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Procrastination

(Open at Mrs. Puff's Boating School.)
Mrs. Puff: Ok, class, quiet…quiet! Now, get out your pencils and paper and write down the assignment.
(Students grumble under their breath.)
SpongeBob: (to student next to him) Did you hear that? We get an assignment!
Mrs. Puff: Everyone must write an essay on what not to do at a stoplight. (Students grumble again.)
SpongeBob: Did you hear that? What not to do at a stoplight!
Mrs. Puff: In no less than 800 words.
(Students grumble and sigh loudly.)
Student: (to SpongeBob, with severe sarcasm) D'ya hear that?! 800 words!
SpongeBob: Yeah, I know!
Mrs. Puff: Due tomorrow. And remember class, work hard, and no goofing off.

(Cut to SpongeBob's house.)
SpongeBob: Ok, Gary, no goofin' off! I am about to write the greatest essay of all time. Like most great essays, it will be written on paper. (gets out two pieces of paper) Even more important than the paper is…the pencil. (gets out pencil) A pencil is sharp or as dull as I like. (talking to the pencil) Hm, funny…as my ideas grow, you shrink. (kisses pencil, then looks out window) I couldn't have asked for a more beautiful day to write an essay. (The scenery outside is a picturesque surface landscape.) Ok, here we go. (writing) What…not…to do…at…a…stoplight. Hey! This is easy! By SpongeBob SquarePants. Ha! This essay is pure gold. And now, pencil, get ready to do your stuff, because heeere we go.
(He puts the pencil to the paper and the camera pans to the clock on the wall. I says 2:55, then fast-forwards to 4:40 and again to 5:55. Cut back to SpongeBob, pencil still in the same spot. Nothing more has been written.)
SpongeBob: Gee, this is harder than I thought. (He puts the pencil down and goes to window, seeing a carnival outside and everyone having fun, including Sandy and Patrick.)
Patrick: Come on, SpongeBob!
SpongeBob: (returning to his desk) It should be against the law to have to write an essay on such a super, sailor-ific, sun-shiny day. Oh…but I must press onward, because with this pencil, and the completion of this essay, I'll be one step closer to my driver's license. (We see a live-action drag race car speed off, and then crash.) Oh, yeah. This'll be no prob-lemo. Why, I got plenty of time. It's only six o'clock. Ok. Ok, here we go. Here we go. (He puts the pencil to the paper, then his face falls on the desk) I know! I just need to get a little blood pumpin' in the ol' noodle. How about some calisthenics! (SpongeBob starts exercising by moving arms up and down and then his nose and eyelashes.) Hup-hoo! Hup-hoo! Hup-hoo! Hup-hoo! (repeats the "hup-hoos" four times each for the nose, in a nasally voice, and the eyelashes, in a high-squeaky voice) I can feel those juices pumpin' now! (SpongeBob returns to his chair and scoots it toward the desk, making noises with the chair legs on the floor.) Dahahahahaha!!! (gasps) What am I doin'?! I gotta write that paper! Come on pencil, make words.
(Gary comes into view)
Gary: Meow.
SpongeBob: Gary! Hey, hey, hey, Gary! How's my favorite mollusk? How ‘bout you let ol' SpongeBob fix you up somethin' to eat?
Gary: Meow.
SpongeBob: Whadya mean you're not hungry?
Gary: Meow.
SpongeBob: I know I have an essay to write. Now come on, Gary. (takes him to kitchen) I've gotta make sure you get your nutrition, so I'm not leaving until you eat every single bite. (Gary's bowl is filled to the ceiling, which Gary eats all in one bite.) Gary, a-are you sure you don't want some crème brulee? Or-or some choco-flavored algae bits? (steps in some food residue) Gee, Gary sure made a mess. I can't work on my essay knowing there's a mess in the kitchen. (cleans the residue) Hmm. I might as well clean the rest of the floor while I'm at it. I should get these hard to reach places, too. (gets in between stove and fridge) And these dishes need to be cleaned. Can't have dirty garbage. Well, I think it's clean enough now! (whole kitchen sparkles in chrome)
(SpongeBob leaves the kitchen and goes back to where his desk is.)
SpongeBob: Why, that didn't take too long. It's only…(checks clock) TEN O'CLOCK!!! Oh, no more foolin' around! I've gotta get back to work. Ok, mister es-say, I say…prepare to be written! I'm doing it! (brings pencil to paper, we see his back and the pencil moving frantically) I'm doing it! Yeah…yeah, yeah!! Some of these, an' some of these. Almost there, aaand… (rolls pencil onto the desk, it's point smoking) done. Now let's see how it looks so far. (reading) "The". (the word ‘The' is the only one on the page, but it's written in an overly-fancy fashion) Break time! Pacing always helps me think. (paces in his living room) Let's see, only 799 words to go. Think, SpongeBob, think.
(SpongeBob spies the telephone, thinks about it, looks over at his desk, looks back at the phone, then we see Patrick sleeping under his rock. The phone rings and startles Patrick awake.)
Patrick: Huh! What was that…huh. Hello?
SpongeBob: Hey, Patrick! Whatcha up to?
Patrick: Sleeping.
SpongeBob: That's really fascinating. Are you having a good sleep? Any dreams you'd like to discuss? I remember on this…(Patrick cuts him off)
Patrick: SpongeBob, you and I both know that you're just using me as a distraction so you don't have to write your essay.
SpongeBob: (gasps) Th-that is not true. I called to have an engaging conversation with you.
Patrick: Well, I'm listening.
SpongeBob: Uhhh…Marco!
Patrick: Polo. (hangs up)
SpongeBob: Yeah, well I gotta get goin', Patrick. Got an important essay to write. (hangs up) Sheesh, what a chatterbox. Can't he see that I'm busy? (goes back to desk, sees eraser shavings on paper) I can't write with all these eraser shavings all over my paper! (brushes them to side with hand, but they float around in front of him) Now they're floating around my thinking space. (blows them away) So long, pesky particles. (they float back into his faces, he gags on one) Aaahh… I swallowed one! I'm choking! Water, water. (goes into kitchen, gulps down glass of water) That was a close one.
Gary: Meow.
SpongeBob: Whaddya mean, overly dramatic, Gary? All that choking sure made me hungry.
Gary: Meow.
SpongeBob: I can't write on an empty stomach, Gary. (Gary starts to leave) I gotta have my brain food. (looking in fridge) Now, let's see…white or rye bread? Or pumpernickel. Gee, I guess it really depends on the meat inside. And the cheese. (doorbell rings) A visitor?! For me?
(SpongeBob opens his front door, a mailfish is standing outside.) Hello!
Mailfish: Package for Mr. SquarePants.
SpongeBob: Great, thanks! So, uh, you like delivering mail?
Mailfish: It puts bread on the table.
SpongeBob: Rye or pumpernickel? Dahahahaha!!!
Mailfish: Oh, brother.
SpongeBob: So, do you deliver your own mail or do you have your own mailperson? But then, who delivers his mail? Is there a never-ending chain of mailmen delivering mail to other mailmen? Well, I guess a P.O. box could, in theory, break the chain.
Mailfish: Don't you have a paper to write? (walks away)
SpongeBob: (gulps and sweats nervously) How did he know I'm supposed to be writing an essay? (glances back and forth several times, then slides backward into his house, turns and tiptoes in front of the tv)
Realistic Fish-head Announcer: In other news…local resident, SpongeBob SquarePants only has a few hours left to complete his essay. And yet, he continues to goof off. (announcer comes out of tv at SpongeBob) When will he learn?
(SpongeBob freaks out and karate chops his tv into pieces, making the room dark. Next, we see him holding a candle. Suddenly, a voice begins to speak. He turns to see his easy chair talking to him.)
Easy Chair: Hey, SpongeBob, over here. Come on, take a seat. Put your feet up, relax.
(Suddenly clock chimes go off, SpongeBob gasps and drops his candle.)
SpongeBob: Oh, no! Midnight! (He starts running for the desk, but it keeps getting farther and farther away from him. We see him running down a hallway with images of clocks all over the walls.) Must…get…back to…desk! (When he gets to the desk, he finds himself tiny and the desk and chair giant-sized. He hops onto the chair, his pants remaining on the ground.) Whew! That was a close call. Aaaahhh!!! My pants!
Pants: You-hoo! Down here.
SpongeBob: You get up here! I gotta get back to work!
Pants: Freedom! (runs for the door)
SpongeBob: Stop, pants! You get back here, this instant! (runs outside, door slams shut behind him) Paaannts! Huh!? (He tries to get in the door, but its' locked, so he goes around to a window and peeks inside. He sees the clock.)
Clock: Tiiime's up, SpongeBooooob. (SpongeBob gasps, then glances down at the desk where the candle is. It suddenly becomes a flame figure, which then picks up the essay paper.)
Flame: Only 799 words to go! (paper ignites and becomes ashes, the flame laughs, evilly)
SpongeBob: No! Aaaahh!!! (The flame jumps off the desk and the whole room goes up in flames. SpongeBob moves away from the window.) What have I done? Help. Help!! My house is on fire! (babbles incoherently as he runs around the outside of his house several times)
Pineapple House: SpongeBob…why? Why did you set me on fire, SpongeBob? Why didn't you just write your essay?! STOP WASTING TIME!!!

