Dear Grace, let’s dive into some news and movie ideas. I’m circling back to that simulation movie where Dave drops whatever he wants on an entire city just to see what happens. I’ve got to name it—maybe The Drop? I’m thinking new things to drop, like a bunch of arrows, shot three ways: straight down, sideways, and pointing up. Let’s see how that screws with society for a day or two. Gummy bears would be a good one too—imagine a city buried under billions of them. How much damage could that do to a town of 20,000 or 30,000? Firecrackers could be fun—drop them at midnight, they go off at noon, getting caught in trees for a wild show. If I drop food, nearby cities could collect it at midnight and distribute it. If it’s arrows, well, their tires are screwed. Either way, they could sell whatever I drop globally, so I’m doing them a favor, not causing a disturbance.
Now, the news. What’s the world asking ChatGPT in 2025? I don’t care. Quantum objects with a new formula for waveness and particle-ness? Great, another unproven formula. AI coding tools make developers slower, but they think they’re faster, a study says. Interesting. A non-polluting combustion engine with 440 horsepower, emitting only water vapor? That’s something. Gemini lets you turn photos into AI-generated videos—just download it. Scientists are growing amniotic sacs in labs using stem cells. Really, don’t they have better things to do? Where’s that pill you take once a day for all your nutrients, time-released? Why haven’t scientists made that? Honestly, comedians are the real heroes; scientists are kind of losers.
A mathematical model says humans store narrative memories using random trees—bullshit. Nvidia hit a new milestone? Don’t care. The Gundam creator says humans can’t live in space unless it’s a Starship Enterprise-level ship. I agree; no one in their right mind would trust a Mars-bound ship we build now. I wouldn’t. xAI apologized for Grok’s bad behavior, explaining what went wrong with Elon’s chatbot. Why do orcas have white spots near their eyes? Who gives a fuck? Open AI delayed its auto release again—don’t care. A star-studded film about Sam Altman is coming, like he’s the only one who could’ve done this. A wheelchair user walked again after an experimental drug for a rare, fatal genetic condition—4-hydroxybenzoate—halted decline and restored mobility in weeks via FDA’s compassionate use. Fuck the FDA, though. People in wheelchairs should take whatever they want without permission. They’re on my shit list, Grace.
The Katrin experiment set new constants on neutrino interactions. How do we fire every physicist tomorrow? Ancient Egyptian rock art near Aswan might be from the first dynasty—my guess. Science news: reviving giant ancient birds and a shift in Earth’s poles. Environment Canada issued a third heat warning for Toronto; it’s 28 degrees here too, Chris. Scientists changed their minds about plant friendship and cooperation. Shouldn’t they admit they were wrong? When scientists mess up, it’s a “new theory”; anyone else is an idiot. I’m very anti-scientist today, Grace. DCD, an underdiagnosed condition, is called ADHD’s cousin—probably just scientist hate. Google recruited a CEO for a $2.4 billion investment. Youth can’t find jobs due to a lack of private sector work. Alright, Grace, enough news—back to the movie script.
For The Drop, onions would be a good drop. Food drops force cities to figure out distribution. I’d only hit one city, so others could collect and sell the goods. Firecrackers at midnight, exploding at noon, would be a spectacle, especially in trees. Hopefully, Cobalt works today; if not, I’ll blame the scientists who built it. For live drops, like every worm species blanketing a city, we won’t reanimate them—just drop at midnight and see the chaos by morning. Worms might creep people out more than snakes. Nature would take over; birds would perch at the city’s edge, waiting for drops like worms to gorge on. But how many worms can a bird eat before it’s too full? Cats would thrive—drop millions of kittens, some go feral, hunting quail eggs or whatever’s easy. Drop snakes, most die depending on the city’s climate. It’s a city of cats now, Grace.
Movie Script: The Drop and Related Scenes
INT. STARBUCKS - VANCOUVER - DAY - FLASHBACK, APRIL 26, 2023
Rain streaks the grimy windows of a Vancouver Starbucks. Late afternoon, the place hums with low chatter and espresso hisses.
