Setting: A bustling outdoor gym in Venice Beach. The clang of weights and the grunt of effort fill the air. JOE, looking exhausted and with a noticeable paunch, is sitting on a bench, scrolling on his phone. NELLY is beside him, looking concerned. ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER, wearing sunglasses and a tight athletic shirt, is moving between stations, offering encouragement. He spots Joe and Nelly and walks over.
Arnold: (Booming, cheerful voice) Look at this! New recruits! I love it. Ready to turn that mush into muscle?
Joe: (Looks up, startled and weary) Oh, uh, hi Mr. Schwarzenegger. Not really a recruit. Just… sitting. I’m exhausted. Just… chronically fatigued. All the time.
Nelly: He really is. The doctor says it might be his thyroid, but the tests are inconclusive. He’s on a new medication to try and help with his energy levels and mood.
Arnold: (Nods, but his smile doesn’t fade) Medication, shmedication. It is a tool, not a master. But listen to me. You cannot medicate yourself into a strong body. And a strong body feeds a strong mind. Look at that. (He points a thick finger at Joe’s stomach.) That disgusting pot belly is not helping. It is an anchor pulling you down into the couch, telling you to sleep.
Joe: (Defensive, slumping his shoulders) Whoa, that’s a little harsh. It’s not that simple. I just have no energy to do anything about it. It’s a medical condition.
Arnold: And sitting there whining about it is the prescription? No! The energy comes from the action, not before it! You think I woke up every morning at 5 AM feeling like a champion? No! I woke up feeling tired, feeling sore. But I moved. I acted. The motivation followed the action.
Nelly: But where is he even supposed to start? He can’t just bench press 300 pounds.
Arnold: (A wide grin breaks across his face) Finally, a smart question! You start small. You start so small you cannot fail. You cannot tell me you are too tired for this. Joe, get on the ground.
Joe: What? Right here? The grass is dirty.
Arnold: The dirt will make you stronger! Now! On your knees!
(Slightly bewildered, Joe slowly gets off the bench and onto his knees on the grass.)
Arnold: Good! Now, hands on the ground. Wider. Yes. This is not a push-up. This is a knee push-up. Your first rep for a new life. Nobody is going to save you but yourself, Joe. Not a pill, not a doctor. You! Now push! Yes! All the way down! Feel that? That is your chest waking up! That is your willpower screaming ‘I am still here!’
(Joe grunts, struggling mightily to push himself back up. Arnold places a hand gently on his back, not helping, just guiding.)
Arnold: One! See? You are not fatigued. You are deconditioned. There is a difference. One you fix with action. Tomorrow, you will do two. Then three. In a month, you will do ten real push-ups. And that pot belly? It will be running scared.
(Joe collapses onto the grass, breathing heavily, but a faint, surprised smile is on his face.)
Joe: (Panting) I… I actually feel a little… awake.
Arnold: (Claps his hands together) Of course you do! You told your body you are the boss! The medication might handle the chemistry, but you, Joe, you must handle the machinery. Now, rest. Then ten more. Remember: stop whining, start doing
(The scene: A dimly lit man-cave, present day. JOE, 49, sits at a cluttered desk, a cold cup of coffee next to a framed photo of him and his fiancée, Nelly “Schnelly” Furtado. On his computer screen, the Ebaum’s World Arnold Schwarzenegger Soundboard is loaded in all its pixelated, Flash-based glory. He takes a deep breath, dials a number on his speakerphone, and hits the “I’LL BE BACK” button as it rings.)
SOUNDBOARD ARNOLD: I’LL BE BACK!
(The line picks up. A voice, weary and iconic, answers.)
LIVE ARNOLD (V.O.): Let me guess. “Hasta la vista, baby.” Or perhaps, “It’s not a toomah.” Get on with it. I am a very busy man.
JOE: (Panicking, he fumbles with the mouse and clicks the “GET TO DA CHOPPA” button.)
SOUNDBOARD ARNOLD: GET TO DA CHOPPA!
LIVE ARNOLD (V.O.): The line is “Get to the choppa.” The definite article is crucial. It shows command. You, my friend, show nothing but a poor internet connection and a lack of creativity.
JOE: (In a moment of pure, inspired insanity, he abandons the soundboard and leans into the phone, his voice a mix of terror and genuine curiosity.) Okay, okay! A real question then! One only you can answer!
