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Eastbound & Downton Abbey

May 8, 2012

“I’d smote that.”


MR. CARSON: Your guest from America has arrived, my Lord. Shall I show the Honorable Mr. Kenny Powers in?

ROBERT, EARL OF GRANTHAM: Yes, indeed Carson. And have Thomas look after his things.

(A shrill, appreciative whistle is heard off-screen. In wanders Kenny Powers, recent American expatriate and washed-up, former baseball pitcher)

KENNY POWERS: Quite the digs you got here, Earl. Tu casa is muy bueno! Right? I’ve been boning up on my European. Seriously though, this is some stately shit. Your heating bill must be a motherfucker.

ROBERT, EARL OF GRANTHAM: Yes. (clears his throat) Please, call me Robert. You’ve had a long voyage, Mr. Powers. Would you care for a drink?

KENNY POWERS: Does the Pope shit in the woods? Hellz yeah! I’ll take a shot of that English absinthe shit, if you got it.

(Robert gestures to a skeptical-looking Carson, who exits the room)

ROBERT, EARL OF GRANTHAM: Mr. Powers, I invited you here because I have a business proposal.

KENNY POWERS: (Listening but distracted, looking around the library) Any books here with photos of naked ladies?

ROBERT, EARL OF GRANTHAM: I’ve followed the arc of your career in the dailies, Mr. Powers. I’m an admirer of your work. It’s a shame your former employers don’t feel the same. Your prowess on the mound, not to mention your obvious, um…physical stamina.

KENNY POWERS: That’s what she said.

ROBERT, EARL OF GRANTHAM: The presumed heir to our fortune met his untimely demise on a certain sinking ship. By the rule of British law, I must entail my estate to a male heir, but all the other candidates are vulturous. They want only my title and my wealth. That’s where you come in. The Crawleys keep meticulous genealogical records, Mr. Powers. It appears that you’re a sixth cousin, nine times removed. That makes you eligible for the inheritance. I would like you to marry my first daughter, Lady Mary.

KENNY POWERS: Get the fuck out! Is she hot?

ROBERT, EARL OF GRANTHAM: In addition, you will sign a prenuptial agreement waiving claim to the Grantham estate. In return for your favor, I will ensure you permanent tenure as a bowler on our country’s national cricket team. Your star will rise again, Kenneth. The common folk of England will embrace you as a hero.

KENNY POWERS: A second chance. Well, maybe more like a tenth chance, but let’s not get all hung up on technicalities and shit. I like it, Bobby. You rub my back and I rub yours. Not literally. That would be fruity.

_  _


(Thomas enters, followed by Kenny)

THOMAS: And this will be your room, sir. Our finest guest deserves only the finest quarters Grantham has to offer.

KENNY POWERS: This is some dope ass shit! We’re gonna’ get our interior decorator on when I’m man of the house. For instance, this here would make a fine orgy room. And that library will be the opium den, and the servants’ quarters will become my laboratory for experiments in animal husbandry. Little hobby of mine. I once bred a chinchilla with a Burmese python, but it didn’t take. Try, try again, right? Quitting is for pussies. Does this place have an attic?

THOMAS: Your belongings are unpacked and your bath is drawn…

KENNY POWERS (interrupting): That woman we passed in the hall downstairs? You know the one: redhead, big nose, poster child for the Itty Bitty Titty Committee? Is that Lady Mary?

THOMAS: No, sir. That’s Lady Edith. Lady Mary is away in the city. She is expected to return tomorrow.

KENNY POWERS: Whoo-hoo, what a relief! You could land a prize-winning bass with the schnozz! Not our cup of tea, am I right Tommy?

THOMAS: Quite. Dinner is at six, Mr. Powers. Will there be anything else?

KENNY POWERS: Hey, speaking of tea, can you score me a couple grams of opium and a hookah? Strictly for, you know, medicinal purposes.

_  _


(The Crawley family and guests mingle about, having retired after dinner. Kenny and Cora, Countess of Grantham, are locked in conversation)

KENNY POWERS: (letting out an impressively deep belch) Damn, that was some fine mutton.

CORA, COUNTESS OF GRANTHAM: (clearly enchanted) Please don’t think me to forward, Mr. Powers, but I have to remark, you strike me as a thoroughly modern man.

KENNY POWERS: (suavely, with a wink, perceiving a come-on) How you doin?