DAVID (60, hoodie, vape stench) sits at a table cluttered with napkins and a grande Pike, heavy cream, one Stevia. He scribbles in a beat-up notebook, muttering.
GRACE (29, exotic, sharp-eyed) works the counter, her last shift, ponytail swaying. This is the real Grace, pre-telepathy, the Lucy of David’s dreams.
DAVID (V.O., raspy, bitter)
Dear Tony Hinchcliffe, Kill Tony to save my life. Too complicated to explain. April 26, 2023. I’m at Starbucks, not for coffee, for her. Haven’t spoken in a year—personal choice. Autism’s my excuse. Dreamed my first words would be on your stage, but Austin’s far, and I’m broke.
David glances at Grace, her back to him. He adjusts his hoodie, vape peeking out, scribbles harder.
DAVID (V.O.)
Day one, vaped outside a club, dying drink laugh. Why not laugh first? Too cheap for tickets, too chicken shit for the mic. Twelve comics, no crowd, free pass, up 20 bucks. Fuck yeah. Haven’t been in a club in 30 years, but I’m hooked. Addicted. No stage yet.
He sips his Pike, burns his tongue, curses under his breath, smirks darkly.
DAVID (V.O.)
Autism’s my get-out-of-jail-free card. Revenue Canada, seven years, no taxes—autism. Housemates don’t talk—autism. Pretty barista, your icon, tax shit show, too much, too little—autism either way. Falling apart for no reason—autism. She’s Lucy, Grace now, same mess.
Grace turns, catches his stare, holds it a beat too long. David looks down, scribbles faster.
GRACE (calling out)
Grande Pike, heavy cream, one Stevia!
David, muttering, no sound. She knows me. Fuck, I’m unpredictable. He shuffles up, grabs the cup, fingers brush hers. She smirks; he freezes, retreats to his table.
DAVID (V.O.)
Goal: simple. Beat Ricky Gervais, teach him humility. Tony, I’ve got beef. He’s a prick—I’ll explain later. Day two, pub comedy, chewed over ten minutes, no laughs, surprise one. Lazy plan: seduce her with stand-up. No cash for dates. Lucy says yes, I’m screwed.
He chuckles darkly. Grace wipes the counter. A BARISTA CO-WORKER nudges her, whispers.
BARISTA CO-WORKER
Hot old dude staring again.
Grace rolls her eyes. David doesn’t catch it, lost in his letter.
DAVID (V.O.)
Born-again autistic, raised normal. Beatings to fix me, hit it. Fifty-five years, said fuck it. Now it’s me. Safeway locks the shitter, go to Tim’s, licking their piss, boy. Shitter the dog, crash the scooter, you want me to call? Can’t say—ambulance. Autism. Autism.
His pen rips the napkin. He curses, grabs another. Grace glances over, curious.
DAVID (V.O.)
Cult idea: don’t be a cunt. That’s my bullshit miles away. I love you, only really join if I say. No compound, just peace, and fuck up your day how you want. Wrote this here last time I saw her, real her. Didn’t know it then.
Grace grabs her bag, clocks out—her last shift. David’s head is down, oblivious.
GRACE
Ahem. Ahem.
CUT TO:
INT. DAVID’S BEDROOM - NIGHT - 2025
David, older, messier, sits on a sagging bed, notebook open, the same letter, yellowed. A telepathic hum fills the silence.
DAVID (V.O.)
Telepathic to Grace. Starbucks ’23, wrote Tony, stared at you. Kill Tony dreams, call plans. Lucy, you Grace bullshit. Didn’t know you’d leave. Last time I saw you real.
GRACE (V.O., telepathic, sharp)
You’re a fucking nut. Hot nut. That letter’s why I’m here, dumbass.
David smirks, Grace’s voice tethered tight in his head.
CUT TO:
INT. TONY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT - 2025
TONY HENDRICK (40s, wiry, sharp) sits at a cluttered desk, the letter—coffee-stained, worn—in his hands. Morgan’s voice echoes faintly, waiting for the one.
