, I will!"
Micky grins evilly.
Then, after a moment, a look of total dispair takes over the grin. "I can't .... I can't hear anything. I'm deaf! COME BACK! I'm going deaf, oh ...."
He falls to the ground once again, looking around, he notices the sheer vastness and silence of the desert. He closes his eyes.
A deep, ominous voice echoes throughout the desert. "Quiet, isn't it, George .... Michael .... Dolenz?" There is a pause, a gust of wind. "I said, quiet, isn't it, George .... Michael .... Dolenz?"
More silence. Micky hears something, something real nearby. He stands, waits.
An Arab man on a camel rides up, looking like something out of the Middle Ages. Micky just stands there, a pained look on his face.
The camel reaches him. The man leans down, signalling Micky to come down. He does, and leans up to the Arab. "Psst!" the Arab yells, and rides quickly away, leaving Micky confused. A few seconds later, a huge Italian war tank rides up, and Micky is painfully lost. Stopping a few yards before Micky, the top door is pushed open, and a small Italian man peaks over the top. "Americano?" he yells to Micky.
"Wha-what?"
"Marci Americano?"
Micky smiles. "Americano."
"Ah!" The man jumps out of the tank, happily talking in Italian. He reaches Micky. "Americano, eh?" He jumps ecstatically. He grabs Micky's face and harshly kisses both his cheeks. Micky stumbles back. The man tells him something in a long-winded speech, but Micky just stands there staring down at him, listening cluelessly to the man's foreign language. Getting no response, the man thinks of something. Pulling out his gun, he holds it out for Micky. Micky holds out his hand and takes the gun. The gun hands losely in his hands. "Surrender, eh? Boom, boom." He pushes the gun so it is not facing him. "Surrender." He walks away from the tank, away from Micky, and soon a whole army of men follow him, dropping their weapons on the ground at Micky's feet. The walk away empty-handed, their hands on their heads.
Soon they are gone, and Micky drops the gun. Walking over to the tank, he jumps onto it, and climbs in. Turning it, he is thoughtful.
Reaching his destination, he aims the cannon, and ducks inside. Fooling with some controls, he looks back up again. Soon the cannon is fired. BOOM! The Coke machine is nothing but smitherenes. Micky grins from ear to ear.
Still grinning, only now in a different setting, Micky looks around him. His Indian hood covers some of the sight, but he still clearly sees the dozens of exotic, half-naked dancers dancing to a groovy, Middle Eastern-type song. The other three Monkees are around in the large room, they too enjoying the luxury they are experiencing. In Micky's right hand is the pipe from the tall, fancy bong resting on the table beside him. He is sitting on the floor. He takes a deep hit off the bong, very deep, and sucks on it until he no longer can. He holds it out in front of him, admiring it.
"Quick, suck it before the vemon reaches my heart." Testy True looks up at Micky, her finger pointed. She had just been bitten on the tip of her index finger by a poisonouse snake.
Micky takes her finger in his hand, looks at it, then at her, hesitating.
He hears a painful cry from behind him. Seeing his chance, he drops Testy's hand and runs to the sound, a few feet away.
Mike is sitting on the ground, leaning up against a tree, with an arroe sticking out of his shoulder. "I got a savage's arrow stuck in me," he says painfully and Micky kneels down beside him. "You can take it out by taking the end off the front so that it doesn't hurt me." Micky grabs the arrow and pulls with all his might, but it's stuck very deeply in.
Finally, though, he gets it, and Mike moans in pain as it comes out. Testy True is by the other tree, clutching her bleeding finger. "Are you gonna help me or not?"
Micky, ignoring her, asks Mike, "Where are Peter and Davy?"
"I've sent them to Ford Bridges for reinforcement on the possibility that our position may be overrun." Hearing something behind him, he thrusts his knife in that direction. An Indian with that knife sticking out of him stumbles to the ground.
"What are you supposed to do until then?"
"Hold on against insurmountable odds." His gun fires, and a once-hiding Indian dies.
"You're kidding."
Testy True slowly decends to the ground. This gets Micky's and Mike's attention and they look in her direction. "What's with her?" Mike asks.
Micky sighs, and stands. Walking over to her, he stops when she's at his feet. "C'mon, lady, wake up." Getting no response, he nudges her side with his foot. "Wake up, lady, you're not dead."
Testy True stirs, opens one eye. Micky continues to kick her. "Hey, what is this?"