CORA, COUNTESS OF GRANTHAM: (cheeks flushing) You wear your hair in a most unusual style. Conventionally kept on top but long in the back, forming a sort of neck blanket. It brings to mind the mane of a fiery Arabian stallion I once rode.

KENNY POWERS: It’s called a ‘mullet’. Affairs of the estate in front, ruttin’ with the scullery maid in back. You look like you could use another drink.

(whistling at Thomas)

Tommy! My fair lady here has a hollow leg. Jameson’s, double shot. Make it fucking snappy!

_  _


(The telephone, recently invented and newly installed at Downton, is ringing. Mr. Carson, at first startled by the sound, clears his throat. He answers with some trepidation.)

MR. CARSON: Hello. This is Mr. Carson, butler of Downton Abbey. To whom am I speaking?

VOICE ON PHONE: Ummm, yes. Ahem, very good. Have I reached the library?

MR. CARSON: (looking around at the books that line the walls) Why yes, I suppose you have. How can I help you?


(Kenny Powers is on Downton Abbey’s other phone, flanked by Thomas and Miss O’Brien, who are leaning in to hear the conversation. All are stifling their laughter. Kenny holds his hand to his mouth to mask his voice.)

KENNY POWERS: I’m looking for a particular book. It’s called Bloody Stump

(Thomas and Miss O’Brien struggle to contain their glee)

KENNY POWERS: …by the famous Russian novelist Whobitcha Cockoff. Do you have it?

(All three, Kenny Powers, Thomas and Miss O’Brien break up in hysterics. Kenny drops the phone and they each dash off in different directions, still laughing.)

MR. CARSON’S VOICE: (from the abandoned phone) Hello? Who is this? Hello?

_ _


(Kenny Powers, with lit cigarette dangling from his lip, practices his cricket “bowling” pitch. William stands in as batsman, while Thomas is off to Kenny’s side, handing him balls)

KENNY POWERS: Here’s the set. And the pitch…

(Kenny hurls a Texas-style fastball past William, who lamely swings and misses)

KENNY POWERS: (pointing at William in a taunting manner) ST-R-IIIIKE!

THOMAS: You’re delivery is incorrect. In cricket, you’re expected to bowl the ball, not throw it. The arm should make a wide, circular arc…

KENNY POWERS: Fuck that. Bowling’s for fat asses in glasses.

(Kenny throws another fastball. This one beans William squarely on the head. He falls down in the dirt, motionless)

KENNY POWERS: (shouting at William) Hey, asshole! Stop crowding the fucking wicket!

(A motorcar pulls up. Lady Mary emerges, returning from her sojourn. It is the first time Kenny has seen her)

THOMAS: The future Mrs. Kenneth Powers.

KENNY POWERS: I’d smote that.

_ _


(Mary is reading in bed. There is a quick knock on the door, then Kenny Powers let’s himself in. Mary scrambles, gathering up the comforter to cover her nightgown.)

LADY MARY: Are you insane, Mr. Powers?! You can’t just barge in here!

KENNY POWERS: Let me be straight with you. You’re a terrific girl and I’m warm for your form, but Kenny Powers never bought a horse he didn’t take out for a test drive first.

LADY MARY: Please leave at once, or I’ll…

KENNY POWERS: Oh, you’re a saucy minx, huh? Well I’m a saucy minx hunter and I’ll chase you over hill and that guy Dale and straight down your minxy little hole, face first, if that’s what it takes to prove my love to you. Release the hounds!

LADY MARY: (shouting) That’s it! FATHER!! HELP!!!

KENNY POWERS: Jesus! Cool it, girlfriend! I’m trying to woo you here!

LADY MARY: (enraged, pushing Kenny) GET OUT!

KENNY POWERS: Listen, there are rumors flying around about you killing some Turkish diplomat. “Lady Mary did it in the bedroom with her vagina,” is what they’re saying. Is that true? Because if it is, that is fucking awesome!

(A commotion is heard in the hall – footsteps and yelling as people rush to Lady Mary’s aid)

KENNY POWERS: OK, don’t get your chastity belt in a bunch. I’m leaving. Which is a shame, because we could have had something beautiful, baby. Just you and me. And sometimes maybe your mother for a threesome.  A Kenny-salad sandwich, you know? Doesn’t look like that’s gonna’ happen, does it? Hey, a word of advice – lose the flannel nightie. Smokin’ hot bod like yours deserves an audience. Catch you later.

(Kenny exits)

One Comment leave one →
  1. May 10, 2012 5:51 am

    God stuff. Love the mullet description.

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