Fade in on a darkened Bieber household living room. The porch light snaps on outside, and the door opens slowly and silently. JUSTIN BIEBER sneaks into the house in filthy clothes, carrying a baseball bat and glove. He silently shuts the door and starts walking, tracking mud inside the house.
He's only made it a few steps when somebody claps; the light snaps on, revealing that Bieber is not alone. His MOM is waiting, standing in the center of the living room, arms crossed, not looking very happy. She's a generically pretty lady in her late 30's. Nearby in an easy chair is DAD, whose face is obscured by the newspaper he's reading. As soon as the lights go on, canned applause erupts on the laugh track.
MOM (accusingly): BIEBERRRR!
Laugh track: Appreciative laughs and cheers.
BIEBER: Hey, Mom! How's it goin'?
MOM: Don't you "how's it goin'" me, young man. You're over an hour late. Your father and I were worried sick!
MOM: Well, let's hear it. What's the excuse this time?
BIEBER: Well, I was playing ball with Freddie and the other fellas down at the park, and I guess I just lost track of the time.
MOM: How, exactly? You were supposed to be home by dark!
BIEBER (exaggeratedly shrugs): It's just one of those things, Mom!
Laugh track: fond giggles and clapping at the catchphrase.
MOM: Ray, would you please talk to your son? I just don't know what to do anymore!
The newspaper snaps closed, revealing that "Dad" is none other than USHER.
Laugh track: wild applause as Dad tosses the newspaper aside.
DAD: Bieber, come on over here and sit down.
MOM: Not on my clean couch!
(She hurriedly covers the seat next to Usher with newspapers in time for Bieber to sit down. Dad takes a pipe out of his cardigan pocket and begins filling it.)
DAD: Now, Bieber, I've told you over and over again how important it is to be punctual and always on time. If you're constantly showing up to places late, people will start seeing you as unreliable, and that can effect lots of things in the future, like what kind of friends you make, what kind of job you get, and even what kind of wife you wind up with. Why, I'd have never landed your ol' mother here if I'd showed up late for our dates, isn't that right, honey?
MOM: That's right dear, one of the first things that made me fall in love with you was your strict sense of punctuality.
DAD: And what's more, Bieber, I don't like you hanging around with that Freddie Paskell boy. He's a really bad influence, and I've notice since you've been friends, your behavior's been changing, and not for the better.
(Dad lights the pipe and takes a huge, deep rip off of it, exactly as one would do were one smoking marijuana. He exhales and coughs, nodding enthusiastically. Bieber grimaces and waves the smoke away from his face.)
DAD: Oh, god damn. God damn, that is some good shit. You want a hit?
BIEBER: No thanks, Pop. Last time I got sick on that grubby stuff.
DAD: This ain't no skunk, boy, this here's primo shit. Anyway, I want you to start making a concerted effort to always show up on time, and stop hanging around with Freddie Paskell. Understand?
BIEBER: Yes, sir.
DAD: Good. Now go up to your room and wash up, then come back down and eat your supper.
(BIEBER runs up the stairs.)
MOM: You gonna let me hit that shit or what?
DAD: Oh yeah, my bad.
(He passes her the pipe.)
CUT TO: Interior of Bieber's room, which he shares with his older brother, SIMON. Simon is 19 years old and very obese, with acne-ridden skin partially obscured with mascara and eyeliner. He wears tight black clothing and has an elaborate goth/emo haircut. When Bieber enters, Simon is sitting in the corner.)
BIEBER: Hey, creep. What are you doing? What's that smell?
SIMON (turns around to reveal what he's doing): I'm burning myself with Mom's curling iron.
Laugh track: Warm chuckles.
SIMON: Because they started hiding their razors.
(Laugh track: appreciative guffaws)
SIMON: Where have you been? You missed supper.
BIEBER: I was out playin' ball with Freddie and the fellas. (Bieber kicks off his shoes and flops down on his bed, opening a magazine with Kim Kardashian on the cover and reading.) Hey, how come you never play ball with us anymore?
