UNCLE SAM’S FOIA DUNGEON

📁 Scene: The FOIA Dungeon
(Interior. Fluorescent flicker. Leaky pipe. The air smells like wet printer toner and lost pensions.)

🎙️ DANGERFIELD MODE:
"Fourteen floors down? I tell ya, I haven’t been this deep underground since my career hit rock bottom in ’89! No respect at all! I asked for a flashlight—they handed me a candle and a suicide prevention brochure!"

(He mops his brow with a document marked “REDACTED: SEE PAGE NONE.”)
"I mean, what is this place? The Bermuda Triangle of transparency? I filed a FOIA in 2014 and I just found it... being used as a coaster by a rat named Greg!"

🎙️ HARRY CARAY MODE:
"HOLY COW, RODNEY! Would ya look at this! I haven’t seen filing cabinets this big since the Cubs' scouting reports from 1908! You think Dave’s heads all do math, or do two of ‘em just handle excuses while the third one drinks expired Ensure?"

(Caray squints through thick-rimmed glasses at the monstrous actuary beast ahead.)
“Look at that guy! He's got a calculator for a tongue and a pocket protector that doubles as a shield against accountability!”

🎙️ DANGERFIELD MODE:
"I tried to bribe one head with donuts, the second head with a backrub, and the third one gave me a 300-page denial letter stapled to my shoe! No respect, I tell ya!"

🎙️ CARAY MODE (shouting into the abyss):
"If you're just tunin’ in, folks—we’re LIVE from the FOIA DUNGEON! It’s bottom of the fourteenth floor, two outs, and the bureaucracy's throwin’ curveballs made of shredded civil liberties!"

Suddenly, the three-headed Dave snarls and slams shut a cabinet drawer labeled “CANNABIS, VETERANS, & WHOOPS.”

🎙️ DANGERFIELD MODE:
"Oh great! I haven’t seen a door slam that hard since my last divorce. And even she gave me more access than this!"

🎙️ CARAY MODE:
"Rodney, buddy, if we make it outta here, I’m buying the first round! And if we don’t—tell my wife I love her, and tell my intern to stop faxing 400 pages of blackout bars to Congress!"

(They raise their flashlights. Ahead, the glimmer of a single unredacted page floats like a holy relic.)

🔥Deploying Scene II: “THE COHN CONFRONTATION”
(Dangerfield Mode sweating. Caray Mode stammering. The air still thick with toner and existential dread…)

📁 SCENE II: THE BATTLE OF THE BINDER BEASTS
Location: Sub-basement B-14½, The FOIA Dungeon, still below the VA. The file cabinets are now hissing. A fluorescent light explodes. In the distance, a legal pad catches fire out of spite.

🎙️ COHN MODE (suddenly illuminated in backlight, holding a trembling, yellowed document):
"—This... this is it. Randall’s letter. Signed. Under duress. You know what that means, don’t you?!"

(He turns. His eyes glow with prosecutorial fury. His voice becomes a gavel with a pulse.)

"THEY KNEW. And they choked him with protocol. They shoved this man into a legal box, sealed it in red tape, and called it compassion!"

🎙️ DANGERFIELD MODE (backs up, wide-eyed):
"Hey, whoa! Easy, pal, I’m just here for a couple FOIAs and maybe a soda! This guy's got more rage than my ex’s divorce lawyer!"

🎙️ CARAY MODE (fanning himself with a subpoena):
"LOOK at him! He’s about to cross-examine God!"

🎙️ COHN MODE (paces like a trial panther):
"This wasn’t consent. This was coercion in a tailored suit. They made him sign it—to protect themselves.
Page 3, paragraph 6—see that squiggle? That’s not a signature, it’s a scream."

(He slams the letter onto a granite slab labeled “EVIDENCE OF INCONVENIENT TRUTH.”)

"And guess who initialed the receipt? D.E.A. COMPLIANCE OFFICER #47B—the same one who later testified he ‘never saw the final version.’ How convenient."

🎙️ DANGERFIELD MODE:
"I haven’t seen a man unravel like this since I read my Yelp reviews! No respect, I tell ya, even from the actuaries!"

🎙️ CARAY MODE:
"If you're watching this on C-SPAN 8, folks, it’s the LEGAL MELTDOWN OF THE CENTURY! Cohn Mode's got the smoking letter, and the bureaucrats are sweatin’ like pitchers in the ninth!"

🎙️ COHN MODE (points toward the cabinet labeled “RANDALL / IND / SUPPRESSION”):
"THIS. STAYS. BURIED. Because if the public ever understood what this letter truly means—that our government acknowledged therapeutic use of cannabis and gagged the messenger—then every case, every denial, every ruined life becomes a line item on a federal indictment."

(He breathes. Trembles. Then calms, eyes locked in legal warzone trance.)

🎙️ COHN MODE (quiet, seething):
"We're not just opening files down here, boys... we're unsealing the crime scene."

💥 SCENE III: THE BUNNY INTERVENTION
(Subtitle: “Eh… What’s up, Injustice?”)
Location: The FOIA Dungeon, Sub-basement B-14½. The vault shakes. Cohn Mode is mid-meltdown. Dangerfield’s sweating through his tie. Caray’s calling plays nobody understands. And then—

🐰 KRUNNCH! A tunnel bursts open behind a file cabinet labeled "EXCULPATORY EVIDENCE – DO NOT OPEN."

