Language Lessons

Following up on a previous article, I’ve decided to start chugging out my new TV show. Cutting close to the bone, the main character will now be called Nigel, and he too will scratch out a meagre living teaching English to foreign types (I will insist on playing myself of course, so subtle is my character’s personality). Nigel is a sexy and exceptionally smart guy, but he has his demons – he’s surrounded by morons and illiterates. Everyday he has to educate and edify those around him, whether it is his students, his friends, his colleagues, or the string of hot babes that fall onto his lap. I think Language Lessons is an apt title for the show. For fifty minutes a week, it stimulates the mind with its surprising plot lines and its witty and snappy dialogue; it stimulates the loins with its risqué and increasingly fantastical love scenes.

Let’s take a look at a sample scene I cobbled together:

INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT

Nigel and Pamela, a dark haired, feline-eyed woman, with gigantic breasts, sit comfortably at a romantic dinner table for two. Pamela’s huge bosoms graze the table, as she leans forward to chat intimately.

Pamela: You were so cool around me; I thought you were disinterested.

Nigel: Uninterested.

Pamela: Sorry?

Nigel: I forgive you.

Pamela: I don’t understand.

Nigel: You meant uninterested when you said disinterested. I was neither.

Pamela: What’s the difference?

Nigel: One means objective or like a spectator, like me, gazing at your hypnotic bosoms. The other means not interested, like the vacuous zombies, who regurgitate bad English every day and have the nerve to say they’re native speakers.

Pamela: Ooh, I like it when you’re misanthropic. (plays footsy under the table) Maybe you can fuck the humanity out of me.

Nigel: No. I mean ‘yes’. Sure. But I’m not misanthropic. (sentimental music starts up) I just love language so much. When it’s good, it’s got a scent, you know?

Tears form in Pamela’s eyes.

Nigel: It’s so beautiful, yet so delicate and ephemeral, like ether. It skates momentarily over your tongue. With ultimate irony, its essence is ineffable. Almost like a childhood memory, so hazy, yet it fills you with desire to grasp it, hopelessly trying to return to some warm happy centre.

Music picks up in intensity, as we CUT TO:

INT. NIGEL’S BEDROOM - LATER

A steely, waxed stunt-ass gyrates, as Nigel pounds Pamela on a squeaky antique dressing table. The amber light casts their silhouette across a room full of tasteful, erotic statues. He swings her voluptuous body onto the canopied bed. She climbs astride him and her glowing breasts jiggle emphatically. We see a longshot of the lovers, before fading to black.