A lost episode; the script was posted on Dino Stamatopoulos' Myspace profile. The episode was supposed to take place in the second half of the third season, confirmed by the appearance of Arthur Puppington.

Episode transcript Edit

[Potterswheel is in that familiar position: between a stirruped-woman’s legs.]
POTTERSWHEEL: Interesting...
MISS SCULPTHAM (O.S.): What’s so interesting all of a sudden?
POTTERSWHEEL: Well...for one, Miss Sculptham, there seems to be some trauma to your uterus...
[Potterswheel looks up at her, suspiciously. Sculptham looks away, uncomfortable.]'
MISS SCULPTHAM: Huh. Fancy that.
POTTERSWHEEL: But the biggest damage seems to be...(looking, looking) solitude.
[Sculptham shoots him a curious raising of the eyebrows. He finally looks up at her.]
POTTERSWHEEL (CONT’D): (emotionless) Your pregnant.
MISS SCULPTHAM: Hmmm... Now that’s interesting.
POTTERSWHEEL: Probably due to your oddly heroic episode with Cecil Creepler a few months back.
POTTERSWHEEL: (looking inside her) That puncture wound along your uteral wall is odd though. Was he carrying some kind of sharp, wirey apparatus?
MISS SCULPTHAM: (lying) Yes, now that you mention it, he was. He had one of those things you hang your clothes on.
POTTERSWHEEL: (points; confident) A hanger!
[Sculptham puts her finger to her nose: “on the nose.”]
POTTERSWHEEL (CONT’D): Well. Mystery solved. (chuckling; a joke) Hopefully the fetus won’t commit suicide like his father. (nothing) Um... congratulations on the new life, I suppose.
MISS SCULPTHAM: (distracted) Same to you.
[Potterswheel cocks his head like a confused dog.]

[Establishing shot. We hear Sculptham.]
MISS SCULPTHAM: All right, class, we have our big field trip next week...
INT. CLASS ROOM - CONTINUOUS: Sculptham passes out forms to all the students.
MISS SCULPTHAM: get these permission slips signed by your parents.
[As she hands one to Orel, he looks excited.]
OREL: Where are we going, Miss Sculptham?
MISS SCULPTHAM: Freedom County Prison.
[The kids all look at each other, not sure how to react.]
MISS SCULPTHAM (CONT’D): We’re lucky enough to have a penitentiary right in our own backyard that houses some of widest varieties of rare and exotic criminals in the world.
DOUGHY: Like g-g-g-graffiti artists?
MISS SCULPTHAM: Better than that, Doughy. You’re going to get to observe murderers, spousal abusers and, if we’re lucky, maybe even the king of the convicts... (sadly) ...the rapist.
[The class is stone cold quiet. Sculptham is now at the front of the class. Behind her is on the chalkboard is written: “This week’s lessons -- 1. Jack The Ripper 2. Atilla The Hun 3. Vlad The Impaler 4. Fatty Arbuckle”]
MISS SCULPTHAM (CONT’D) Inches away from us, a specimen of cunningness and ferocity. (lost in thought) A beast, once proud, who lurked through his lair, waiting to pounce on his unsuspecting prey...planting his seeds. Marking his territory. Taking no prisoners.
OREL: Gosh! Rapists sound awful!
Orel, if you’re going to rank the most awful in the criminal kingdom, the rapist is number one. The best.
Jeepers. Then why are we going?
MISS SCULPTHAM: Well... [She looks down at her belly.]...something in my gut is telling me it’s what I need to do.
[The class looks at her warily.]

