WHY I TAKE BATHS.

Written by

Kenneth McIntyre
 FADE IN:

INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT

Steam fills the small room.

A change of clothes are neatly placed on top of the closed

seat of the toilet.

Condensation is thickly layered on the metal vent. Drops of

water drip off the vent to the ground.

Water spills over the bath-tub. A WOMAN is completely

submerged in the water.

The dripping from the vent grows in sound.

CUT TO BLACK.

ACT ONE.

German expressionism, am I right? A lot of information was just shared in

about six to ten seconds. If we want to be experimental, then it may have been
a couple hours, but I don t write experimental stuff. I m a fan of classic human
storytelling. The good stuff. The kind of stories that are an escape.
That s why we write. To escape something. Anything. In my very short life, I ve
learned one universal truth: People hate where they are. Something about us
wants to be somewhere else. I m no psychologist, but that has to mean
something, right?
Writers tend to have some issues, myself included. Something about writing is
similar to playing God. Everything on the page is controlled by one person. If
you want to be really thorough, you can mention editors, but that would make
my previous statement false... So we re going to ignore those pesky editors
because I am the writer and I say so. Inside my world, I like things how I like
them. Normally the characters appeal to my more eccentric side. For example,
pretend I m a monotone musician who is in love with the very fictitious Pink
Power Ranger from Power Rangers: Jungle Fury. This character is in bed at
10pm everyday, except for Friday. He exclusively writes synth-pop about his
crippling fear of bees. In the real world, this is someone who needs copious
amounts of therapy and medication. On my page, he is our hero.
Now forget him. We re doing a re-write. He s now a femme-fatal who
 2.

exclusively kills tele-marketers. Our lovely protagonist really likes all things
kaiju movies and wears the same lucky pair of socks everyday. Is that better?
Which one do you like more? Please tell me, I feed off of feedback.
Neither of them are our person in the tub. Lets pretend I m much smarter than
I really am and say the tub is a metaphor. What s it a metaphor for? Doesn t
matter right now. Every time you take a bath, you risk being one of the
dumbasses (or poor souls if you want to be sensitive) who make up a certain
drowning statistic. You normally don t drown, but the risk is still there. Do you
stop taking baths? Fuck no! Baths are awesome. Lets change the scene.

INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT

The mirror in the bathroom is covered with condensation.

In its blurry reflection, a NAKED MAN steps into the tub.

Hint number one.

He submerges himself all the way into the water. Water spills
over the tub.

The man stays underwater for a beat. His arm comes out of the
water and lays on the outside wall of the tub, but his head
stays.

Hint number two.

After another beat, his head shoots up. Before we see his
face we-

CUT TO BLACK.

ACT TWO.

Now we re seeing the arm. What does the arm laying on the wall of the tub
calmly tell us?

Did you answer? I m not in the room with you right now, so I don t know what
you said.

Oh really? How fascinating. You re fuckin wrong (unless you aren t), but
we re all wrong at some point. The arm signifies a choice to be under the water.
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If it wasn t a choice, you would fight tooth and nail. I mean, how else does this
metaphor of drowning in a tub work? Drowning is a specific choice. If you ve
ever drowned to death (or maybe got pretty close to it) you may know how
much pressure you feel in your face. It hurts. It is very painful.
How comes our subject is choosing to drown? Well, its a bath. You gotta get
your head wet. I m sure most people are quick about it, but some people (such
as myself) like how the warm water feels. Some people hate baths, but they still
have to shower.
So, we ve established a lot. The metaphor is (to simply summarize literally)
someone is choosing to risk drowning in the tub because the water feels nice.
There s still plenty to define and what not, but I ask you, my dear dumbass
reader, to write some questions down. Yeah. Fuck you. This requires your
participation. You could skip this segment, but you lose part of the experience.
Write small, jerk-wad.

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INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT

The tub is now empty. The bathroom is bone dry and dark.

The light is turned on. 10-15 SPECTATORS enter.

They gather around the tub, watching, waiting, spectating.

 4.

SPECTATOR 1
Where is it?
(Beat)
Where’s the show!?

The rest of the Spectators grunt in agreement.

SPECTATOR 2
This sucks!

The tub faucet turns on by itself.

The Spectators cheer. They begin to die down as the tub nears
being full.

The faucet turns off.

SHARPLY DRESSED MAN enters.

He pushes his way through the Spectators.

SPECTATOR 3
Wow... I heard he bathed the only
good Norwegian Bath in 1978.

SPECTATOR 1
You clearly haven’t seen his
earlier work. You would know that
his Norwegian Bath from 1973 was
his best work.

SPECTATOR 4
I actually quite liked Caddysha-
I ve just given you the answer. I think it was very subtle, but that s up to you to
decide.

SPECTATOR 5
Shut up!
(Beat)
He’s getting in!

The Man steps into the tub, fully clothed. He submerges

himself.

The Spectators wait, watching.

After several moments, the Man begins to thrash. He is

drowning.

The Spectators stay silent, watching.

 5.

The Man tries to come up for air, but is physically unable

to. His movement slows down, and then-

He dies.
He dies August 27th, 1980.

The Spectators cheer.

CUT TO BLACK.

ACT THREE.