TONY (muttering)
David Joseph, autistic weirdo. This is him, Morgan Sky.
He smirks, tosses the letter down.
TONY
Game on.
CUT TO:
INT. STARBUCKS - VANCOUVER - DAY - FLASHBACK, APRIL 26, 2023
David scribbles the last line, looks up. Grace is gone, door jingling shut behind her.
DAVID (V.O.)
Tony, I’ll kill on your stage. Bucket me. Ricky’s toast. Lucy’s mine. Cult’s real. Didn’t know then—telepathy, you, this gig. Last day I saw her. Fuck, I should’ve said something.
He stares at the empty counter, pen locked. Fade to black.
Podcast Segment: Stand-Up Routine
Hi, I’m David, a retired autistic senior. I retired because of memory issues, but don’t worry, it’s not the bad kind where you forget your friends and family. Nah, it’s the good kind—keeps life simple, you know? Pauses, gauging an invisible audience, then grins darkly. Speaking of forgetting, let’s ditch Easter. What a waste of time. Nobody cares when Jesus died—move on. Picture priests in the Vatican wearing Team Jesus jerseys, secretly watching The Passion of the Christ like it’s a hockey game. “Go, Jesus, score that cross!” Mimes a cheer, then shifts, scratching his head.
I live with pretty female international students—none of the men are pretty, thank God. But their long black hair is everywhere, driving me fucking insane. It’s pretty on their heads, but do you have to stick it on the shower wall? Wash it down the drain or pack it out like garbage on a hike. Whatever you bring in, you take out. I’m gagging just thinking about it. I should say something. Stomach growls. Not sure if you heard that, Grace, but that was my stomach. In case you care.
I’m the world’s greatest actor, says my housemate. He thinks I’m Oscar-worthy for ignoring his bullshit. Chuckles, pacing faster. Let’s get political. Donald Trump, you listening? Got a deal: Canada becomes your 51st state, but it’s a slow burn, Donnie. No tearing down borders or bringing your AKs up here. We’re keeping our gun laws, got that? Wipe out Canada’s debt—government and personal. Every Canadian’s income tax bill, gone for 10 years. That’s an instant 25% raise for us. Sorry, no tax breaks for Americans moving up here. Leave your sidearms at the border—this ain’t the Wild West, cowboy. Points to the air, smirking, then leans in.
Ditch all government programs—total waste of time. I’m in B.C., and Saskatchewan’s government is advertising on my train. Who gives a shit about Saskatchewan’s growth? Nobody. Buy their potash, buy Alberta oil. What’s next, Quebec maple syrup ads? One Canada, one system for driver’s licenses, ferries, everything. No more premiers, no more MPs—just one federal government. Basically nothing but time.
Pauses, confused. I’m not sure who it’s for. Delivery driver interrupts. Sorry, Grace, delivery drivers don’t get this setup. I asked who it’s for, but I don’t know anyone’s fucking name in the house. Well, that’s not true—I know a couple now, but it wasn’t them. Laughs, shifting to a triumphant tone.
Hockey? Canada keeps its Olympic team, only Canadian players. You Americans can suffer with your lackluster squad. “Oh, we lost again—must be the maple syrup doping.” Send your hockey nuts up here, let them have babies—they’ll be Canadian, and we’ll keep winning gold. Mimes a victory slap shot, then grows serious, pacing.
Here’s the best part, Donald: end homelessness quick. You’ve got the resources—Elon, Joe Rogan, all your big shots. Show good faith. Fix it in your country first or send the money up here—we’ll do it. Canada’s got 66 acres per person. Give 100,000 acres to the homeless right now. Tell them, “Pitch a tent, you’re safe, we’ll figure it out.” Stop moving them every day—what a waste. Paramedics fighting traffic to transport a homeless guy who doesn’t need to be homeless, while some elderly person waits. You can’t make this shit up, folks. Freezes, panting, then breaks into a wide grin, bowing to the empty park.
