MySpace: The Pandemic
by Paul Frank

(A teenage boy is sitting in school. It is barely fall, but yet he is wearing a scarf. He is very anxious and can barely sit in his desk. To a casual bystander, it might appear that he has to pee really bad. The bell rings and the boy flies out of his desk, running into people and their belongings on the way out of the classroom. He runs furiously through the halls, running into people.)

"GOTTA CHECK MY MYSPACE! GOTTA CHECK MY MYSPACE! GET OUT OF MY WAY!" He repeats this over and over.

He slams open the front doors of the school and runs to his car. He 'floors it' out of the parking lot, possibly cutting off people, maybe not since he would probably be one of the first people out, since he has to check his MySpace.

He speeds and drives dangerously home. He puts the car in park in his driveway and gets out of his car, leaving the door open. He runs inside his house. He gets to his computer.

"Oh God oh God why didn't I leave it on this morning? Fuck!" He waits very impatiently as his computer starts up. He clicks on his internet browser's icon. His home page is MySpace. He types in his password, since his e-mail address is saved in there. "Don't you guys recognize me by now?!?", he screams at the MySpace website on his computer monitor.

His profile loads up, he quickly scrolls down to see if there are any new friend requests, comments, messages, etc. He sees that he has none. "Fuck! You think somebody would've done something on my MySpace since I checked this morning! Goddamnit, the rest of the school day is gonna suck!" He goes back to school, after eating a lunch consisting of ice cream.

(Fade out.)

(Fade in.)

(The camera is inside his house. His door slams open, and as soon as it opens, you hear him yelling. "There better be fucking commentz on my pikz! Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhcccc
ccccckkkkk!!"

(He is once again disappointed. Furious that he's not popular enough, he clicks "Add to Friends" on several people's profiles, mostly from the "Cool New People", "Featured Profile", "MySpace Music", and "MySpace Specials" sections from the front page. He goes back to his profile and keeps refreshing to see if anything comes up.)

(A different door in his house opens. It is his mom.)

(He quickly tries to click out of all of the MySpace windows. His mom is walking fast towards his room. A dramatic splitscreen ensues. Will emo fag click out of all the windows before his mommy gets to his room?)

(His mom pops her head in the window just as the son clicks out of the last window.)

Mom: "What the fuck are you doing?!? Don't think that I didn't see that! You're on MySpace, aren't you?"

Emo: "What?!? No, come on, I quit that shit, man, I'm clean, I'm done with that stuff..."

Mom: "No...you're lying...I can tell. Look at me. Let me see your eyes. You're on MySpace."

Emo: "No, mom, come on, don't you believe me? Why don't you believe your own son?"

Mom: "You never get clean from it! Nobody does! They always go back for more...whether it be the friend requests, the comments, or whatever they're in it for, they always go back! Plus, this is what you said when you were out of rehab for the sixth time, and then we caught you right after we left the room! You're pathetic. You disgust me."

Emo: "Leave me alone then."

Mom: "No, 'cos the minute I leave, you'll be hitting it up again. Wait 'til your dad comes home. He's gonna be pissssed."

(Fade out.)

(Fade in.)

(The dad comes home.)

Mom: "Willsted! Come here!"

Dad: "Yes, honey?"

Mom: "Look! He's on MySpace!"

(The dad gazes deep into his son's eyes.)

Dad: "You are!" (turns to wife) "He is! Goddamnit, if you don't stop this shit right now, you'll be back on the streets! THERE WILL BE NO MYSPACE IN MY HOUSE!" (starts taking off belt)

Emo: "I'm not on MySpace!"

Dad: "Don't give me that bullshit! I smelled it when I came in! You reek of it! You think we're stupid?!? Huh?!? You think we're FUCKING STUPID, IS THAT IT?!? Well, let me tell you, I know a MySpacer when I see one. They were all around when we were teenagers. We know them better than you do."

Mom: "Why do you have to do this to us? Can't you see how much it hurts us? We love you, but you've changed. You're not who you used to be...at all. You post pictures that you took of yourself using a mirror! That's not the son we knew and loved. You type really short sentences/facts about yourself, without capitalizing the first letter of the sentence, which you know you should do, and emphasizing certain words. The descriptions under your pictures form a sentence, a really emo one, when read from first to last in your "View More Pics" section."

Emo: "You guys were on my MySpace?"

Dad: "It takes one to know one."

Mom: "You're just gonna be another statistic, don't you see? It all leads to nowhere. You'll just be another number. You're just gonna be another one of Tom's friends."