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.