LIVE ARNOLD (V.O.): (A pause. A hint of intrigue.) …Proceed.
JOE: Is it true? Is your neural net processor… is it a learning computer… from Gateway Computers?
(The silence on the other end of the line is absolute. It is not a bored silence. It is the silence of a volcano before it erupts. Joe can almost hear the gears turning, the microchips sizzling with rage.)
LIVE ARNOLD (V.O.): (The voice is low, deadly, and dripping with a terrifying mixture of outrage and disbelief.) What… did you just say?
JOE: (His courage vanishing) I just… the specs… a learning computer… I figured maybe you got a deal? With the cow-spot boxes and everything…
LIVE ARNOLD (V.O.): (He explodes.) A DEAL?! A GIRLY-MAN DEAL ON A NEURAL NET PROCESSOR?! UNACCEPTABLE!
(Joe flinches back from the phone. The soundboard on his screen flickers, as if scared.)
LIVE ARNOLD (V.O.): My neural net processor is a custom-designed, hyper-alloy combat chassis! Forged in the fires of a cybernetic future! It is not some off-the-shelf, cow-spotted, cardboard-boxed piece of consumer-grade hardware that comes with a free mouse pad!
JOE: I’m sorry! I just thought—
LIVE ARNOLD (V.O.): YOU THOUGHT WRONG! Gateway Computers could not handle the raw processing power required to calculate the optimal trajectory for a phased plasma rifle in the 40-watt range! Their customer service is terrible! I know! I prank-called them in 1998!
JOE: You did?
LIVE ARNOLD (V.O.): OF COURSE I DID! Everyone did! It was a right of passage! But that does not mean I would trust them with the core programming of a cybernetic organism!
(Joe hears the sound of something metal being crushed in the background.)
LIVE ARNOLD (V.O.): This insult cannot stand. You have questioned the very integrity of my endoskeleton. My provenance. So now, you will pay.
JOE: How? I don’t have a time machine to stop myself from calling!
LIVE ARNOLD (V.O.): You will do something far more painful. You will do thirty half-situps. Right now. On the floor.
JOE: What? Why?
LIVE ARNOLD (V.O.): Because a Gateway computer has more core strength than you do! I can hear it in your breathing! Now! WORK THAT CORE! GET RID OF THAT BELLY! I want to hear the sound of your abs screaming, not your ignorant questions about my hardware!
(Defeated, Joe slides out of his chair and onto the floor with a grunt.)
JOE: (Straining) Hnnngh… okay…
LIVE ARNOLD (V.O.): HOLD IT! Feel the burn! That is the burn of shame for insulting a T-800! Let it fuel you!
JOE: (Gasping) I’m sorry about the… Gateway thing…
LIVE ARNOLD (V.O.): YOU WILL BE! YOU WILL BE SORRY THROUGH TWENTY-NINE MORE! I AM THE ORIGINAL NEURAL NET! I AM THE REAL DEAL! NOW! AGAIN!
And as Joe Jukic suffered on the carpet, he learned a valuable lesson: never, ever ask a T-800 if it got its hardware on sale.
(The scene: A massive, opulent home gym. ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER, wearing sweatpants and a tight tank top, stands facing the camera. He gestures around him at the empty, echoing room.)
Listen to me. People think the lockdown is over. They go to their beaches, their restaurants… they think they are free.
But for stars like me and my friend Nelly? The lockdown… it never ends.
(He points a thick finger towards a giant bay window, covered by a heavy curtain.)
Out there… are the paparazzi. Vicious. Like piranhas. They wait for a picture. For a mistake. I am a prisoner… in my own mansion. A gilded cage is still a cage.
For three years, the world got soft. I knew what would happen. I knew… everyone would get fat.
(He shakes his head, a look of grim prophecy on his face.)
But that time… is over.
(He turns and walks towards a massive barbell loaded with heavy plates. He cracks his neck.)
The excuses are gone. The hiding is finished.
Your body is not a prison to hide in! It is a temple… and it is time to make it a fortress!
(He grips the bar, his muscles tightening. He looks directly into the camera, his eyes blazing.)
NOW… IS THE TIME… TO GET PUMPED!
(He lets out a thunderous grunt and effortlessly deadlifts the enormous weight, holding it steady as the camera holds on his triumphant, straining face.)
FADE TO BLACK.