Owner

Mail on Sunday?

Jerry

(Shrugs) Oops. (Continues walking along the route, whistling. Hands a newspaper to a homeless bum on the street, then keeps walking)

George

I was handcuffed to the bed.. In my underwear, (Sighs) where I remained.. (Scene cuts to another story) She was attractive.. She was, also, infact, a Nazi.. (Cuts to another story) The water.. that I had been swiming in was.. very cold. And, when I dropped the towel, there was.. significant shrinkage.. (Scene cuts to, yet, another story) Her parents were looking at me.. So, there I was, with a marble rye hanging from the end of a fishing pole.. (Scene cuts to his closing statements) In closing, these stories have not been embellished, because - they need no embellishment. They are simply, horrifyingly, the story of my life as a short, stocky, slow witted bald man. (Gets up) Thank you. (Every memeber of the board shows some sign that George's story is most deserving of the apartment. Ricardi is crying. George turns to leave, then remembers one more thing..) Oh, also.. my fiance died from licking toxic envelopes that I picked out. (Sobs and loud crying erupts from the board members) Thanks again. (Leaves. Eldridge looks defeated)

Jerry

Hey, I've been trying to jam stuff in the box, like you told me, but sometimes it says, like, 'Photographs - Do not bend'.

Newman

'Do not bend'. (Laughs evilly) Just crease, crumple, cram.. you'll do fine. (Phone rings. Newman answers it) Hello?.. This is he. I don't understand.. very well. (Hangs up in disappointment)