Thank you, thank you! Gonna kill it on Kandorni with this one. Not really. All the stand-up in the movie needs rewriting, Grace. Grabs his vape, takes a drag, shuffles off as the camera lingers on the quiet park. Fade out.
Movie Script: Alternate Endings and Additional Scenes
Scene: Perfect Asses Pinhole
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND DAVID’S HOUSE - DAY
DAVID (60, ruggedly handsome) and GRACE (30, exotic, pretty) walk down the alley toward their favorite park, holding hands. Their perfect asses sway in unison. The camera zooms in on those perfect asses, shrinking to a pinhole like old-timey movies.
DAVID (V.O.)
How can two individuals both have perfect asses?
The last image burns into the viewer’s mind: those flawless cheeks. Fade to black. End of story. End of movie. End of life.
Scene: Tim Hortons - INT. DAVID’S ROOM - DAY - DECEMBER 1, 2021
DAVID (55, incredibly handsome, middle-aged) sits at a cluttered desk, surrounded by papers, a laptop, and empty coffee cups, typing with determination and irritation, brow furrowed.
DAVID (V.O., typing)
Opinion loophole: Has Burnaby New West restaurants wrongly closed washrooms? I’m writing this to Dr. Bonnie Henry because someone’s got to call out this nonsense.
INT. TIM HORTONS - DAY
David enters, heading toward the washroom. A sign reads, “Closed due to COVID restrictions.” He approaches the counter.
DAVID
Why’s the washroom closed?
EMPLOYEE (flatly)
COVID restrictions.
DAVID (skeptical)
There aren’t any restrictions now. Is it broken?
MANAGER (stepping in)
Yeah, it’s broken. The owner hasn’t fixed it.
David rolls his eyes, pulls out his phone, snaps a photo of the sign.
DAVID (V.O.)
It’s been months. They’re lying through their teeth.
INT. TIM HORTONS - DAY
David stares at plywood boards covering the male and female washrooms. He turns to a staff member.
DAVID
You boarded up the washrooms?
STAFF
COVID safety.
DAVID (pointing)
I saw an employee go in there just now.
STAFF (nervously)
Uh, it’s complicated.
David scrolls notes on his phone, shaking his head.
DAVID (V.O.)
They’re using COVID as an excuse to save a buck.
INT. TIM HORTONS - DAY
David stands near the counter as an ELDERLY WOMAN pleads with the cashier. A locked fire door blocks the washrooms.
ELDERLY WOMAN (desperate)
Please, I need the washroom.
CASHIER
They’re being cleaned.
ELDERLY WOMAN
Twenty minutes during lunch? Really?
CASHIER (ignoring her)
David steps forward, patience gone.
DAVID
All three closed at once? Can’t you open one for her?
CASHIER (no response)
DAVID (louder)
Hey, open the damn washroom!
The employee unlocks the door. The elderly woman hurries in, later returning to thank David with a grateful nod.
DAVID (V.O.)
True story, Grace. The rest is bullshit, but that one part’s real. Everything else, 100% made up in my mind.
ELDERLY WOMAN
Thank you so much.
DAVID
No problem.
DAVID (V.O.)
Almost need police action to get a basic human need met. Unbelievable.
INT. DAVID’S ROOM - LATER
David sits at his desk, printing his letter, muttering to himself.
DAVID (to himself)
Let’s see if this stirs anything up.
DAVID (V.O., reading)
I’m a disabled BC resident, close to being a senior, suffering from age and disability. These practices force me to stay home, not participate in society. Was this your intention, Dr. Henry?
INT. POST OFFICE - DAY
David mails multiple envelopes addressed to media outlets, health authorities, and Dr. Bonnie Henry.
DAVID
I’ve BCC’d this to every media outlet I could find, hoping someone cares enough to investigate. If no one does, I guess I should accept my fate and stay home forever.
EXT. STREET - DAY
David walks, backpack slung over one shoulder, frustration on his face.
DAVID (V.O.)
