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.....Jeff Gordon Claude Vorilhon / Rael.....Chris Parnell Brigitte.....Maya Rudolph Rael Jr......Fred Armisen Babette.....Amy Poehler Betty.....Rachel Dratch Barbara.....Chris Kattan [Open with exterior shot of Daytona Beach Convention Center. The marquee sign reads: WELCOME RACE DRIVERS - 47th ANNUAL INTERNATIONAL CONVENTION. Cut to the convention floor, where Jeff Gordon is signing autographs for fans and shaking their hands.] Jeff Gordon: Thanks folks, and look for me in the Daytona 500 this February. [fans exit] [A balding man, with a flowing black cape and his scant hair tied in a high-knotted ponytail, approaches Gordon.] Jeff Gordon: Hi there. [rubs his hands together briskly] Just a minute, my hand cramps up a little when I've signed too many times without a break. Rael: Ah, no, you're mistaken Mr. Gordon. I greet you not as a spectator but as a fellow racer. Perhaps you've heard of me: Claude Vorilhon, the French Flash of the 1970s. I've drifted away from the racing scene, but I signed on for this convention when I learned you'd be attending. Jeff Gordon: [trying to place the name] Claude… okay, good to meet you, Mr. Vorilhon. Sorry but I don't recognize your name. But hey, it's always good to meet racers who can tell me about the good ol' days. You know, back before NASCAR had gained millions of new fans, before we had action figures and Saturday morning cartoons modeled after us, and before the big money started rolling in. Rael: Right, the good old days. Looks like I retired a few years before those days ended, and the bad, new days of fame and fortune began. Jeff Gordon: So what have you been up to? Rael: Well in 1973, I received a holy vision from the Elohim. Jeff Gordon: Come again, the what? Rael: The Elohim, a group of extra-terrestrials that created the human race about 25,000 years ago. They anointed me as the prophet Rael, so I started an organization called the Raelians. Over the last three decades my followers and I have spread our message of cosmic truth to thousands of people around the world. Jeff Gordon: [puzzled] Wow, and I thought I kept busy. So now you're known as Rael? I know I've heard that name. Rael: Before we continue catching up, may I introduce my business partner and Raelian high bishop, Brigitte Boisselier. [A stately woman walks up to them, marked by spooky eye shadow and long copper-red hair with white streaks.] Brigitte: Greetings Mr. Gordon. Rael has told me zo much about you. [She brushes Gordon's arm with her fingers, ending with a gentle scratch with one finger.] Brigitte: Excusez moi, I must retire to ze hotel suite. [leaves] [Gordon rubs the scratched spot and slowly puts the puzzle together.] Jeff Gordon: Claude, what was that about? You're hiding something. Rael: [coughing loudly] Oh no, I seem to be coming down with a cold. I better see Tony Stewart's medical staff, it's supposed to be the best in racing. [starts to head off] Well, great meeting you, Jeff. [Gordon glances around, spots a tire iron. He grabs it and waves it forcefully at Rael.] Jeff Gordon: Here's a better idea. Let's catch up with your girl Brigitte instead. [Cut to the door leading to Rael's hotel suite. Jeff still has the tire iron and waves it in Rael's direction until he opens the door. Inside, the suite is laid out like Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory: assorted beakers boiling and simmering, liquid dripping through lab tubing, switches and gauges, etc.] Jeff Gordon: What's all this for? Fess up, Rael, or Claude or whoever you are. Rael: You don't understand, Jeff. Leaving the race circuit left me feeling empty inside, emptiness that starting a UFO sex-cult could never quite fill. I wanted to make my triumphant return to racing, but I was too old. So I began studying the forbidden science of cloning. If I couldn't dominate NASCAR, I'd ensure that my offspring would. Behold my first success: Rael Jr.! [Rael Jr. runs in, wearing a cloak identical to Rael but also a cowboy hat] Rael Jr.: [fast and fired up] Hoo wee, Daddy, you should'a seened me! I drove 20 whole laps on the track today! I would've done lasted longer, but I threw a piston rod just as I was entering Turn 3. Then I saw a little driver in white leathers appear on my right shoulder, and a little guy in red leathers appeared on my left shoulder. And you know what! The guy in white said I should shut 'er down before the oil done burnt up. But the guy in red said 'hell with that, boy, just gun it!' So I gunned it! And I threw another rod, and, um, me and the crew are gonna need all day tomorry to pick up all the engine fragments. But I'll back behind the wheel in six weeks! Wooooo! Jeff Gordon: Ah ha, you've cloned yourself to enter NASCAR! Hold on, why would that work, Rael? You were never that great a driver even in your prime, and the circuit is much more competitive today. Why do you think your clone would do well now? Rael: While Rael Jr. is my clone, he's not a clone of me, myself. I bought an old Stetson that belonged to Richard Petty, and a fleck of his dandruff caught in the hatband gave me the DNA I needed to clone him as Rael Jr. You see, I figured if you can't beat em, clone em. And thanks to Brigitte, soon I can start growing YOUR clone too. I'll call him Rael Junior Jr., and no one can stop me! [Brigitte enters the lab holding a report and some test tubes.] Brigitte: Back so soon, Master? I thought you planned to acquire Tony Stew- Oh! I heard your voice but not Gordon's. Why, why did you bring him here? Rael: He forced me here - please call the others to help! Junior, outflank him! [Rael Jr. runs to Gordon's other side] Brigitte: Babette, Betty, Barbara, Rael needs you right away! [Babette and Betty, women whose hair and clothes are identical to Brigitte, run into the lab. They try to distract Gordon with some come-hither looks, but he remains alert, waving the tire iron at them to keep them at bay. But with Rael and four followers surrounding him, Gordon can't get to the door and soon gets backed into a corner.] CRASH! [Several beakers fall to the floor, causing lots of white smoke. Gordon can't see what's happening but someone grabs him and pulls him out the door.] Barbara: [identical clothes to Brigitte, but sporting a three-day beard with bedraggled copper hair] Here, give me the tire iron. [Takes it and shoves into the door hinge, wedging the door tight.] Jeff Gordon: Thanks for the rescue. But who are you? Barbara: My name is Barbara. I was Rael and Brigitte's first clone: the semi-failure they never plan to reveal in public. The Raelians took good care of me, I guess, but I've just gotten tired of the same routine, day after day. Wake up, chant 'Rael, Rael' for two hours, search E-bay for race driver memorabilia, decant NASCAR cell samples, pray to the Elohim for three hours. It's time for this clone to go it alone. Jeff Gordon: No Barbara, I think we can find a place for you with Team Gordon. But first let's get the hell outta here. [They run away together.] [Fade out] Rate or review this sketch | Prior comments |
