EXT. CASA DE GIAMATTI - NIGHT
Paul Giamatti gets out of a taxi he was sharing with Matt Liotta and his Vietnamese Stewardess.
Hey man, when are we gonna go to Vegas again and spend some more of that Lady in the Water money?
PAUL GIAMATTIIt's all gone. Look, I gotta go, my IBS is killing me.
He waves goodbye and walks towards his front door. His bodyguard's Aztec is parked on the street and the light is on in bedroom.
He better not be going through my jazz albums.
Paul Giamatti walks to door, fumbles with keys, opens door. Jazz music is clearly playing from the bedroom.
He HURLS his to-go tinfoil swan into the sink and STORMS towards the bedroom. He pauses to step gingerly around a smudge of puke in the middle of his hallway. The bedroom door is open and jazz is blasting out. As he approaches there are clear sounds of SEX. Paul Giamatti throws open the door.
CUT TO MIRA BAUMAN and PAUL'S BODYGUARD having sex on the bed. They don't stop, but they turn to look at him.
What the FUCK is this!? What the fuck!?
It's cool, man. She likes you.
You were supposed to get her OUT of here! Not screw her! In my bed!
Wait...Paul? I thought...
I just look like him, baby.
You don't look like me you son of a bitch!
He does look like you.
Hey, hey, everybody cool it. Don't get so pissed off man. Just join in. It's cool.
You know it would be like a dream I had.
CUT TO morning, birds chirping. Mira Bauman is sandwiched between Paul Giamatti and his bodyguard. The three are all sweaty and out of breath. Paul has a candybar wrapper stuck to his chest.
Everyone is smiling and happy and laughing. Paul's laughter fades as the camera zooms in and his expression turns sour.
Now get the fuck out of my house.
CREDITS roll over inexpensively licensed jazz song.
We might find we have more in common than we think if we just stop fighting long enough to combine our bodies into a singular organism.
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