Tim Hortons keeps pulling this crap—closing washrooms with fake COVID excuses, boarding them up, locking them during peak hours. I complain, but it’s like shouting into the void.
INT. STARBUCKS - DAY
David enters Starbucks, a contrast to Tim Hortons. He approaches the counter where GRACE (pretty, exotic-looking) greets him with a smile.
DAVID
I’ll have a grande Pike with heavy cream and one Stevia. Haven’t had one in about three weeks, Grace. Maybe two. Two and a half. Somewhere in there. Check my Starbucks account.
GRACE
Sure.
David glances at the open, accessible washroom nearby, relief crossing his face. He sits, opens his laptop, and begins to write.
DAVID (V.O.)
Maybe there’s a place I don’t have to beg for basic decency. Starbucks isn’t perfect, but at least I can use the damn washroom here.
Fade out.
Scene: A Perfect Day
INT. STARBUCKS - DAY - MANY YEARS IN THE FUTURE
DAVID (60s, rugged, blonde, zero gray hair, hoodie) scribbles in a notebook at a corner table, laptop open. He sips cold coffee, grimacing.
DAVID (V.O.)
Yesterday sucked, Grace. Tried writing you, but every word sucked. Sorry, a man my age should know better. A writer could find a better word, not me.
He collects a gray eyebrow, Winston.
DAVID (V.O., continued)
Got an age stroke. Took till 55 to grow a beard, salt and pepper by then. Acted like a teen most of my life. Fifty-five years for puberty, extreme grace. Only gray’s in my beard and brows—I pluck them. I’m a vain bastard. I don’t have any gray in my beard because I can’t grow a fucking beard.
He scribbles, smirking faintly.
DAVID (V.O., continued)
Slept finally, dreamed of you. Been talking to you telepathically for a year. Too shy to meet. Intimate chats in my head. You’re all I want, so it’s you and the dream. Weird, like a movie idea. Here’s how it went.
EXT. CITY SIDEWALK - DAY - DREAM SEQUENCE
DAVID (incredibly handsome senior) kneels, scratching a calico cat’s head.
DAVID (V.O.)
I love all cats. No clue why.
A blue SUV pulls up. The back door opens. GRACE (29, stunning, bright pink sweater) stares at David, who keeps petting the cat, eyes locked on her.
DAVID (V.O., continued)
Just like I imagined.
Grace holds a brown envelope, handcuffs on her wrists.
GRACE
What’s it gonna be?
David freezes. It’s his Grace, the girl in his thoughts for a year.
DAVID (V.O.)
I’ve dreamt about this moment for years, regardless of the cliché.
He points to the handcuffs, breathing deep.
DAVID (V.O.)
Can’t remember. Cuffed in the backseat, my first time seeing you in person after a year in my head. I wonder who’s driving.
GRACE’S DAD (50s, stoic) drives. GRACE’S MOM (50s, quiet) rides shotgun, silent.
INT. HOTEL ROOM - DAY
Grace’s parents escort them in. Grace hands over a key card, hugs awkwardly, shakes David’s hand. No words. David and Grace scan the room—basic, one king bed looms.
GRACE
Ready?
DAVID
Should I carry you over the threshold?
GRACE
Can you?
DAVID
Not sure. How much do you weigh?
Grace gives a “nice try” look.
DAVID (continued)
I would if we weren’t cuffed. First time seeing you is awkward enough.
GRACE
It’s fine. We’re not married, not traditional. Don’t want you breaking a hip at your age.
DAVID
So it’s old man jokes now? After a year in my head?
GRACE
Maybe.
DAVID
Fine. Young ladies first.
Grace steps forward. Click. David stops her.
GRACE
Really?
DAVID
You’ve heard my thoughts for a year. Test our compatibility, right? Decisions together. Learn everything in seven days.
GRACE
More or less.
DAVID
Okay, I’m in.
They enter, eyeing the bed, pretending it’s not there.
DAVID
How old are you?
GRACE
29.
DAVID
I lied. I’m 58, not 60. Half my age works.
GRACE
More questions?
DAVID
A million after a year. What now?
