****
Andre the Giant, After Party bouncer extraordinaire, is in the midst of an argument with a man in a 1960’s-era suit, JFK himself. JFK attempts to shove past Andre into a roped-off section of the club. Andre doesn’t budge. Beyond the rope, a group of people with crowns on their heads sips champagne. The group includes Grace Kelly and Princess Diana.
JFK: This is absurd and obscene. Don’t you know who I am? I am your President.
Andre: Not my President. I’m French Bulgarian.
JFK: I’ll have you arrested.
Andre (shrugs): You’re not getting in.
Marilyn Monroe saunters by.
JFK: Marilyn, honey, bring that hot, little ass over here and call off the giant, will you?
Marilyn (ignoring him): Problem, Andre?
Andre: This man wants to get into the Royalty Room.
JFK: I’m J F-ing K. I am American royalty.
Marilyn cranes her neck to see who’s in the Royalty Room. She sighs.
Marilyn: Jack, it’s ladies night all through the club. Do you really need access to those particular blondes?
JFK: I have an international matter to discuss with the Princess of Wales.
Marilyn: Presidents without Borders? I can’t help you, baby. Unless you have a crown and a scepter you can’t get in.
JFK: Who the hell has a scepter?
A short, fat and hairy man waddles past them carrying a scepter. Andre lets him in.
Henry VIII: How’s it hangin’, ‘Dre?
Andre: Low and loose, Henry.
JFK: You’re letting him in?! He killed all his wives. He’s a menace to society.
Marilyn: He’s a king. Rules are rules. Plus everyone’s dead.
JFK: I don’t recall you being such a stickler.
Marilyn: You don’t recall a lot of things.
JFK: For instance?
Marilyn: For instance, every year I perform the hell out of that happy birthday song, but when my birthday rolls around it’s radio silence.
JFK: You’re going to blame a man with a gunshot wound to the head for a little lapse in memory?
Marilyn: You certainly remember my room number when it’s convenient.
A tall man dressed in a 1930s European military uniform passes through and enters the Royalty Room. Archduke Franz Ferdinand. Andre nods at him.
Andre: Archduke.
JFK: Archduke? What is that? That’s not even a real title.
Marilyn: He’s the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne.
JFK: There is no Austro-Hungarian throne!
Andre: There’s a band named after him.
JFK: There’s a movie named after me!
Marilyn: Why don’t you join your dear Jackie in the Billionaire Beach House?
JFK: She’s no fun. She’s always hanging with that old Greek dude. This place is getting so Eurotrash.
Marilyn: It really is. No offense, Andre.
Andre: None taken.
Marilyn starts to lead JFK away.
Marilyn: Let me have Paddy mix you up a little something special at the bar.
JFK: You really get me, sweet cheeks.
JFK’s son, JFK, Jr., walks up.
Jr.: Dad, I think Uncle Teddy’s looking for you in the bar.
JFK: He’s looking at the bottom of a glass.
Jr: Whatever.
Jr. moves toward the Royalty Room. JFK looks at Marilyn.
Marilyn: He’ll get in.
JFK lunges for him and grabs his son’s arm.
JFK: John-John, wait. Take me with you.
Jr. brushes him off.
Jr: Dad, would you stop with the John-John? It’s John! Just John. Geez.
He keeps walking.
Marilyn: You know those royals don’t like to be touched.
JFK: The only kind of royal he is is a pain.
Marilyn: It’s jokes like that that keep you out.
She pats him on the shoulder and leaves. JFK shakes his head and moves toward the bar. Everyone at the bar sees him coming and yell, “JFK,” like they did for Norm on Cheers.
JFK: J F-my-death K.
****
