INT. AMERICAN IDOL PRODUCTION OFFICE

David Archuleta sits alone at a table.

He licks his lips.

The door opens and the American Idol producers enter. Simon Cowell sits down across from David. A thick file folder slaps down on the table between them.

David glances at the name on the file: “Archuleta, David.”

SIMON COWELL: As you can see, we’ve had our eye on you for some time now, Mr. Archuleta.

He opens the file. Paper rattle marks the silence as he flips several pages.

SIMON COWELL: It seems that you have been living two lives. In one life, you are David Archuleta, awkward fifteen year-old throat surgery survivor and son to a control freak stage father. You have an Xbox, you get good grades and you help your Mom… carry out the garbage. The other life is lived on TV where you go by the stage alias DAVID! ARCHULETA!, and are guilty of virtually every tween pop star crime we have a law for.

David licks his lips. Smiles vacantly.

SIMON COWELL: One of these lives has a future. One of them does not.

He closes the file. Rubs his nipples.

SIMON COWELL: I’m going to be as forthcoming as I can be, David. You are here because we need your help. We know that you have been competing against a certain individual. A man who calls himself “David Cook”. Whatever you think you know about this man is irrelevant to the fact that he is wanted for acts of musical awesomeness by more record labels than any other musician in the world. He is considered by many A&R reps to be the most marketable male solo act alive.

Simon leans closer…

SIMON COWELL: My colleagues believe that I am wasting my time with you but I believe you want to win the competition. And that Randy is an idiot. It is obvious that you are a talented singer, Mr. Archuleta, and that you are interested in not getting beat with a switch by your lunatic stage father. That is why I believe you are ready to put your past mistakes behind you, like forgetting the words in Top 12 week and the entire Beatles fiasco, and get on with the season.

David licks his lips. Tries to keep his eyes open. Fails.

SIMON COWELL: We are willing to wipe the slate clean, to keep Ryan away from you backstage and to give you a free pass to the Finals and all we are asking in return is your cooperation in bombing the finale so that we can bring the most talented male Idol to our record label.

David nods to himself. Licks his lips.

DAVID ARCHULETA: Yeah. Uh. Wow. Hehehe. Aw, that sounds like a good deal. Thanks! Thank you! (licks lips) But I think I have a better one, ooooh ohhh yeeeaaah! How about I, uh, perform “Imagine” on the finale and the viewers give me the crown whether you want to or not. Whoa oh oh oh!

Simon gives David moose ears.

SIMON COWELL: You disappoint me, Mr. Archuleta.

DAVID ARCHULETA: You can’t scare me with your English person crap. I know my rights. I want to tape the next Ford commercial now!

Simon smiles.

SIMON COWELL: And tell me, Mr. Archuleta, what good is shooting the Ford commercial if you are unable to lick your lips?

David looks worried. Strangely he begins to feel the muscles in his jaw tighten. He feels his lips grow soft and sticky as they slowly seal shut, melding into each other until all traces of his mouth are gone.

SIMON COWELL: You are going to help us, David, whether you want to or not.

David’s eyes go wide with fear. How will he lick his lips now?

To be continued…

Bangarang!