SIMON (gritting his teeth as he singes his forearm): Baseball is for conformists.
Laugh track: Knowing chortling
BIEBER: Whatever. You're so weird these days.
SIMON: Well, when your younger brother gets a multimillion dollar recording contract and millions of views on his YouTube channel and your parents start ignoring you and treating you like you're lower than dirt, it can kind of mess you up.
BIEBER: You shouldn't feel bad, Simon. Remember when one of your videos got almost three million views?
SIMON: That wasn't one of my video blogs, that was the video you posted of me crying when Mom confiscated my Twilight books. It was still your account that got all the hits.
BIEBER: Yeah, but you were the star!
Laugh track: Unbridled enthusiasm
SIMON: I don't even care. I don't care about anything. (Shudders as he burns the webbing between his fingers.) Hey, Bieber, you ever think God is dead?
BIEBER: What the heck are you talking about?
SIMON: I think God died, and the Devil took over, and now he uses us as his personal playthings. And I think I'm his very favorite.
BIEBER: Ugh, you are so weird.
MOM (from downstairs): Bieber! I'm only warming this supper up once, young man!
BIEBER (calling): Coming! (to Simon) Hey, what'd we have for supper, anyway?
SIMON: I don't know. They wouldn't give me any. It smelled like pork chops, though.
BIEBER: Oh boy, pork chops! (Bieber bolts up from his bed and runs out the door, leaving Simon alone.)
SIMON (setting the curling iron on the palm of his hand): Or maybe God is the Devil. That would make sense, too... God is the Devil.
He laughs, then suddenly begins weeping, silently but intensely.
Laugh track: Scattered chuckles.
CUT TO: Night. The tree outside Bieber's bedroom is shaking, as below we hear the sounds of someone climbing it. Soon, FREDDIE PASKELL, an unkempt, mischievous-looking teenager, climbs into view and taps on Bieber's window. After a few moments, Bieber opens it.
BIEBER: Knock it off, Freddie, I'm tryinna sleep.
FREDDIE: Bieber, you gotta sneak out with me!
BIEBER: Oh, gimme a break! You know how much trouble I'd get in if I got caught? I'd be grounded for weeks!
FREDDIE: You won't get caught, but even if you did, it would be worth it! Listen, I was hanging out with these two girls from California, Mylie and Lyndsie, and when they found out I knew you, they flipped! They're huge fans of yours and they told me I had to come get you!
BIEBER: I dunno, Freddie. I'm not s'posed to be outside this late.
FREDDIE: You gotta meet these girls, Bieb! They're older than us, they're super hot, and they've even got their own car! They want to drive down to the lake for some kind of party that all the cool kids are going to. We'd be crazy not to go!
BIEBER: That does sound like fun... aw, but gee whiz, Freddie, it's after midnight and I got school tomorrow.
FREDDIE: Hey, no big deal, I'll just tell 'em to make sure you're back by sunup! No one'll ever know, and then you can catch some sleep tomorrow in your free period.
FREDDIE: Come on, Bieb, you gotta do this for me! The only reason they wanna hang out with me is 'cause I know you!
BIEBER: Well... I guess. But I have to be back by sunup.
FREDDIE: All right! Come on, let's go!
Bieber steps out of his window and begins to climb down the tree with Freddie. Simon appears at the window.
SIMON: Can I come?
FREDDIE: Simon, I swear to God, if you even try to follow us, I will slit your fat throat in your sleep.
Laugh track: Fond tittering.
BIEBER: Sorry, Simon, not this time.
SIMON: You're gonna get in trouble.
BIEBER: Only if you tell on me.
SIMON: I might!
SIMON: Why shouldn't I? You won't let me come along!
BIEBER: I'll clean our bathroom every week for a month.
SIMON: Three months.
BIEBER: Two months, and I'll do your spelling homework.
SIMON: Okay, I won't tell.
SIMON: I promise. Hey, try and get some oopsie pics.
BIEBER: What's an oopsie pic?
