(Hot) Wing & a Prayer pt. 1

This Mistake Sandwich is part of the (Hot) Wing & a Prayer series...

*a funky boogy-woogy riff plays, then slowly fades out as the black screen fades in*
*a camera, aerial view, slowly pans groundward toward the grounds of a curious looking manor*
*shot from above, cut to a low-to-the-ground shot from the long driveway and gate. The gate opens and a car horn beeps out a "high. way. to. the. dan-ger zone" rhythm. A '57 Chevy speeds past the camera, kicking up dust, the driver's frosty, snow white hair the only part of him visible. The sign above the gate reads "Fieri Manor."

SCENE: (later) FIERI MANOR. THE MASTER BEDROOM. Pickle-green shag carpet. A dresser along one wall, as well as an utterly ludicrous chaise longue, yellow-red-yellow, designed to resemble a hot dog. There is also a wardrobe, with one of its doors lazily left ajar. In the wardrobe are rows and rows of identical, black and red, flame-motif button-up shirts. The bed--meant to resemble the '57 Chevy from earlier--is large; king-size plus. It's a big, 4-post affair; the top, supported by the posts, is clearly meant to resemble that thing that people park their cars under at a drive in diner. Tossed on the bed is a pair of dark blue jeans and one of the shirts along with a pair of probably stained briefs*

(from offscreen) Aaaaaah....

*camera pans past the bed, around a corner, and into the bathroom*
*The toilet is pretty normal, albeit painted with flames*
*The sink and shower, while fancy, are pretty average*
*Pan past the car-motif bathtub, to an in-floor hot-tub. GUY FIERI, looking weary from his long day of appetizer picking and finger licking, sinks slowly into the hot tub full of bubbling hot marinara sauce*

GUY: AAaaaaaaaah...that's the stuff. Nothing like a good soak. I'm just beat. But, still...things're lookin' up for Fieri! I should just unwind, relax and wait for fortune to float by and say hi...(GUY whistles) Here, Steak-Frites! Here, boy!

(Enter STEAK-FRITES, GUY'S bichon-frise. The dog pants happily, and wears a miniature keg on its collar, reminiscent of the classic Swiss alps rescue St. Bernard)

GUY: Good boy, Steak-Frites!

(GUY reaches out beside the tub, grabbing a martini glass, then reaches over to STEAK-FRITES's collar keglette, turning a small knob. He fills the martini glass with what appears to be steak sauce. He takes a sip)

GUY: Aah...(sips again, more deeply)

(Exit STEAK-FRITES)

*GUY sinks further into the bubbling hot tub of marinara. His right hand darts out of the hot tub, seizing a remote control. He presses a button and the musical stylings of Creed fill his bathroom. His left hand darts out seizing a jalapeno popper off a sterling silver tray piled high with the things. He dips it into the marinara in the hot tub and eats it, chewing loudly. His cell phone rings. He picks it up, flips it open and answers...*

GUY: (annoyed) Hello...? Yeah...? Well, yeah....I already--What? No, no it's fine........yeah.....Yes, I HAVE it. YES, it's safe. NO, they don't know. Listen, man, you're really shaving my scrote here (he noisily gobbles another jalapeno popper)...Hey, shitsack, I was Food Network's DARLING, okay? I'm very well-connected in the foods game...(petulantly, chewing) I don't need your SHIT right now.

*CUT*

SCENE: (Night.) A city scape. An imposing ground-view shot of a foreboding skyscraper. Lit up, in red, across the top of the building are the letters "TOTINOCORP." Cut to the inside of a large, slickly appointed office, in front of a large, black desk. The man seated at the desk wears a suit, but is mostly obscured by the back of another suited man, standing in front of him*

(a phone is hung up)

SEATED MAN (his voice is low and rough): There's been a security breach...we need to figure out when, who and why. You know what to do...

*STANDING MAN nods, exits the frame, as SEATED MAN turns around in his chair*

*CUT*
*Feet descending stairs. A hand turning a door knob. STANDING MAN from behind again, walking briskly down a long, well lit hall way. Cut to a chest-up shot of STANDING MAN walking down a hallway. He wears dark sunglasses, a gunmetal grey business suit and black tie, and a stony expression. On his TotinoCorp nametag, attached to his lapel, it reads, "JRG."*

*JRG opens a door at the end of the hall, enters. Cut to another chest-up shot of JRG, his suit jacket is off, now, and he's been reading through files and logs, and poring over hours of security tape.*

JRG: ....shit.

*JRG pulls a cigarette from a shirt pocket, a lighter from a pants pocket, and lights up*

*CUT*

 SCENE: *(Day) The storefront style windows of some grease-pile, shit-cadaver restaurant somewhere. GUY stands frontal view in front of the camera, talking to it*

GUY: ...that about does it for this week's episode of Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives. Be sure to roll out with us again next week, when we go troooollin' around downtown Des Moines (he mispronounces Des Moines) for a taste of lovely Iowa's best Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives!!

(from offscreen, a young woman's voice) CUT! Okay, that's a wrap!

(Enter YOLANDA, the director/producer of GUY'S television show, as well as his agent. She is pretty, with green eyes and orange-red hair. She wears a navy blue women's business suit and carries a clipboard full of papers) 
(YOLANDA walks over to GUY, removes his black/silver flames shirt, revealing one of the black/red ones from before underneath, and hands him a bottle of water. GUY chugs it)

GUY: Nailed it? Nailed it. A-gain. CHA-ching.