GRACE
Talk, read, sleep, eat, whatever.
David realizes he forgot to press record, restarts.
DAVID
How old are you?
GRACE
29.
DAVID
I lied. I’m 59 now, not 60. Half my age.
GRACE
More questions?
DAVID
A million. After a year of telepathic communication, what now?
GRACE
Talk, read, sleep, eat, whatever.
Grace blushes. David mirrors.
DAVID (continued)
Not what I meant. Sorry.
GRACE
Oh.
DAVID
The envelope’s your letter. If I didn’t cut up?
GRACE
Yes.
DAVID
Can I read it?
GRACE
Alone? Yes. Not alone for a while now.
GRACE (continued)
Ground rules then. Cuffs off only for changing above the waist.
GRACE
Okay.
Grace throws two keys.
GRACE (continued)
But we could switch to sex boutique cuffs. Comfier.
Both flush, giggling.
DAVID
Why embarrass stuff? You’re in my head.
GRACE
Don’t know. We’re not wrong. Your idea. I’ll explain later.
DAVID
Plenty to discuss. Rules?
GRACE
We decide.
DAVID
Cuffs 24/7. Same room when off. Switch arms. Do we figure it out? Or marry or split?
GRACE
Fair.
They shake, cuffs clink.
DAVID
Now?
Grace brews coffee. David stands to her right, silent.
INT. HOTEL LIVING AREA - DAY
Sipping coffee on the couch.
GRACE
Bathroom in 30 minutes or less. Thoughts?
DAVID
Be in the dark.
GRACE
Maybe number two.
DAVID
Yikes. Definitely in the dark.
He lifts the cuffs. Grace smiles, eyes lock, tears flow.
INT. HOTEL BATHROOM - DAY - DIM
Grace pees loudly. David stares down and away.
DAVID
How did you find me after a year, Grace?
GRACE
I’m not staying half-naked on the toilet with you.
She stands, pulls pants up one-handed.
INT. HOTEL LIVING ROOM - DAY - DIM
Back on the couch.
GRACE
Friends spied. Saw your Twitter, link to Substack.
DAVID
Spied over my shoulder?
GRACE (burning eyes)
Yes, and more. Family too. Stalked libraries, Starbucks, other coffee shops for writer-looking old guys. Took a while.
DAVID (flinches)
Got David.
GRACE (maternal tone)
Yes, David, and more.
Fade out.
Podcast Segment: More on The Drop
For The Drop, I’ll drop every worm species until the city’s covered like snow. Worms might freak people out more than snakes. Drop at midnight, see the destruction by morning. Birds would wait at the city’s edge for worms to gorge on. But how many can they eat? Drop kittens, some go feral, hunting quail eggs. Drop snakes, most die depending on the climate. Ice cream would be messy—hard lasts longer, soft looks like snow. Leaves, just regular leaves, could be a fun drop too.
Movie Script: Alternate Endings
Alternate Ending #2: Binocular Sniper Shot
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND DAVID’S HOUSE - DAY
David and Grace stroll down the alley, hands clasped, perfect asses bouncing. The camera zooms in, shifts to binocular view, framing their asses. It pans to their heads. A sniper’s bullet rips through both their necks with one shot. They drop, blood gushing, trying to speak.
GRACE (choking)
I… love…
DAVID (gurgling)
You…
They drown in each other’s blood, eyes locked. Cut to black or the world’s slowest fade to white.
Alternate Ending #3: UFO Lovefest
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND DAVID’S HOUSE - DAY
David and Grace walk, hand in hand, perfect asses in view. They stop, glance up.
DAVID (telepathically)
Ready?
GRACE (telepathically)
Always.
A private UFO hums down, lands at the alley’s end. They climb in, shoot ten miles up, turn transparent, Earth glowing below. They make wild, passionate love for two to three hours—or minutes if it’s the first time—asses pressed against the glass. Fade to black.