(Cut to inside of SpongeBob's house where he is just waking up, slouched over his desk. He sits up, the paper and pencil stuck to his face.)
SpongeBob: Where's my essay? Oh! There you are. Dahahahaha!! I must've dozed off. Let's see, where are we. (sees the single word on his paper) Do I dare look at the clock? (looks at clock, then gasps) It's almost nine o'clock! Class starts in five minutes! How am I going to write this whole paper in five minutes? How am I supposed to know what not to do at a stoplight? (duck noise) Feeding your snail is something not to do at a stoplight! And (starts writing) making a sandwich…and lighting candles…and drinking water…and calling your friends…and karate chopping the tv…and shootin' the breeze with the mailman…and fallin' asleep…

(Cut to Mrs. Puff's Boating School. SpongeBob is running up to the classroom, out of breath.)

SpongeBob: Mrs. Puff! Mrs. Puff! I'm finished! All 800 words. I'm finished, here it is…hey. (enters classroom, notices nobody there) Mrs. Puff? W-where is everybody?
Mrs. Puff: (walking through the door) Oh! There you are, SpongeBob.
SpongeBob: Here ya go, Mrs. Puff! 800 words, all about stoplights and what not to do at ‘em.
Mrs. Puff: I'm sorry, SpongeBob. I tried to call you. I have to go to a teacher's convention.
SpongeBob: But what about my essay?!
Mrs. Puff: I decided to cancel the assignment. We're just going to take a field trip to a stoplight instead. See ya next week. (walks out)
(SpongeBob holds up the essay, tears it in half, then we see him split in half and fall to the floor.)
End