YOLANDA: Well, it was good. I mean, it'll do. It wasn't bad for a 13th take...

GUY: (rolls his eyes and gives her a "so done with it" look): Whatever, we can take care of it in editing...

(one of the set crew hurries up to GUY, offers up a tray of of honey-teriyaki wings. GUY snags three, between his surprisingly agile bratwurst fingers. Another crew hand hurries up behind GUY, tying a bib around his neck. GUY begins devouring the wings)

YOLANDA: That's...not really how editing wor--

GUY: (cutting her off): --Sure, sure. Look, I appreciate what you do, 'Landa, babe. But, listen--YOU'RE the brains. I'M the artist. You gotta give me my freedom to create, girl!

YOLANDA: (annoyed) You're half right, I suppose...

GUY: So. Everything's lined up for next season, right? The Food Network suits are coming around?

YOLANDA: Weeell...Guy, we should really talk about that...

GUY: Right. Good. I knew they would. They may be pretty thick but--(he gobbles and wing and "glumps" out the rest of the line)--even they know the sound of a golden egg hatchin'.

YOLANDA: Guy, they--

GUY:--Hey...I like that. "...know the sound of a golden egg hatchin'." Write that down, I wanna use it next season.

(Exit GUY)

(YOLANDA sighs loudly, looking utterly exasperated and tosses her clip board across the room)

*CUT*


SCENE: Back in SEATED MAN'S OFFICE in the TotinoCorp building. SEATED MAN is, once again seated in his high backed, black leather chair, behind his desk, facing away from the camera. JRG Stands in front of the desk. Cut to an on-desk view of JRG.

JRG: I spent almost a whole day going over files about the incident and yards of security tape. I think I know who took the secret pizza roll recipe...

SEATED MAN: ......(menacingly) I'm waiting.....

JRG: (unfazed): Guy Fieri...

SEATED MAN: What?! FIERI!? That Food Channel Flannel Flunky!? Why would he even be IN this building!?

JRG: I believe Fieri was working for hidden interests. The breach probably occurred when he was in town filming his "Sultans of Snackin': The Truth Behind Your Freezer Aisle Favorites" special recently.

SEATED MAN: Hmm. Makes sense, I suppose...We HAVE to get that secret pizza roll recipe BACK!

JRG: Of course, sir.

SEATED MAN: I'm putting you in charge of this task. Assemble a team of operatives of your own choosing. Bring that recipe back to the TotinoCorp vault before it's leaked to the public, or another company. As for Fieri? Do what you have to.

JRG: (momentary pause)...Yes, sir.

*CUT to the outside of the TotinoCorp building, again at night, the big TOTINOCORP sign an angry red stab wound in the black, purple sky. Menacing but intense music plays as a garage door on the basement level opens and two sleek, black cars speed out, up a ramp, onto the street, screeching away*

*CUT to a beach scene, daytime. GUY's sitting in a director-style chair, wearing swim trunks, his flabby form set free on nationwide television. His man tits are slathered in a thin coating of some sauce or other, and he has two corn dogs gripped in each hand. On his face he wears flame-pattern shades and the smuggest of grins. The Boogy-Woogy music from before plays*

GUY: (wolfs left hand corn dogs in single bite, galumphs out the line) Sho that about wrapsh it up for thish epishode of *GULP* Diners, DRIVE-INS...and DIVES! Thanks for hanging out with us in Tallahassee! Join us next week in Milwaukee for a CHEESE FAIR TO REMEMBER!

YOLANDA: CUT! Alright. Good job, Guy. (she glances at his sauce stained, globe shaped form) Sorta...Look, about the network--

GUY: (slathering the sauce around his saggy male fatbreasts and his shitty gut) Hey, Landa? Do you think this teriyaki glaze has any sunblocking properties? Like, what's the SPF of teriyaki, do you think?

YOLANDA: ...Um. Guy, this is important. Stop fooling around, we have to--

GUY: (wipes a finger across his belly, gathering some sauce, sticks it in his mouth and removes finger with an exaggerated POP) That's it! That's my next merchandising line! Guy Fieri's Backyard BBQ Sunblock line!

YOLANDA: (glancing at some of the crew as they head over to a cabana bar) Uuuumm...

GUY: We could offer them in TWO different SPFs and FOUR different flavors! YEAH! Who needs a BUSINESS degree anyway!? This marketing stuff is a snap!

CREW MEMBER: (off-screen, from a distance). Give it up, Yo! Ol' Sidepork's out to lunch! Come have a daiquiri!

GUY: SPF 30 and SPF 45. Yeah. And theeeen...Nacho Cheese No-Burnz. Blue Cheese Burn Block. Ranch Style Ray Shield. Aaaaaand....hmmm...Laze n' Blaze BBQ! I'm a genius!

YOLANDA: (glances over toward bar, then back at GUY, throws clipboard into the air, papers scatter everywhere). MIKE, ORDER ME A STRAWBERRY!

(exit YOLANDA.)

*BACKGROUND: GUY continues wiping sauce off of his body and licking it from his mozza-stick fingers in the background. FOREGROUND: view of JRG and two black-suited operatives from behind, at a table on the beach, watching GUY...*



This is the end of the first installment of (Hot) Wing & a Prayer. Check back soon for part 2!