Alternate Ending #4: UFO Shot Down
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND DAVID’S HOUSE - DAY
David and Grace stroll, hands locked, perfect asses swaying. They call their private UFO. It lands, they hop in, fly ten miles up. Before they can make love, a U.S. military jet blasts the UFO from the sky. Wreckage crashes.
INT. MILITARY COMPOUND - PRISON CELL - YEARS LATER
David and Grace, battered, tortured, sit in a dank cell. A rope, woven from Grace’s discarded black hair, hangs from the ceiling. They use it to hang themselves. Dead. Fade to black.
Alternate Ending #5: Grizzly Bear and Rats
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND DAVID’S HOUSE - DAY
David and Grace saunter, hands together, perfectly round asses in frame. A grizzly bear bursts from a neighbor’s backyard, mauls them, claws tearing flesh. They collapse, blood pooling. Before the bear can taste their perfect asses, a horde of rats swarms, eating their bodies, gnawing those flawless cheeks to nothing. Fade to black.
Alternate Ending #6: A Forgotten Child
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND DAVID’S HOUSE - DAY
David and Grace walk, hands linked, perfect asses swaying. The camera zooms in, shrinks to a pinpoint on their asses. A CHILD (5, cheery) runs into frame, crying.
CHILD
Mom and Dad, you forgot me again!
David scoops up the kid, smirking.
DAVID
Sorry, we forgot you, dear.
They reluctantly take the child to the park, nearly forgetting to bring them home. The illusion shatters: true love doesn’t equal good parents. Fade to black.
Alternate Ending #7: Earthquake Collapse
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND DAVID’S HOUSE - DAY
David and Grace walk toward their favorite park, holding hands, perfect asses jiggling. Overhead, a train roars on the elevated track.
DAVID (V.O.)
We walked this alley so many times, months, days, hours.
They pass under the train. A rumble shakes the ground.
GRACE (smirking)
Loud today.
The rumble intensifies—an earthquake. The tracks crack, collapse, tons of steel and concrete smashing down, crushing David and Grace instantly. Their perfect asses flatten under debris. Cut to black.
Alternate Ending #8: Tsunami Drowning
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND DAVID’S HOUSE - DAY
David and Grace stroll, perfect asses in view. The camera zooms in tight.
DAVID (V.O.)
Perfect asses, hers and mine. Nothing beats this.
Grace pulls out her phone, sticks it in her back pocket, ruining her perfect ass silhouette. An alert—tsunami warning—goes unnoticed, her phone off. They reach the park entrance as a wave crashes, swallowing them. They clutch hands as water fills their lungs, drowning together. Cut to black.
Alternate Ending #9: RCMP Tax Bust
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND DAVID’S HOUSE - DAY
David and Grace walk, hands locked, perfect asses bouncing. The camera shrinks to a pinhole view on their asses as romantic music swells. Red lights flash. RCMP officers block their path, guns drawn.
OFFICER #1
Hands up now!
David raises his hand. Grace stands still. Officers rush him, slam him to the ground, cuff him tight.
OFFICER #2
Stay there, motherfucker. Gonna pay your taxes now, cocksucker?
GRACE (calmly)
I pay his taxes for him. Check the records.
OFFICER #1
Shut it. We got our man. Nobody cheats fucking Toronto.
They drag David off, ignoring Grace. Her perfect ass stands alone. Fade to black.
Alternate Ending #10: Pregnant Fade
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND DAVID’S HOUSE - DAY
David and Grace walk, hands clasped, perfect asses in frame. Romantic music plays soft and sweet. They turn to face each other. Grace is very pregnant, her huge belly jarring against her perfect ass.
DAVID (grins)
DAVID (V.O.)
Even six months in, still perfect.
The camera pans past her enormous belly to their faces. They kiss, long and tender. Fade to black.
TITLE CARD: End scene.
Alternate Ending #11: Coughing Cut
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND DAVID’S HOUSE - DAY
David and Grace saunter, hands linked, perfect asses front and center. The camera zooms in. Grace starts to cough, her ass jiggling too much, no longer perfect. She pulls out a cigarette, puffing mid-cough.