[It is an ominous and overcast day as the school bus pulls up to the gates of the penitentiary.]
KIDS: [Singing in scared, trembling voice] The w-w-wheels of the b-b-bus go r-r-round a-a-and r-r-round/r-r-round a-a-and r-r-round/r-r-round a-a-and r-r-round...
INT. PRISON - DAY: The class is let through a large gate by OFFICER PLOTWHIST, a nice-looking prison guard.
MISS SCULPTHAM: (pronounced “plot-wist”) Thank you, Officer Plotwhist.
PLOTWHIST: My pleasure, pretty lady.
[A few kids giggle at this.]
MISS SCULPTHAM: (to kids) Shhh. Quiet. You’ll scare the smaller prisoners.
[As they walk from cell to cell, the shadow of the bars cross against all their faces. Sculptham whispers throughout, as if they on safari. Plotwhist accompanies them.]
MISS SCULPTHAM (CONT’D): Okay, now to your left, here are some prime examples of hardened criminality. Notice their telltale striped patterns. This is so the guards can tell them apart from the guards.
[Orel points to a particularly evil-looking convict, RAYMOND PISTWELL.]
OREL: (a little scared) What kind of criminal is he?
MISS SCULPTHAM: (delighted with the question) Well, let’s find out, shall we? (to Pistwell) Hey, Killer. What are you in for?
PISTWELL: (flirting) To be on display here for you.
[Sculptham looks flustered]
PISTWELL (CONT’D): You are window shopping, right?
[She looks self-consciously toward the children.]
MISS SCULPTHAM: Uh, whatever could you mean by that? Silly.
PISTWELL: Am I silly? Or Am I right?
PLOTWHIST: (chivalrously steps in) Reel it in, Pistwell.
MISS SCULPTHAM: It’s all right, Officer. I can handle this.
[Plotwhist steps back, disappointed.]
MISS SCULPTHAM (CONT’D): (overly cold) So your last name is Pistwell. As in, Pistwell, the notorious rapist?
PLOTWHIST: (nodding) Call me: Ray.
MISS SCULPTHAM: Well, kids, we found one! (gestures) The majestic rapist.
PISTWELL: (embraces the compliment) What are you doing for lunch? [He lasciviously stares at Sculptham. She stares back without fear.]
SCULPTHAM: Ceasing a rare opportunity to study the feeding habits a wild criminal from a dangerously close distance.
[He smiles, satisfied. The kids twiddle their thumbs and whistle awkwardly. Plotwhist looks concerned. Sculptham seems determined.]

[Sculptham sits with Pistwell at a table with other criminals. The kids all eat nervously at another table.]
PISTWELL: Cecil and I shared a cell. He constantly talked about you.
MISS SCULPTHAM: Sure he did. I put him in jail.
PISTWELL: (laughs) Yeah, I know. (shakes his head) Women...
MISS SCULPTHAM: I only visited him because I wanted him to know what he did to me and what I was going to do with it.
PISTWELL: (not convinced) Uh-huh. And here you are, back again.
MISS SCULPTHAM: I’m a teacher. This is a fun learning trip.
PISTWELL: Yeah, the kid’s are having a ball.
[They look at the terrified youngsters. A beat. He’s got her number.]
MISS SCULPTHAM: Okay. You’re right. I came here because I need to know. What was he like?
PISTWELL: You’re asking me?
MISS SCULPTHAM: Yes. Our relationship consisted of Cecil doing all the talking with his hand over my mouth. And, even then, not too much information came out...of his mouth.
PISTWELL: Why do you want to know?
MISS SCULPTHAM: Don’t worry. I have a vested interest.
PISTWELL: Toward the end, Cecil desperately wanted to procreate. To give something of himself to eternity.
MISS SCULPTHAM: (sarcastically) How generous.
PISTWELL: When you decided to get rid of the baby, he got morbidly depressed.
MISS SCULPTHAM (coldly) A: We’re talking about the spawn of a sexual degenerate. And B: (with weight) He wasn’t about to marry me.
PISTWELL: Oh, well, I don’t know about tha-
MISS SCULPTHAM: Look, I’m here because I’m still pregnant. It’s too late to get rid of it. People already know. I just wanted to learn about him so I knew what I was in for.
PISTWELL: But I thought you got rid of it yourself.
MISS SCULPTHAM: So did I? Apparently Cecil generously gave me twins. I was able to get one of them right where he lived. But the other slippery rascal got away. [She pats her stomach. Pistwell touches it.]
PISTWELL: That’s so...beautiful.
MISS SCULPTHAM: Not the first word that comes to my mind...
PISTWELL: (nodding) Cecil was my best friend. And you’re everything he said you were.
MISS SCULPTHAM: A woman he raped?
PISTWELL: No. Someone with a secret, unspeakable passion.
[She she drops her spoon and instantly gets uncomfortable.]
MISS SCULPTHAM: let’s not “speak” about it.
PISTWELL: Agnes. Will you marry me?
PISTWELL: I know I’m a rapist...
MISS SCULPTHAM:’s not only that.’re in jail.
PISTWELL: A convict can marry any woman who wants to marry him back. This is America.
[He takes her hand.]
PISTWELL (CONT'D):(romantically) And it’s the only legal thing I’ve ever wanted to do. To make an honest woman of you.
[They kiss. The other convicts look on as if they’re touched by the moment. All the kids look mortified, especially Orel. Officer Plotwhist is heart-broken by the kiss.]
OREL: Wuh-oh... [Looks at Plotwhist, sympathetically.]
EXT. CITY HALL - DAY: Scultpham walks out and happily looks at the marriage licence, marked in big blue letters: “ACCEPTED!”