SIMON: It's like when a girl's not paying attention and she gets out of a car or her shirt strap falls off her shoulder, and you get to see some boob or even some snatch.
BIEBER: I can't do that, that's sick!
SIMON: Are you... are you gay?
Freddie pokes his head up into the scene.
FREDDIE: Simon, shut your ugly fucking face and leave Bieber alone or I will cut you across your fat gut and let all the marshmallow fluff out.
SIMON: Blow me, you neglected little sociopath! Ow!
Freddie has bounced a rock off of Simon's face.
FREDDIE: Come on, Bieb, let's go!
BIEBER: Okay! (to Simon) Remember our deal!
SIMON (holding his face in pain): Fine, fine, go.
Bieber and Freddie drop out of sight.
SIMON (Calling after them): Don't forget the oopsie pics!
CUT TO: Interior of a large, fancy sport utility vehicle. Mylie, an attractive, if kind of slutty-looking, teenage girl is driving. Bieber is in the passenger seat, obviously uncomfortable. Freddie is in the back seat with Lyndsie, another attractive teenager, significantly more disheveled than Mylie. Lyndsie and Freddie are making out.
MYLIE (raspy, two-pack-a-day voice): Omigod, wasn't that the awesomest party? There were like so many kegs I like didn't even know what was going on.
LYNDSIE: No, it was totally fuggin' lame, this fuggin' whole town is like, major lame.
MYLIE: Yeah, you're right, ha ha. So Bieber, like, how come you didn't bring your guitar, you like could've jammed out at the party 'n' shit, omigod, that would've been awesome.
BIEBER: I dunno, it was kind of a last-minute invite, I didn't really get to grab my guitar on my way out-
LYNDSIE: Does anyone have any fuggin' food? I'm fuggin' starving. (to Freddie) It unhooks in the back, doofus! Ha ha ha!
An expensive bra drapes over Bieber's face; he irritatedly shoos it away.
BIEBER: Freddie! Cut it out!
FREDDIE (very drunk): Whaaa-ever, I geddin uh boobs in touchin fuh inna my cock.
MYLIE (takes a swig from a huge jug of wine): Omigod, though, Lyndsie, I could totally go for some food. Is there like a Denny's around here or like a Waffle House or whatever?
BIEBER: We don't have time, the sun's gonna be up in less than half an hour!
MYLIE: Settle down, God! All you've been talking about tonight is the sun, is the sun like your boyfriend or something, God!
LYNDSIE: Hahahaha, sun-fag!
BIEBER: Oh, that's real nice. You two oughta have your mouths washed out with soap.
FREDDIE: Or my dick!
BIEBER: Zip it, Freddie! And should you be drinking that while you're driving, Mylie?
MYLIE: Wha the fug are you talking about, I drink wine all the time when I drive, it's not like it's tequila, ha ha. Omigod, you are so uptight, like seriously.
BIEBER: You shouldn't drink and drive, you - ow!
Freddie and Lyndsie are now obviously having sex, and Freddie has kicked the back of Bieber's seat.
BIEBER (turning around in his seat): Would you two watch it back there - oh, gross!
MYLIE: What is your problem?
BIEBER: They're... they're (whispering) making love (normal voice) in your back seat!
MYLIE: "Making love," hahaha, omigod, you are like the funniest! You're cute, too. Come here.
Mylie reaches over and grabs his crotch. Bieber startles and pulls away as much as he can.
BIEBER: Hey! What are you doing?! That's my no-no place!
MYLIE: Yeah. Come on, scoot over, I wanna touch it.
MYLIE: I wanna fuggin' play with your dick, doofus, it's no big deal.
LYNDSIE: Yeah, let her play with your dick, God!
FREDDIE: Don't screw this up for me, Bieb. I'm begging you. This is... this is the happiest I've ever been.
BIEBER: Well... she's only two years older than me... I guess it would be okay, as long as none of us tell anybody... okay, Mylie, I'm sorry I - OH MY GOSH!
