The Lost Scripts: "Care Package," by George N. Koulouris
In The Lost Scripts Series, Julian releases the scripts of some series episodes that went unproduced.
INT. JULIAN’S APARTMENT - MORNING
CRISTINA bounces into the room carrying a PACKAGE.
Special delivery, Julian!
I’m not expecting anything.
It looks like a gift.
Must be a mistake. Have security check it for anthrax.
It says it’s from a secret admirer.
Looks like someone has a fan.
Don’t be so surprised, Cristina.
After all, I am a champion for the common man.
Certainly, thousands around the world are
yearning to show their gratitude.
Julian snatches the package and gleefully rips into it.
It is nothing but random bullshit.
It’s a care package.
More like an I don’t care package.
Look at this shit.
Julian shows off the contents with contempt and confusion.
Electric toothbrush, toothpaste,
bar soap, hand soap, soap-on-a-rope,
dandruff shampoo, deodorant,
some third-rate cologne
Designer imposter, of course.
There’s more: detergent, air
freshener, candles, gum, Altoids,
Julian seriously doesn’t see the connection.
What the fuck is all this?
This is called a gift, Julian. It’s a kind gesture, likely from a fan.
What need do I have for such rubbish?
Julian rushes to his computer.
I’m going to find out who sent it.
It doesn’t matter.
I just need to hack into Amazon’s system.
Surely that’s not necessary. It’s just a gift. Hasn’t anyone ever
given you a gift before?
Don’t be fooled by kindness. I know the mind of a creep.
I’m sure you do.
It looks like it was sent right here, from London.
I’ll bet it’s the Ambassador’s
wife. I’ve caught her stealing a
sideward glance more than once.
Come on now, Julian.
She wants me, Christina. I know by
how she stares at me, longingly,
undressing me with her eyes,
silently begging me to tear her
sensible Chanel pantsuit asunder
and ravish her, right there on your
desk, into a fit of total unbridled
ecstasy -- before she tears my neck
out with her teeth, like a Harpy.
That’s one possibility... But
surely, Julian, if the sender
wanted to remain anonymous they--
Anonymous? Ha! Julian Assange
doesn’t know the meaning of the word.
No matter how many aliases, cloned VPNs, or IP scramblers this evil
genius used, I will track them down, even if that means destroying
the entire internet in the process!
It was me, OK? I sent the package.
Cristina? You? You’re the admirer?
Yes, OK. I admit it. I’m the
(using air quotes)
I knew it! I knew you were in love with me!
What? No! You stink, Julian! Take the hint. You stink. Bad.
Really fucking bad.