[Putty is finishing up a game of solitaire.]
PUTTY: Aha! Beat ya again, Nobody! [He sadly puts his head in his hand, nothing to do.]
PUTTY (CONT’D): Come in. [Sculptham enters. Putty’s happy to see a lady.] Well, hello! And what do I owe this pleasant little surpr-
MISS SCULPTHAM: Reverend, I want you to perform the wedding ceremony for my fiancee and me.
PUTTY: Great. One less fish in the ocean. Who’s the luck-out?
MISS SCULPTHAM: His name is Raymond Pistwell.
PUTTY: (sounds familiar) Raymond Pistwell... (realizes) You mean, Ray Pistwell?
PUTTY: The rapist, Ray Pistwell?!
MISS SCULPTHAM: That would be him.
PUTTY: Isn’t he still locked away in Freedom?
MISS SCULPTHAM: (matter-of-fact) For life, yes.
PUTTY: Agnes, wouldn’t you rather go out with someone who’s actually allowed to go out?
MISS SCULPTHAM: (bitterly) Like who?
PUTTY (offended) Like who?! [He pulls out a hand mirror and looks at himself.] Hmm. Time for a new mirror. Why him?
MISS SCULPTHAM: Because this town breeds a lot of silent Ray Pistwell’s. I’m just getting one that shouts it from atop the highest mountain. (beat) Plus, I’ll always know where he is.
[Putty thinks about this for a moment.]
PUTTY: Touche. All right. But he’s gotta stay cuffed.
MISS SCULPTHAM: You’ll be fine. [She gets up.]

[Sculptham talks to Orel.]
OREL: (nervous) A ring boy? Why me?
MISS SCULPTHAM: Well, you’re responsible for the two of us meeting.
OREL: But, it was a field trip and I just wanted to learn about him because he seemed really really really really scary.
MISS SCULPTHAM: I know. That was so cute.
[She walks away, Orel swallows hard.]

[He gets into bed next to his loudly moaning Grampa.]
OREL: (very quietly; to himself) Hmmm.
GRAMPA: Will you shut up?!
OREL: Oh! Sorry, Gra-
GRAMPA: (still in pain) Just kidding, kid. What’s wrong?
OREL: I don’t want to disturb you, Grampa.
GRAMPA: Orel. I’m dying in horrible pain. Disturb away.
OREL: Well, I was just asked to be a ring boy for a wedding that it don’t think is a very good idea.
GRAMPA: Yeah, most people aren’t usually good at having very good ideas. Just let ‘em do it. If they’re old enough to get married, they’re old enough to deal with a huge, dumb mistake. A smart twelve year old kid like you being or not being a ring boy isn’t going to change things. Just go and have a good time and get an old guy like me to sneak you some drinks.
OREL: Well, I don’t know about the drink part, but thanks Grampa. I appreciate the advice.
GRAMPA: Yeah, well, I was a dad once.
[They close their eyes and go to sleep.]