Mylie has passed out cold at the wheel. She's snoring. The other three scream. The vehicle swerves out of control, then plummets off of a cliff side.
CUT TO: front porch of the Bieber household. Two police officers sadly walk away from the front door as Dad waves after them.
DAD: Thank you, officers. (He shuts the door and goes back inside the living room, where Mom stands, wringing her hands.)
DAD: Yup, he's dead.
MOM (more annoyed than upset): That boy! I told him he'd get into trouble! What happened?
DAD: Near as they can tell, he snuck out with Freddie Paskell, they hooked up with these two girls from Los Angeles, the girls had been drinking, and they lost control and the vehicle ended up at the bottom of the ravine.
SIMON (has silently crept out of his room to the stairs, where he pauses, shrinking and fearful behind the banister like a small child): Mom? Dad?
DAD (deep sigh): Aw, Jesus.
MOM (immediately hostile, through clenched teeth): What?
SIMON: It's just... I'm sorry... Bieber made me promise not to tell that he was sneaking out. I wanted to, but, but he made me promise.
MOM (glares at him): God, I hate you so much. I hate you more than I ever dreamt it was possible to hate someone. I wish you were dead.
SIMON (quietly): So do I, Mom. I wish we were all dead.
Laugh track: Warm, upbeat laughter
MOM: I would have preferred to have given birth to eight pounds, nine ounces of baby scorpions, you know that? I would have -
DAD: Now, dear. It might mistake your negative attention for affection. It's better not to talk to it at all. Don't even look at it, if you don't have to.
MOM (composing herself, smiling again): Of course you're right, dear. I'll go start breakfast. (kisses him on the cheek, then breezily swishes out of the living room. Dad makes to follow her, then pauses at the kitchen door. He makes it a point to stare straight ahead at the door as he talks.)
DAD: It should go wake its brother up for breakfast.
SIMON: But Dad -
DAD: It would be wise not to question my orders. Or to refer to me as "Dad" ever again.
SIMON: Yes, sir.
DAD: Go now. It's bad enough Bieber disobeyed me about Freddie Paskell, but if he's late for breakfast, there'll be heck to pay. (Dad walks into the kitchen.)
Simon goes back upstairs, then stands before what looks like a coat closet. He opens the door, walks in, and shuts the door behind him. He's now standing amongst the coats, and pulls a chain hanging down from the ceiling. A great hydraulic hiss sounds, along with the warm hum of electricity and the metallic clanking of sophisticated machinery.
A grid of numbers lights up across from him, above the door, each reading 100 ft, 200 ft, and so on. They light up in sequence as the coat closet/elevator descends. Finally, at 1,500 ft, the elevator comes to a stop. He opens the door and steps out, then proceeds down a long hallway. The walls and floor are perfectly white, and bright fluorescent lights shine overhead. Simon comes to a massive pair of steel doors several stories high. He puts his palm up to a black pad, then stoops over to a microphone poking out just above it.
SIMON: Simon Bieber.
A tone sounds, and the door opens. He steps onto a gigantic hydraulic lift, which takes him even further underground. Climbing off the lift, he takes a torch from the wall and lights it by striking a nearby flint rock against the stone walls. He descends a steep, narrow stone staircase for what seems like ages, then finally emerges in a huge, miles-wide dark chamber filled with what look like big hot water heaters with see-through glass fronts. These embryonic tanks go on for miles and miles in all directions in front of him, until they fade away into the darkness. Simon goes to the nearest tank and again places his palm onto a black pad.
SIMON: Simon Bieber, emergency protocol four-five-seven-five, Papa-Romeo-Echo. Commence.
The liquid drains from the tank, and inside we see: another Justin Bieber, perfectly unharmed and bright-eyed. The tank opens and he steps out.
BIEBER: What's up, creep.
SIMON: Come on, dork. You're gonna be late for breakfast.
BIEBER: Aw, jeez. I don't wanna get in trouble.
SIMON: Too late!
Freeze frame. Laugh track goes wild with applause as the closing theme plays.
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