There are, at a minimum, three levels of establishment where men can pay to see women undress and sway provocatively to bad disco music. The first, classiest type is the adult dance hall. It's the sort of place where people dress up to go, and there's actually some production values in the show. Somewhere in the middle is the strip joint. This is a purely utilitarian venture, for the purpose of displaying female flesh to a predominantly male audience in as efficient a manner as possible. At the low end of the scale, just above straight prostituion, is that place where the dregs of humanity go to futilely grasp a semblance of affection, human contact, and sexual arousal from another person--the tittie bar. With that in mind...

INT. TITTIE BAR

The room is cramped, smoky, and lit only by black lights. To one side is the bar, behind which is a burly BARTENDER in a T-shirt, wiping glasses. A stage takes up one end of the room, with a catwalk extending out toward the middle, lit around the edge by a string of blinking lights. Dark shapes sit at chairs along the periphery of the stage, dollar bills in hand, with at least one empty chair separating each one. On stage is a tall, large-breasted blonde STRIPPER wearing nothing but a thong and performing various acrobatic feats with the aid of a metal pole. In the far corner is the DJ booth. Over the sound system comes loud, distorted, nondescript dance music.

HITLER saunters in through the front door, his head bobbing to the music as he smiles appreciatively. He spots the blonde stripper on stage.

HITLER
Now that's what I'm talking about!

Hitler licks his fingers and smooths down is comb-over as he starts dance-walking toward the stage. Behind him, the door opens again. THE POPE steps stiffly into the room, ducking to keep from knocking his hat off on the doorjamb. In the black light, his raiments glow bright purple-white. He self-consciously steps to one side and stands against the wall.

POPE
I don't know about this.

HITLER
(not taking his eyes off the stripper)
You gotta learn to relax, man. Give me a dollar.

The Pope starts to reach into his pocket, then thinks better of it.

Suddenly, the stripper notices the day-glo Pope, gasps, and leaves the stage in the middle of her routine, to the grunts of disapproval of her audience. She hurries over to the Pope, kneels in front of him, and reaches up to take his hand.

STRIPPER
Your Holiness...

HITLER
Hey, cool. I didn't know it was that kind of place. I'm next.

The Pope motions for the girl to stand.

POPE
Arise, my child.

The stripper stands up, gazing at the Pope in awe.

HITLER
Man, what a waste of an opportunity.

POPE
(to Hitler)
Shut it, Schickelgruber.
(to Stripper)
What is your name, child?

STRIPPER
Amber, your Holiness.

HITLER
Yeah, right.

The music fades out and the bar becomes silent.

POPE
Amber, we seek a man named Tony Malucci. He owns this...place, does he not?

Hitler notices that everyone seems to be watching them.

HITLER
Hey, um, Pope?

The Pope waves Hitler quiet.

STRIPPER
Will I be forgiven?

POPE
Excuse me?

STRIPPER
If I tell you, will I be forgiven for working here? It was just so hard to pay the bills....

Hitler sees the bartender coming out from behind the bar with a baseball bat.

HITLER
Hey, Pontiff, we got trouble!

POPE
Of course, my child. The Lord forgives all.

The bartender steps in bewteen the Pope and the stripper, slapping his bat into his palm.

BARTENDER
Youse guys beat it, before I beat it for you.

STRIPPER
Louie, no! Don't you know who that is?

BARTENDER
Shut up, and get back on stage. You ain't getting paid to stand around.
(to Pope)
Now, like I said, scram.

The stripper steps away. The Pope stares the bartender in the eye.

POPE
I'm not done speaking with the lady.

BARTENDER
Yeah, you are.

The bartender raises his bat and swings it down toward the Pope's head. The Pope's hand flashes upward and catches the bat in mid-swing, stopping it cold. The bartender's eyes go wide.

POPE
In Nomine Patri...

The Pope yanks the bat out of the bartender's hand. He tosses it into the air and catches it again at the hilt.

POPE
...et filii...

The Pope swings one-handed. The bartender ducks, causing the Pope to miss, then rears back to punch the Pope into next week. A chair smashes into the bartender's head from behind. He collapses, unconscious. The Pope sees Hitler standing behind the bartender, the splintered remains of the chair in his hands.

HITLER
...et Spiritus Sancti?

The Pope drops the bat, nods, and makes the sign of the cross at the fallen man.

POPE
Amen.
(to Stripper)
You need to come with us. It isn't safe for you here.

STRIPPER
I don't know...I'm not supposed to leave with the customers.

HITLER
Honey, he's the Pope. What's he gonna do?

The stripper glances down at the bartender, who is moaning quietly on the floor.

HITLER
A hundred bucks?

STRIPPER
Let me get my shirt.

The stripper scampers toward the dressing room.

HITLER
(to Pope)
You swing like a girl.

The Pope shrugs.

POPE
Basketball was always more my thing.

END SCENE