What happened there? Do you think you know the answer now? I laid it pretty
thick, but not a lot of people know who died August 27th, 1980 right off the
top of their heads. I ll give you one last hint. It was deemed an accident, but
those who were close to him believed he committed suicide.
Lets ask a new question. One that might help those of us who don t get it.
Have you ever gotten in the tub? Think, I mean, really think about it. Have you?

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The answer is yes. Everyone has been in the tub.
Its a lot harder to not go into the tub than not ever stepping foot in it. At the
earliest age of consciousness, we re asked by everyone to submerge our heads.
From there, a decent sized chunk of us find we like the bath. I found out a little
later in life, but I was still bathing before that. One of my more dramatic baths
was on stage in a comedy club in Dallas. While most 17 year old boys were
getting laid, smoking the reefer, or just hanging out with friends, I went to an
open mic. I know. You can calm down, I m literally the coolest person ever. On
that stage, I took one of the worse baths of my life. The spectators didn t like it
at all.
That night, I decided to take another bath. Around 2am, I bathed up a bath
that I thought the spectators would like more. When next month rolled around,
I went back to open mic night. My new bath was much better. Holy shit, was it
so much better. I was 17 when I realized I liked baths a lot.
So my sweet reader, where does this leave us? Have you pieced together
metaphor?

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The bath is writing. Specifically the water, but the tub is a less sappy way of
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having someone drown. Like I said, only dumb-shits drown in the tub. Douglas
Kenney was a dumb-shit. That idiot went to Harvard and changed the
landscape of comedy with the National Lampoon. It was beautiful. Then he
(technically maybe) killed himself. How does a writer so talented do that? How
do they drown? Sometimes, writing is too much. Kenney had tons of issues, but
like I said earlier, most writers do. When your outlet is something you see on
paper, it tends to hurt.
I understand Douglas decision. He was probably overwhelmed by how much
he had left to share. His room was scattered with ideas for jokes, stories, and
movies. Its daunting to know what you have left to do. To see that there s so
much work to do. To know that the rest of your life will likely be spent doing
nothing but sharing your ideas. When it comes down to it, the only opinions
that matter are the Spectators .
Douglas Kenney was a dumb-shit, but goddamn, was he a genius.
But what does he have to with us? More importantly, why did I bring him up?
Douglas Kenney s life story is a phenomenal. If you want to know more about
it, I recommend you read A Futile and Stupid Gesture: How Doug Kenney and
National Lampoon Changed Comedy Forever (or watch the Netflix Biopic).
Kenney is a figure I see myself in. Like all writers, on the page, Douglas was
God. He made his fantasy of how he wanted to run Harvard s Lampoon come
to life with the National Lampoon. He then set his sites on creating his ideal
version of college hitting theater screens with Animal House , and then took
his frustration out on country club members (like his parents) with
Caddyshack . I mean, holy shit, dude! He made Bill Murray before SNL. He s
part of the reason Harold Ramis career took off. This man is responsible for
1/2 of the Ghostbusters.
And he was a fucking child. He was known to whine when something didn t go
his way. He had zero impulse control when it came to sex and substances. He
had trouble with taking criticism. Douglas Kenney is a writer, no doubt about it.
Much like Douglas Kenney, I m not the greatest person. I m not addicted to
drugs, nor do I make questionable business decisions with my magazine
company. But I am a writer. By this point, that should be clear. Like most
writers, nothing is better than the sound of my voice. Mean comments aren t
above me when working in groups. I ve been told I m crass, a dick, too blunt,
thick-headed, and a blood sucking vulture with no morals. But I won t stop
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writing, and I most certainly won t stop being me. After all, if you don t like me,
there s a good chance I fucking hate you.
Think about your flaws. Really wonder who hates your guts. Get bloodthirsty
about. Rile yourself up. Call your friend and yell into the phone about that cock
from your high-school geography class who all of the sudden has the gall, the
fucking hubris, to friend you on Instagram. Am I bad now? Was Douglas Kenney
bad? How about you?
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Writers, very similar to the homosapien, are complicated creatures. We do

things that don t make sense for no reason at all. We re a spiteful kind that like
that tub. We say Screw your showers, I m going to hold my breath and see if I
die! Why?
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How the fuck should I know?

 8.

EPILOGUE

Think about yourself. Turn yourself into a voice, a character. You don t need
to worry about physical traits, but think about how you speak. What words do
you use? Do you say fuck like an adult, or are you still a child who says frick. Be
honest. You gain nothing from lying to this piece of paper.
I want you to read the next script, but put yourself in the tub. Do it with
respect for yourself. Please participate with this paper. I don t want it to be
mine. It should belong to everyone.

Writing belongs to everyone.

INT. HOME OFFICE - NIGHT

The faint glow of a monitor illuminates READER’s face in the

dark room.

The desk is scattered with papers of hand-written notes.

Reader is staring at a blank screen. Writers block.

What are you writing?

READER (V.O.)
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Reader begins to type.

READER (V.O.)
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___________ enters.

Who is this person to you? Why are they in the room? How do they talk?
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Reader stops typing. They look at ___________.

READER
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Reader starts to type again.

____________ (CONT’D)
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___________ watches Reader. After a beat, they exit.

READER (V.O.)
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Reader stops typing. Reader types “THE END”.

FADE OUT.
Thank you for bathing with me.

END.