A Great Idea For a Movie

Jim and I think it's pretty funny, anyway. Here it is. (I declare this copyrighted or something, so don't go making this without involving us.)

A man is in the bathroom, on the toilet. There's silence, and
straining, and a splash, and then a sudden wailing voice saying, "You
BIRTHED me! You BIRTHED me! I am your SON! I LOVE you!" The man
jumps up, and in the toilet, noisily splashing around, is a little
octopus. The octopus is the one speaking. (Actually, it'll be me.
I've been cast as the octopus voice.)

Then the film takes a "Run Lola Run" twist. The way the man responds
to having birthed the octopus determines his fate. In the first
version, he is so surprised that he flushes the octopus. He is then
beset by a sense of guilt, causing him to make frequent trips to the
aquarium and gaze mournfully at full-sized octopuses. Finally, he
breaks down, screaming at the aquarium tank, "Why did you do this to
me? Why?" Bewildered families look on. (I think the bewilderment
could be real if we film this in the actual Chicago oceanarium.)

Then: flash back. He leave the octopus in, but it won't shut up. He
can't bring himself to flush it, but he doesn't want to take it out
because it's, well, it's kind of weird. Unfortunately, he has company
coming over for dinner. The guests come, and sit down at the table.
They don't seem to notice that anything is unusual, although the hero
can hear the octopus clearly. Finally, one of them asks to get up and
go to the bathroom. The hero is beside himself, but trying to act
polite, and fails to think of a reason that the guest couldn't go to
the bathroom, so they just get up and go. The hero is in a panic as
the guest goes through the normal bathroom sounds, including flushing
the toilet, with no interruption of the mournful cries or indication
that anything is unusual. They sit back down at the table and resume
the conversation. It is clear that only the hero can see and hear the
octopus. He loses it, and shakingly, stands up, goes to the closet,
and gets a plunger. The guests stare on, bewlidered, as he goes into
the bathroom and starts madly plunging at the toilet, screaming, "why
are you doing this to me? WHY?" (The answer, of course, is "I am
your SON! I LOVE you!")

Flash back again. When the octopus begins to wail, the man pauses, straining at the reins of his fate, and then starts to
dance a weird, modern dance. The octopus levitates out of the toilet
and begins to dance, too. Someone walks in, and says, "that's the
best octopus I've ever seen...ever seen...ever seen..ever seen..." and
we loop that last line and it becomes part of the beat for a
dance-style drum and bass song. Cut to the Chicago lakefront. The octopus
and a bunch of guys wearing helmets and knee pads are doing "extreme
walking", which is like Parquer but much lamer, where we kind of jump
up on benches, strike a pose, jump down again and then give each other
big, ostentatious high fives. Bewildered passersby look on.