EXT. CITY STREET – DAY
Dawn in the big city and everything’s bumping. We get some sexy aerial shots of bustling traffic. Shot of people on their phones, I’m talking foreground, background, everywhere phones. This city is so damn city, it’s got your classic exposition shots (guy selling hot dogs, kid skateboarding), we got some Top 40 playing over top. There’s a good vibe going.
Babies walk the street. Some of the babies are in suits, some in little construction clothes. Shot of a hipster baby with an almond milk latte. These are babies with pep in their step, with places to go, same as the regular non-baby-genius adults. No explanation, nothing. That’s just how Baby Geniuses is starting, motherfucker. Get on board.
A baby in a V-neck, BLAKE, is on a Bluetooth headset call, carrying a tiny cup of coffee.
BLAKE
Ma, you gotta relax! I’m six months old, that’s fuckin’ ANCIENT by Baby Genius standards. I have things I’m trying to do with my life. Big things!
MAMA
(V.O.)
Blake, your father and I knew what we were signing up for when we gave you that experimental baby genius serum that was on sale at Whole Foods, but-
BLAKE
But nothing, Ma! I’m not mad at you and… Jim. I’m really not. I’m really glad I’m a Baby Genius! But having access to a supercharged brain, an intuitive understanding of high-end science, math and linguistics in the first year of your life… it changes you. What you want out of life!
EXT. KITCHEN – DAY
MAMA, in her neon yellow sweater, sits in her beautiful, sparkling kitchen her Baby Genius paid for. She holds a framed photo of her baby boy, a giant syringe labelled GENIUS JUICE in the foreground.
MAMA
We know that, dear. We only want what’s best for you. We just… I just miss you, is all.
EXT. CITY STREET – DAY
Blake is touched. He’s career-oriented, but he isn’t a monster.
BLAKE
I love you, Mama. Now and forever.
MAMA
(V.O.)
I love you, too.
BLAKE
Listen, I-
BEEP BEEP.
BLAKE
Shit! I got another call on the line, Ma. Gotta go!
MAMA
Well-
BLAKE
Smooches!
He hangs up.
INT – LABRATORY – DAY
HARRIET, an adult woman (hopefully played by Jenny Slate) is in a dark computer lab, typing furiously with a headset on.
HARRIET
B-Dawg! You coming to the goddamn office today or what, man?
Blake laughs.
BLAKE
(V.O)
Harriet, what the fuck are you doing in the lab on time on a Thursday?!
HARRY
I never LEFT. Just a few powerball breaks to keep me going all night and I am a coding MACHINE.
BLAKE
(V.O)
How’s the project going?
HARRY
We are so close to success, I can smell it. You get your sweet Baby Genius ass down here for some calibrations and I think we can have babies in cyberspace by September.
BLAKE
(V.O.)
You beautiful son of a bitch, that’s what I like to hear.
Harriet smiles and continues typing vigorously. On his screen, we see the 90’s dancing CGI baby dancing like normal before suddenly stopping, spreading out Vesuvian Man-style and becoming code. Harriet nods like Jack Nicholson and keeps typing.
EXT. CITY STREET – DAY
A bus flies by Blake.
BLAKE
Harriet, I gotta go, that’s my bus!
HARRIET
(V.O.)
GO!
Click. Blake’s stubby baby legs take off down the sidewalk in pursuit of the bus. Some sweet Huey Lewis starts playing to get the audience hyped. He starts doing Yoda flips over people, hot dog carts, stone steps and railings. Most people seem to smile and laugh at the baby’s feats of acrobatics. He grows ever closer to the bus, but a final obstacle remains.
BLAKE
Watch out!
An OLD MAN carrying heavy bags blocks the way of the open bus door. Blake leapfrogs over her, causing her to shout out in surprise and fall to her feet.
OLD MAN
Oh, my!!
Blake enters the bus. The BUS DRIVER is also a Baby Genius.
BLAKE
Hey, thanks for waiting!
BUS DRIVER BABY
(grinning)
FOG’EDDA’BOUD IT!
Blake takes his seat on the bus by the window. He looks down and sees the old man, fist raised, yelling at him. His bags of what looks like trash were now strewn about the street and blowing everywhere.
The old man kicks the side of the bus. Blake stands up in his seat, and flips the man a double bird. The whole bus breaks out in a laugh. The door shuts, the driver lays on the horn and the bus drives off. The old man falls on his ass, bewildered beyond belief at the world passing him by.
Crane shot of the street, the men, women and babies, the cars. Music swells.
CUE TITLE: WHATEVER
John Chrostek writes stories, poems, plays and more. His work can be found (or will soon be found) in great mags like HAD, X-R-A-Y, Taco Bell Quarterly and more. Find him on Twitter at @yoncrowstack.