Nelly leaned close to Joe, her voice soft but carrying a quiet fire. “Love builds a garden,” she said. “That’s what the song from Gnomeo and Juliet was really about. That’s my biggest wish, Joe… to eat real food again. Food that isn’t poisoned by Monsanto, food that doesn’t taste like chemicals and betrayal.”
Joe watched her, and in her eyes he saw more than nostalgia—he saw hunger for truth, for soil, for roots.
“I’ll go anywhere with you,” Nelly whispered, her hand in his. “Even back to Europe… even if we end up like one of the Village People, living simply, planting seeds, singing in the square. I don’t care, Joe. As long as the food is real, and the love is real.”
Joe smiled. For him, it wasn’t just a dream. It was a mission. Together, they would plant the garden. Together, they would sing the old songs. And together, they would make Monsanto’s poisons irrelevant—because love had already chosen life.
Scene: “Patient Number 9” – Nelly & Joe Remember Ozzy Osbourne
INT. STUDIO LOUNGE – NIGHT – DIMLY LIT WITH RED AND BLUE LIGHTS
Nelly Furtado sits across from Joe Jukic in a booth lined with velvet. A framed photo of Ozzy Osbourne in a hospital gown hangs crookedly behind them. The turntable spins slowly, playing faint echoes of “Patient Number 9.”
NELLY (softly, reverently) They called him crazy… but I think he was just sensitive. He felt something deeper than most. That’s why they locked him up.
JOE Yeah. Patient Number 9. The system couldn’t handle Ozzy. They didn’t treat him—they punished him. Gave him electroshock therapy like it was a spiritual exorcism.
NELLY His doctors didn’t understand mysticism. He wasn’t delusional. He just believed… his left hand was Satan and his right hand was Christ.
JOE (leaning in, intrigued) That duality thing—it’s old. Gnostic almost. Light and dark in one vessel. Ozzy was living a cosmic battle in his own body. But instead of guiding him, they zapped him into numbness.
NELLY It’s so cruel. He wasn’t hurting anyone. He was singing. Screaming, even. Trying to warn us.
JOE You know what I heard? After one shock session, he tried to bless his own hand… said it turned black, like it had burned with sin. He called it the “Mark of the Beast.”
NELLY But the right hand… he said it glowed. Said he could feel Christ in the tendons. Said he could write lyrics that channeled heaven—but only with that hand.
JOE (quiet) And the doctors just wrote “schizoaffective.” They called his visions hallucinations. Never once asked if maybe… he was right.
NELLY You know what scares me, Joe? How many other artists we’ve lost to hospitals like that? To drugs, to isolation, to being misunderstood.
JOE That’s why we remember Ozzy. Not as a victim—but as a prophet. A wounded prophet. Patient Number 9… locked up for trying to heal himself.
They sit in silence as the record skips. A final lyric loops endlessly:
“When they called your name, did you hear them scream?…”
[END SCENE] A tribute to those who saw beyond, and paid the price for speaking it.
Gnomeo, ever the schemer, leans in close to Juliet and says, “Listen, love, I’ve got an idea. A reality show. You, me, our wild adventures—just imagine it! We rake in the gold, and I split the loot with you, fair and square.”
Juliet crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow. “And what exactly are we filming?”
“Our daily lives! The drama, the romance, the garden feuds—people love that sort of thing! We’ll be bigger than Romeo and that other Juliet.”
She smirks. “And what happens when the cameras catch you sneaking off with Benny to stir up trouble?”
Gnomeo winks. “That’s what keeps them watching.”
Juliet sighs, but a smile tugs at her lips. “Fine. But I want 60%.”
“Fifty-fifty!” Gnomeo protests.
Juliet shrugs. “Then no show.”
Gnomeo groans. “Alright, alright! 60-40! But if this flops, we’re going back to lawn decorating.”