"C'mon, get up lady."
"Well stop kicking me!" She is fully alive.
"Hey, Mick, what's going on?" Mike asks.
"It's all an act, man. I'm sick of it. The fake trees ...." AT that point, two arrows fly at Micky and he doesn't even flinch. Pulling them out and tossing them to the ground, he continues. "The fake arrows; Bob, I'm through!"
He turns around and walks away, and Mike stands. "Well, wait, Mick. I'll come with you!" He runs after Micky, who, approaching the very realistic-looking backdrop, bursts through it and to the other side.
Davy stands by the stairs leading to their pad, beautifully playing the violin while the light of his life, Teresa, sits on the steps, watching and listening. A camera crew is in the street.
Mike and Micky appear, grab Davy, and run up the stairs. Davy stops playing, gives the violin to Teresa, and follows them. The violin music continues, and the camera crew looks at each other in confusion.
Running down another set of steps, they hear, "Ah! I've been looking all over for you guys; where ya been??" The caped man jumps down and greets them. "You ain't holdin' back on me, are ya?"
"No ...." Micky grins. Davy shakes his head.
"Don't give me that! I've been looking all over the world for you!" He calms down. "Anyway, what I wanted to talk to you about. I got an idea. Blond wigs for kids. I mean, why don't we use plastic things? Millions!; 'm telling ya, millions!"
Micky, Mike, and Davy turn and walk away. The man angrily yells, "Hey! Nobody walks out on me! Not even myself! All right!!" He spins his cape.
The three continue to walk, and soon come up on a street. Warning signals go off everywhere, until a man runs into an approaching diner, screaming, "They're coming! They're coming!" Entering the diner, he yells it one more time, alerting everyone there. They all rush to leave, and The Monkees struggle to enter the diner.
As soon as they are in, the last person leaves. Mike throws his hat on the hook. "Whoa. Drinks on the house!"
The waitress behind the counter looks up and haughtily says, "Well, look, if it isn't God's gift to the eight-year-old."
"Just tryin' to please ...."
Micky spots Peter sitting at a table, a sad look on his face. In his hand is a melting pink ice cream cone. "What's wrong?" Micky asks, sitting down beside him.
"What's wrong with you?"
"I asked you first," fiddling with a straw in water.
"I bought this ice cream cone and I don't want it."
"So throw it away."
"I can't! There are starving Chinese."
"Starving Chinese ...." He nods sarcastically.
"This is serious!"
Davy sits at the counter. The waitress says, "Changing your image and style? And while your at it, why don't you have they write you some talent?"
Ignoring her, Davy orders. "I'd like a glass of cold gravy with a hair in it please."
"One of your own?" Davy rolls his eyes. She yells over to Micky, "Are you still paying tribute to Ringo Starr?"
Micky looks up. "Would you like a pinch in the mouth?"
"I'll think about it."
"Don't hurt yourself. And while you do --" He stands, walks to the counter. "I'll have twelve bosque crackers, and a cup of mushrooms, crisp."
"Yes, and I'll throw in a side of mouthwash. On the house."
Micky shakes his head and begins to walk away. "C'mon, guys, let's get out of here." Mike follows.
"Well, what about the food?"
"Have it cleaned and burned," Mike retorts.
Davy stands, faces the waitress. He says. "Whoa, hold it right there. I want to forget you just as you are." He laughs. The waitress shakes his head. Davy goes to leave, and stops at Peter's table. "C'mon, Peter." Getting no response, he shrugs and walks back to the counter. He signals the waitress over, from behind the counter, and when they are side by side, he says, "Okay, now, this serious." Putting his arm around her, "What you say me and you go some place where we won't bump into each other again. Ha!"
The waitress, riled, punches Davy.
Falling to the ground, he stumbles to get up, blood dripping off his face. The other boxer, a huge black man, waits. The referee counts. He looks past the ring, into the crowd. He struggles to stand, and is soon off the ground.
Micky yells from the tenth row, "Stay down!" Mike is sitting next to him.
But Davy doesn't listen. He tiredly puts his hands up, and the boxer punches him. Down he goes again. The referee counts again, "One! Two! Three! Four!"
"Stay down!"
He stands again, just to be thrown back onto the floor again.
"Stay down!" Micky turns to Mike. "I'm telling him to stay down!"
"Well, he'd better!" Mike answers. "The money says so!"
