The Emperor Mike

Run through the jungle

[The jungle, or rather the overgrowth in American Samoa National Park. Night. The full moon relieves the dark, as do a couple of Coleman lanterns and the iPhone screens of MICHAEL BLOOMBERG — former Mayor of New York, Democratic presidential candidate, and now deposed King of American Samoa, clad still in his royal caftan — and SAMI, a native yet loyal to BLOOMBERG, in oversized T-shirt and cargo shorts. Both men sit on blankets, have little knapsacks, and drink from canteens.]

BLOOMBERG: They'll pick us up at the point at dawn. You know how to get there.

SAMI: Oh yeah.

BLOOMBERG: I suppose you’ll want to come along.

SAMI: Nah, I like it here.

BLOOMBERG: Well, consider it. I could find a job for you. The money’s very good.

SAMI: No doubt. But look around you, King Bloomberg. Why would a man ever leave this place?

BLOOMBERG: It has its charms. Funny, I never really noticed it before. I just thought it had good ocean views from a real estate perspective.

[Drums are heard in the distance. SAMI looks startled, then panicked.]

What’s that? Some sort of cruise ship?

SAMI: This is a bad sign, a very bad sign!

BLOOMBERG: What do you mean?

SAMI: You don’t know the legend of the Poly Festival?

BLOOMBERG: Poly Festival? What’s that?

SAMI: Many years ago, some rich dudes tried to start up a festival. It was bullshit — they had no experience, no backers, and all the bands bailed. But they got a bunch of rich kids to come out to Tonga for it anyway. Tonga threw them out, and then Niue, then Tuvalu, and ever since they’ve roamed Polynesia with their bogus credentials and their lame Instagram accounts and their wack beats — never finding rest, always bringing tragedy and bad catering!

BLOOMBERG: Calm down, Sami!

SAMI: I’m sorry, King, I just can’t — I can’t hang!

[SAMI puts his hands to his ears and runs away moaning. Pause.]

BLOOMBERG: Wonder what’s the matter with him. Oh well, I still have GPS.

[BLOOMBERG grabs a lantern and, looking at his iPhone, walks off. MONTAGE of clouds racing across the moon, waves, etc. Next we see BLOOMBERG, a little the worse for wear, coming into a clearing. We can still hear drums in the distance.]

BLOOMBERG: Ugh! So humid. My hair’s getting frizzy.

[He sits down painfully.]

Ooooh, ouch, ouch! Well, that’s what I get from skipping hamstring day.

[Starts to open the knapsack.]

Now for some egg salad.

[Suddenly translucent SYLPHS appear and whirl around him. BLOOMBERG gets up.]

What the hell?

A SYLPH: Miiiiiichael that wasn’t a very nice joooooooke.

BLOOMBERG: Joke? Oh. Well, you know I was just trying to break the ice. Everybody else laughed. Lighten up!

ANOTHER SYLPH: Miiiiiichael take you hand off my aaaaaaaaaaass.

BLOOMBERG: Look, it was a party! It was the 90s! I’d had a couple of spritzers! What’s the matter with you! Has everyone gone communist?

[The SYLPHS whirl faster; BLOOMBERG flees. Another MONTAGE. We see BLOOMBERG racing out of the jungle onto the beach. He has shed his caftan and wears khakis and a wife-beater. We still hear drums in the distance.]

BLOOMBERG: Oh my God. Oh my God. What I wouldn’t give for one of those Lotus Belle tents and a Mai Tai!

[He collapses on the beach.]

Oh, but the air is so nice, so clean and ionizing. I have time for a nap before the boat comes from me. Soon, soon I’ll be back in civilization.

A VOICE: Depends on what you mean by civilization, Mike.

BLOOMBERG: Who — who said that!

[He rises and beholds ELIZABETH WARREN, dressed in the purple pantsuit she wore in the Nevada debate.]

Oh no! Not you! You goddamn bitch!

WARREN: Ooooh no, the little rich man called me a bitch! Maybe I should just melt into air and fade away!

[And WARREN appears to do just that; but then she condenses back into shape — and this time she’s eight feet tall and her eyes are glowing.]

BLOOMBERG: My God! How’d you do that!

WARREN: The power of the matriarchy! So! They didn’t want you in Nevada and they don’t want you in Samoa! Where will you go next, Mike, to Mars with Elon Musk? He’ll steal your oxygen before you get to the moon and shoot you out the air lock!

BLOOMBERG: [Crying] I could have had it all! I could have been President and you ruined everything.

WARREN: Not everything, Mike! Not everything!

[WARREN seems to grow to gigantic size.]

Come on, Mike, it’s time to share the wealth!

[With a wail BLOOMBERG sinks to the ground. Another MONTAGE; then, the drums stop. We see coming in from the ocean a small boat, with some COAST GUARDSMEN and SAMI standing at the bow.]

A GUARDSMAN: Man down! Man down!

SAMI: Relax, he must just be exhausted. Little dude had a long night.

[They all debark and SAMI reaches BLOOMBERG first, examines him.]

SAMI: Oh my God, he’s dead! I mean, I think he’s dead, I’m not a doctor.

GUARDSMAN: What happened to him?

SAMI: Wait a second — he’s got his iPhone in like a death grip —

[SAMI examines the phone.]

It’s locked — let’s see if his thumbprint still opens it —

[SAMI puts BLOOMBERG’s thumb to the button.]

It’s opening — I think it’s a picture —

[Suddenly SAMI shrikes in horror.]

POLY FEST! POLY FEST!

[SAMI runs into the jungle. A GUARDSMAN goes to check the phone — we see the photo in closeup as the MUSIC swells:]

Go back to Part 1, “New Worlds to Conquer,” and Part 2, “Trouble in American Samoa.”