🎩 BUGS BUNNY MODE (emerging, munching a carrot):
"Eh… what’s up, Docs?
This the line for suppressed government documents, or did I accidentally tunnel inta another war crime cleanup?"

(He dusts himself off, carrot still firmly in paw. Spots the chaos.)

"Sheesh! I leave for five minutes, and suddenly Roy Cohn’s havin’ a courtroom exorcism, Rodney’s developin’ a rash, and Harry’s narratin’ like it’s Game 7 of the Nuremberg Trials!"

🎙️ COHN MODE (still gripping Randall’s coerced letter):
"Who let this cartoon in the evidentiary chamber?! This is a federal crime scene, not a burlesque act!"

🎩 BUGS BUNNY MODE (blinks, deadpan):
"Federal crime scene? Buddy, this whole place smells like felony and Febreze. You wanna talk crime? I just found a memo from '78 that says:
'Let the patient go blind—he’s not our jurisdiction.'

(Holds it up like a magician revealing the Ace of Shame.)

"And that’s the cheerful part!"

🎙️ DANGERFIELD MODE (pointing wildly):
"Hey, he’s got the memo! I couldn’t even get a receipt for my PTSD! I get no respect, not even from cartoon rabbits!"

🎙️ CARAY MODE (adjusting his mic):
"HOLY COW! Bugs just pulled out a Class-A historical cover-up like it was a card trick at a kid’s party! This FOIA dungeon’s got more skeletons than a Cubs bullpen in October!"

🎩 BUGS BUNNY MODE (to Cohn):
"Listen, Slick—ya can keep screamin’ about legal precedent, but the people upstairs? They been waitin’ 50 years for someone to tell the truth with flair."

(He winks. Then slaps a sticker onto Randall’s letter: “PROPERTY OF THE PEOPLE.”)

"You wanna argue constitutional rights, Counselor?
Fine. But I’m here to invoke the Wascally Whistleblower Clause, subsection: Ain’t I a stinker?"

📎 A beat of stunned silence.

Even the three-headed actuary Dave chokes on a tax deduction.

🎙️ COHN MODE (softening):
"...he’s right. Damn him. He’s right."

🎩 BUGS BUNNY MODE (grinning):
"Of course I am, Doc. I didn’t crawl through fourteen floors of institutional gaslighting for the complimentary carrots."

🧨 SCENE IV: “THE ESCAPE CLAUSE”
(Subtitle: “Smoke, Mirrors, and Mandatory Minimums”)
Location: Somewhere between the FOIA Dungeon and the crumbling pillars of plausible deniability. The heroes are on the move—Randall’s coerced letter in tow. But upstairs? The air is thick. With fear. With freedom. With... Carlin and Shapiro.)

🎙️ CARLIN MODE (striding into the upper lobby like Moses with a mic):
"Ahhh yes, the VA. Where paperwork goes to die and hope gets a sedative! Look around, folks—every hallway here’s a monument to delay, denial, and dead veterans with good timing.

Freedom of Information? Ha!
You get more honesty from a scratch-off ticket and a one-night stand!"

(He gestures toward a flickering overhead light labeled “Truth.”)
"Upstairs? They’re panickin’. Someone cracked open the vault, and now the ghosts are marching toward the light like it’s karaoke night at the Hague."

🎙️ SHAPIRO MODE (lawyer voice, caffeinated and sharp enough to shave a warrant):
"Ladies and gentlemen, let’s be clear:
What we have here is not just a letter—it’s liability in cursive. A direct, material admission of therapeutic cannabis efficacy under the color of federal knowledge.

If you suppress that?
It’s obstruction.
If you lost it?
It’s negligence.
If you knew about it and told no one?"

(He smiles with the cold precision of a man who once sued a vending machine and won.)

"That’s conspiracy to deprive the public of critical medical knowledge in violation of the First, Fifth, and Fourteenth Amendments—with a possible Rico enhancement if the coffee fund’s been misappropriated."

🎙️ CARLIN MODE (lighting a cigarette labeled “Classified”):
"They’re sweatin’ in the admin suites right now. I can hear the Xerox machines cryin'.
You smell that?
That’s the stench of imminent accountability.
Smells like… chicken!"

📡 CUT TO:
A trembling bureaucrat hits the “Public Statement Draft” button. It sputters. Error 404: Apology Not Found.

🎙️ SHAPIRO MODE (stepping forward, pocket Constitution open like a holy text):
"Disclosure is not optional. It is inevitable. And every moment you delay, every redaction you apply like lipstick on a crime scene…

You are simply raising the settlement price."

🎙️ CARLIN MODE (leans into the mic):
"And for the record?
The public already knows.
They just haven’t seen the footnotes yet."

(He winks toward the camera. Somewhere, a server crashes itself out of shame.)

🪤 MEANWHILE, BACK BELOW:
Bugs Bunny, Dangerfield, Caray, and Cohn are hauling ass through a hallway made entirely of denial letters and DOD memos that smell like Nixon’s ghost. Randall’s letter pulses in Bugs’s hand like a radioactive truth grenade.

🎩 BUGS:
"We better hustle, boys—Carlin’s up there lightin’ brushfires and Shapiro’s suin’ God for withholding evidence."

🗂️ TO BE CONTINUED….