Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I'm Christopher Walken! And I'm here to write another blog entry . . . bear with me. This next idea I am spawning out is an idea for a screen play, bases on a thought I had one day, and a thought many people probably have. Only not the way they would have it ;). Here we go:

INT - KITCHEN - DAY

Greg sits at the kitchen table hunching over a bowl of Cap'n Crunch while reading the comics in the newspaper. The only sounds are the crunch of the cereal and the ticking of the clock on the wall. Suddenly a knock is heard coming from inside the pantry door. Greg jumps at the sound, scared, then suspicious and creeps to the door with cereal in hand.

INT - PANTRY - DAY

Only darkness behind the door, something moves and the knocking continues sharply. The door suddenly flies open and we are staring at Greg who has fallen to the floor in shock spilling cereal everywhere.

INT - KITCHEN - DAY

Greg is looking up at himself, a slightly older, scruffier version of himself standing in the pantry doorway staring right back.

GREG: Who the - hell are you?!

PANTRY GREG: I'm you, man. I know this may seem a bit odd or freaky. But I'm your future self, come back to warn you of the mistakes you haven't made yet.

GREG: Mom!

FUTURE GREG: Don't let anyone else see me! If they see both of us together, the paradigm of the space-time continueum will collapse and we will both cease to exist.

GREG: This is, umm . . .bad milk, that's what this is . . .

FUTURE GREG: No. But it's related to that, you'll see. That turkey sandwich you were gonna eat for lunch, don't do it. Bad turkey. That's all I can say for now, good luck.

Future Greg drifts backwards into the pantry and pulls the door closed. Greg calls after him -

GREG: Hey, wait! That's it? That's what you had to tell me?

But Future Greg is gone.

INT - GREG's ROOM - NIGHT

Greg sits at his desk looking over some homework, his eyes search the pages as he tries to solve his math homework. A rustle is heard from his closet and Future Greg suddenly appears between the sliding doors. Greg falls out of his chair in shock and his papers fly around the room.

FUTURE GREG: Don't bother with the homework, teacher's gonna be sick tomorrow. You'll have the weekend. Take it easy. Good luck.

Future Greg drifts back into the closet the doors sliding closed with him.

GREG: Hey, you can't just pop in like that! Come back! That's it?! That's all I get from the future?!

Greg's mom hears his shouting and can be heard out in the hall -

GREG'S MOM: Honey, everything OK?

GREG: Uh, yeah Mom. It's nothing! Everything is just . . . fine.

Greg looks at the mess around him, then back at the closet and shakes his head.

That's all I'm writing in this for now! I hope to expand it a bit more, we'll see if it develops!