The first thing I noticed was the desk. He had a real big desk. And I was sitting in a little, little chair. Almost as small as the ones my one-year-old son Max sits in.

"So you got something for me, or what?" he grumbled. I said "Yep" and made the command decision to stand up. There was no way I could make my point with my eyes barely peering over the desktop.

"You're looking for patriotic themes, right?" I asked.

"Son, this is Homeland Security Films. Patriotic is all we do."

"Gotcha," I said, preparing to go into my spiel. "The movie opens with a kid diligently doing his Latin homework."

"Wait a minute," he said. "Kids don't take Latin any more."

"But they should," I said. "It's just a symbol of the decline of the American educational system. We ought to set a good example."

"Good point," he said, pouring himself a glass of water. "Continue."

"So our boy is conjugating, writing out all the cases and tenses of some verb. He's mumbling the words out to himself. This is a happy task. It's important to do as well as he can on his homework so he can get into Harvard and make lots of money in business like the President."

"Don't overdo it, boy," he grumbled.

"Fine, fine," I said. "Anyway, our hero wanders downstairs to get some water. He sees his parents drinking beer and hears them talking about something or another. His mom says something like 'They should just impeach him.' The boy--"

"What's his name?" he asked me. "If he's the hero, he must have a name."

"John Adams McCarthy," I tell him. "About as patriotic as it gets."

"Good. That's real good," he told me. "Continue."

"So John walks through the dining room to get to the kitchen. He sees the beer bottles on the table--the beer is called Don de Dieu."

"A French beer! Terrific!"

"Well, French-Canadian, but close enough. Anyway, his parents are saying decidedly unpatriotic things about the President."

"So what does our young friend John do?"

"He goes back upstairs, turns on his computer and discreetly e-mails this information to his local FBI office."

"And what happens then?" He was hooked, I could tell.

"The story shifts to the FBI, where agent Jefferson Monroe does background checks on the McCarthys. Turns out Mrs. McCarthy once slept with a guy who hung out with Abbie Hoffman one afternoon in 1976."

"Subversives in suburbia! I love it."

"It gets better," I say. "Mr. McCarthy is a writer for an alternative weekly newspaper, the kind of slimy publication that writes all sorts of lies about patriots."

"And the rub?"

"Well, like all people who think the way they do, they're plotting a terrorist attack. Mr. McCarthy has been taking sailing lessons. He and Mrs. McCarthy plan to pilot a sailboat up the Potomac to just past the I-66 bridge, drop anchor and then lob artillery at the White House."

"Wait a minute," he said, holding his hands out. "We wouldn't be giving anybody any ideas here, would we? I mean, we wouldn't want to make this movie and then have a copycat situation going on. That would seriously undermine our mission statement."

"Have you ever tried to launch artillery off a small craft?" I asked him.

"No," he said. "Have you?" His question wasn't exactly friendly.

"No, I haven't. But the rocking motion of the tidal river would make it pretty much impossible, especially for amateurs. There's just no way to tell what angle you'd be at when you're firing, so there would be no way to correct."

"Hmmm," he said, thinking. "But if someone tried it, they could so some real damage."

"Maybe," I said, "But not to the White House."

"Hmmm." He wasn't entirely sure.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," I said. "John and Agent Monroe team up to nab John's parents as they try to score their artillery from a shady dealer. There's lots of tension and action and stuff, but the gist of the deal is that the kid ensures the safety of the President and the American people by doing his patriotic duty."

"Well, I do like that wrap-up. So they just talk about the job; it's not actually shown on screen."

"Correct," I said, taking a deep breath. This was the moment of truth.

He sat at his desk, considering the pitch thoughtfully. "I like it," he said. "What do you call it?"

"'Patriotic Duty,'" I said. "Might as well be up front about it."

"I like the enthusiasm," he said, "but how about let's tone it down a notch. What do you think about 'Family Honor' instead."

"That's pretty damned good," I said. "It makes the point that in order to save the honor of the family, the boy has to turn in his parents."

"Exactly," he said. "And that's precisely the sort of patriotic fervor we're trying to instill in our kids." He leaned back in his chair and looked out the window. "So who do you see in it?"

"I don't know," I said. "That kid Shia LaBeouf is pretty hot right now. He was in 'Holes' and the new 'Charlie's Angels' flick."

"Ahh, we can get any little freak to play the kid. We don't want to pay big bucks to someone who can't even vote. I meant Agent Monroe. Who do you see playing him?"

"I was thinking a little bit against type here," I told him. "It would be cool to show off the diversity of the FBI and go with someone like Giancarlo Esposito. He'd be cheap, that's for sure."

"Giancarlo Esposito? What is he, Italian?"

"He was born in Denmark, if that's what you're asking. I think he's half Italian, half black. Something like that."

"No, no," he told me, shaking his head violently. "Too many vowels in that name. We need someone with more of an American sort of appeal, if you know what I mean. You think Bruce Willis would be good?"

"He might be," I said. "Depends which Bruce shows up."

"The patriotic American Bruce will show up."

"Okay," I said. "So when do you want the script?"

"Is two weeks enough time?"

"Two days is enough time for something like this," I said.

"No, no," he said, holding out his hands and waving them at me. "We want this to be quality. Take two weeks."

"Well alright, then. I'll have my people get in touch with your people." I rapped my knuckles twice on his monstrous desk and strode out of the room, happy to be in the service of my country.

In truth, Jon Worley has never pitched a script to anyone of importance, though he's got plenty of interesting ideas.