[The gate opens and Sculptham enters all in white. Orel follows, holding a cushion with a ring on it. Putty is next to him. They are both very tense but with smiles.]
PUTTY: (sotto: to Orel) Just keep that smile plastered on your face and it’ll be okay.
OREL:Okay, but my cheeks hurt...
[Pistwell walks up to Sculptham, looking less than happy.]
PISTWELL: Um...Agnes. Can I talk to you alone?
[They turn to Orel and Putty who just idiotically smile.]
PUTTY: You want us to leave?
PISTWELL: Yeah, well, I can’t.
PUTTY: Oh! Of course! (laughing nervously) You’re never leaving! You’re here forever and ever!
[Putty exits, nudging Orel who is frozen stiff.]
PUTTY (CONT’D): C’mon! Move it, Smiley.
MISS SCULPTHAM: (to Pistwell) What’s up, Handsome?
PISTWELL: I don’t know if I can go through with this.
MISS SCULPTHAM: I don’t understand. Don’t you love me?
PISTWELL: Well, yeah...but Cecil was my pal. I don’t want to just swoop down here and horn in on his action.
MISS SCULPTHAM: He’s dead. Swooping and horning is fine at this point.
PISTWELL: No. Him being dead makes it seem worse. It just feels...wrong somehow.
[Longest pause ever.]
MISS SCULPTHAM: You rape women.
PISTWELL :Yeah, but, a fella’s not supposed to cross his buddy. Even for a dame.
[Sculptham’s eyes turn to hate. She feels her stomach, looking down at it.]
MISS SCULPTHAM: (to fetus) Oh, I hope you don’t turn out to be a man.
She walks outside. Everyone sees her expression.
MISS SCULPTHAM: Wedding’s off.
[Putty and Orel rush to her happily, throwing rice on her.]
OREL: Hooray! Great news!
PUTTY: Congrats!
[Sculptham really looks depressed.]

[Sculptham eats alone in her wedding dress. Plotwhist walks up with his tray and stands there.]
MISS SCULPTHAM: Wanna sit down or something?
PLOTWHIST: Oh! Thank you!
[He sits. They eat in silence for a moment.]
PLOTWHIST (CONT’D): Um, ma’am. I just wanted to say that...
MISS SCULPTHAM: I know. You love me.
PLOTWHIST: How’d you know what I was going to say?
MISS SCULPTHAM: I’m incredibly psychic.
PLOTWHIST: Oh. Was I obvious?
MISS SCULPTHAM: Officer Plotwhist, You’re not the most subtle person.
MISS SCULPTHAM: (almost angry) Look, you’re very nice. Too nice. You just don’t excite me. I already know everything about you. You’re gallant, chivalrous, polite, loyal... [Plotwhist takes off his hat and lets down his wondrously long hair.] ...a hippy?
PLOTWHIST: A lesbian.
MISS SCULPTHAM: A lesbian woman?
PLOTWHIST: Who’s very attracted to psychics. [She takes Sculptham by the hair and kisses her passionately.]
MISS SCULPTHAM: (pronouncing it “plot twist”) Officer Plotwhist!
PLOTWHIST: Call me: Mary.
MISS SCULPTHAM (flabbergasted): Wow, Mary. Men don’t kiss like that.
[They kiss again. Putty and Orel look from another table. Orel is amazed.]
OREL: Boy, that Miss Sculptham sure gets around!
PUTTY: (miserably) Amen.
OREL: (sincere) Amen!
[Putty looks at Orel, irritated.]

[Plotwhist and Sculptham stand outside the building looking dour. Orel runs up, really excited and happy.]
OREL: Oh boy! This is going to be great! Reverend Putty’s waiting at the church! Here’s the ring! Did you get your marriage licence?! Did ya, huh?! Did ya?!
[They nod and show it to Orel. In big red letters it is marked: DENIED.]
OREL (CONT’D): (sadly) Denied? But why?
[Plotwhist shrugs.]
PLOTWHIST: This is America.
MISS SCULPTHAM: Sorry, Orel. You can go home now.
[Orel sadly walks off. Mary turns to Agnes, sweetly.]
PLOTWHIST: How do you feel?
MISS SCULPTHAM: A lot more raped then when I was actually raped.
[Plotwhist turns to her, curiously]
PLOTWHIST: You were raped?
MISS SCULPTHAM: (sighing) Sit down, Mary.

[They sit on the steps to talk.]