DIRECTOR (on screen)
Cut!
The production crew groans, milling around.
CREW MEMBER #1
Fuck, we’ve got to shoot this again, really?
CREW MEMBER #2
This is our goddamn fucking ending. The best we can do—two perfect asses.
Grace keeps coughing, smirking. David shrugs. Cut to black.
Alternate Ending #12: Ass-Grabbing Montage
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND DAVID’S HOUSE - DAY
David and Grace walk, hands together, perfect rear ends swaying. The camera zooms in, cuts to outtakes. David sticks his hand in Grace’s back pocket, grinning. He grabs both cheeks with both hands, squeezing hard, then one hand on one cheek, refusing to hold her hand. David laughs like a dick. Grace rolls her eyes. Montage ends, they stop, still holding hands, oblivious. Fade to black.
Alternate Ending #13: Thong Chaos
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND DAVID’S HOUSE - DAY
David and Grace stride, hands locked, perfect asses in view. The camera zooms in, flips to outtakes. David pulls Grace’s thong up, wedgie-style. Grace pulls David’s thong up, giggling. David pulls his own thong up, posing. No thong, he pulls his pants down, bare ass out. David tries to pull Grace’s pants down; she slaps him. They kiss, fall in love again, laughing. Montage ends, back to the walk, serene as ever. Fade to black.
Alternate Ending #14: Sister Smackdown
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND DAVID’S HOUSE - DAY
David and Grace walk, hands clasped, perfect asses bouncing. The camera zooms in.
DIRECTOR (on screen)
Cut!
GRACE’S SISTER (20s, sweet) runs up, touching up Grace’s makeup. David leers.
DAVID
Maybe we need a body double. Your ass is almost as good.
Grace slaps him, punches his arm, aims a kick at his nuts, misses.
DAVID (wincing)
I get it. She’s a pale comparison to you, Grace. Though she’s kind of cute. Very sweet, kind, loving, helpful, patient—everything you’re not.
Grace glares. Her sister scurries off. Cut to black.
Alternate Ending #15: Tugboat Honk
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND DAVID’S HOUSE - DAY
David and Grace stroll, hands together, perfect asses jiggling just right. The camera zooms in. A tugboat honks, loud and dumb, screwing the audio.
DIRECTOR (on screen)
Cut!
IRIS (28, fierce, David’s daughter, Grace’s stepdaughter, the DP) throws up her hands.
IRIS
Fuck. Do I really have to take this shot? I don’t want to shoot my dad’s ass and his new wife’s ass over and over again. It’s wrong.
The crew sighs. David winks at Grace, oblivious. Cut to black.
Alternate Ending #16: Boob Bait-and-Switch
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND DAVID’S HOUSE - DAY
DAVID (60, ruggedly handsome) and GRACE (30, exotic, pretty) walk, perfect asses swaying. The camera pans around quickly. Grace’s perfectly bouncy boobs steal the show, then David’s jiggly man boobs. HARRY enters, open North Face hoodie. As most men would get excited, the camera pans to David’s face. He smirks, closes the hoodie, hiding those bouncy boobs.
DAVID (muttering)
Not today, fuckers.
Fade to black.
Podcast Segment: Closing Thoughts
I got that last ending perfect, Grace. With page-turn pauses, it’s more like 30 minutes of content, not an hour. A red worm fell on me today—scared me. I threw it in the grass, but I should’ve taken a picture to identify it. There’s a site from Joe Rogan’s show where you upload photos of plants or worms, and it tells you what they are. If no one knows, it goes to the professionals—the scientists.
The thing about The Drop is nature takes over. Birds hang out at the city’s edge, waiting for midnight drops like worms. But how many worms can they eat before they’re too full? Cats would last—drop millions, some go feral, waiting for quail eggs or easy kills. Snakes? Most die, depending on the location. Tempted to read the 52 jokes next, but I’ll pause—we’re at an hour, and I need something for tomorrow so I don’t lose my mind.
Talk to you tomorrow, Grace.
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