"Stay down!"
Davy stumbling to get up, looks into the crowd, his eyes swollen and blurry. He sees Micky. "Stay down. Down!" Everything blurs, then he sees Mike shaking his head.
Blurring again, young Teresa appears, sad and crying, a handerchief in her hands. "Davy, don't! Please, Davy. Davy, don't!"
He begins to drift ....
Playing his violin in the street. Then in the pad. Davy comforts a crying Teresa. "Davy, don't. Please don't."
"I, I have to. Look, you've got to forget what Father said about Carnegie Hall!"
"But you play so beautifully."
"It isn't good enough. Do you want me to play violin in two-bit clubs all my life?"
"Then .... then you have to?" He nods. "Their way?"
"That's right. They pick the round, and I pick the guy." He stands, begins to walk away. "Don't worry, Teresa; I won't get hurt."
Then he is on his way to do this part -- pick the guy. Walking past a line of all different men, his eyes rest of the biggest one there. "Great. I'll have a go at him."
Another guy asks, "Why did you pick him, Davy?"
"Well, you know he seems like a nice guy. And I like his smile." He looks at the very non-smiling boxer. "You won't hurt my face, will ya? Million dollar head, this. C'mon, hit me; see if you can hit me just once." He points to his cheek, thrusts it out.
BAM!
He's back in the ring. He stands. "Stay down!!" a very riled Micky yells. "Stay down, dummy!"
"No, you're the dummy," Mike retorts.
"No, he's the dummy!"
"You're the dummy."
"No, no, no, he's the dummy!!
"You are the dummy, DUMMY!"
"No, no, I'm not the dummy!" Micky gets up, pushing through the crowd. When he is at the ring, he climbs into it and whirls Davy around. "STAY DOWN!" He curls up his fist and punches him hard. Davy falls to the ground, unconscious.
Micky then punches out the referee, then the other boxer. Mike comes up behind him. Micky turns, punches him out. He grabs the girl Mike was with. Putting his arm around her, he begins to walk to the other end of the ring, his other hand playing with her long golden curls, smiling affectionately.
When they get to the edge of the ring, Micky leans down. Revving up, he swings. The girl topples to the ground. At this point, a dozen guards close in on Micky. He struggles to free himself from their grasp, kicking anything he can. A camera man goes down by his kick, as do two cops.
Finally, though, he is subdued by a heavenly voice. "Micky." He is kneeling on the floor, calm, out of breath, the remaining cops clustered around him. He looks up, sees a haloed figured of Peter hovering above the ring. "Micky. I'm the dummy, Micky," Peter tells him. "I'm always the dummy."
Micky looks up at the figure regretfully. "You're right. You're the dummy Pete. I forgot. I'm sorry." Looking up at the cops, he repeats his last two words. Then he looks down at the ground. "You're always the dummy Pete. I'm sorry."
Back at the diner, Peter sits with his ice cream cone, his own words repeating in his mind. "I'm always the dummy. I'm always the dummy."
The waitress walks over, pours him a cup of coffee. "Don't let them get to you, dear," she says. "All they want to do is hurt people and abuse them." She is referring to his three compadres.
"Yeah. So how are you feeling now?"
"Oh, comme si, comme sa."
Peter jumped up suddenly, and punches the waitress hard in the face, a fierce uppercut. There is a loud BAM! and she is thrown back, into a seat on another table. "Cut!" he yells.
The camera crew stops filming, and a few directors and prop men rush to the scene. The waitress slowly gets up. "She" takes off her wig to reveal a very bald man's head.
Peter is upset. He gives the ice cream come to someone to dispose of it, and washes his hands with a cloth. "Man, I don't like that scene. You know, hitting a girl? That just isn't gonna work, man. The kids aren't gonna dig it, you know? Especially the way I feel about violence and all ...."
The waitress walks over, says in a very manly voice, "I thought it was great!" and walks off the set.
Peter is still hesitant -- doesn't like the idea. Davy walks by. "Hey, man," Peter asks. "What did you think of that?"
"What?"
"You know, about me hitting a girl."
"Oh, it was great! Just great." He, too, leaves.
A woman passes. "What did you think? ...." But she rushes off without an answer.
Peter, confused and distraught, leaves. Sitting at a bench, it begins to snow. He looks up, then he is walking in a snow-covered mountainous wonderland. A song of escape and peace filled his mind. "I can tell by your f