ENTER HAPPY COUPLE
HIM: I love you, honey.
HER: Our lives are perfect.
THEY DIE HORRIBLY
ENTER THE CSI TEAM
GRISSOM: Even though I'm bizarre, I'm still very much in charge.
COP: Ah, it's "Gruesome" Grissom.
GRISSOM: Indeed. It's almost as though the writers invented a surname just to go with the nickname. I'm quiet.
COP: (unnerved) I'm vaguely unnerved.
GRISSOM: Do be. I don't actually have a character. Weird is all I have.
BLONDE WOMAN: I'm feisty.
COP: Is that it?
BLONDE WOMAN: Pretty much.
BLONDE: (THINKS. FLICKS HAIR) Er... I've also got a daughter. I really care about her. This also means that whenever babies die, I'll cry and care too much about the case.
COP: Awww, that's nice.
BLONDE: And, I'm fairly sure my name's Catherine.
JORJA FOX: Damn! You got a name.
BLONDE: And my hair's really flicky. But apart from that we've got the same character.
JORJA: Pretty much. I'm just like you, but younger and not in the pilot. Can't you take the hint?
BLONDE: Nope. The Gays love me more.
THE GAYS: Oh god. We love you. We don't know why, but we love you so much.
WARWICK: Hi. I'm very intelligent, but work on the wild side, and have a gambling problem. But that's okay - they won't fire me as I'm the only black man in Las Vegas.
GRISSOM: I'm now going to talk to Warwick in Street Jive. My mother taught it to me. It's one of the whacky things I do occasionally, daddy-o. Hold my tarantula.
JORJA: Sleep with me Grissom.
JORJA: No reason. Just occasionally, I'll say that to you. And then we'll forget all about it. (SHE SHRUGS, AND STARES AT A SEVERED FINGER)
GRISSOM: Well, I'll just ignore you and play with my singing fish.
JORJA: Hey! Hang on. You get a talking fish, and a mother! Warwick's got street smart and a gambling problem. Blonde woman's got a daughter and even a name... why don't I have a name?
GRISSOM: Well, our mortician's just called Doc. He's happy with that.
JORJA: Yeah, but he's got a coffee machine, a walking stick and plays air guitar.
GRISSOM: You've got a point (LOOKS AWAY. DOES SOMETHING BRILLIANT WITH LASERS, A VACUUM CLEANER, AND A TOENAIL). You can be called Sarah Sidle.
JORJA: You're kidding me?
JORJA: But no-one will call me that!
GRISSOM: My point exactly.
ENTER NICK. HE IS BIG AND GRINS.
NICK: I'm called Nick. (HE GRINS) I'm gonna date me a whore!
NICK'S HOOKER PROMPTLY DIES. HE BRIEFLY STOPS GRINNING.
NICK: I'm cross. When I'm cross, I take off my shirt.
THE GAYS: We love you Nick. Please stay cross.
THEY HEAD OFF TO THE LAB. THERE THEY MEET GREG, THE SCIENTIST
GREG: (ON THE PHONE, IGNORES THEM) Oh yeah, honey, what are you wearing? I love you, woman of the week who we'll never meet. (LOOKS UP) Sorry guys, I was just on the phone to a Woman. A Heterosexual Woman. I know a lot of them. Intimiately. I lurve women. And will mention this every week. My hair is very carefully arranged.
THE GAYS: We could have you with two gins and a whistle.
GRISSOM: It's time we made an arrest. It's the person standing to the left of the obvious suspect.
BLONDE WOMAN: That's amazing. Why?
GRISSOM: Well, I'll be cryptic for a bit. Then we'll have some CGI of body parts and explain obvious science that we all know already really slowly to each other. Then I'll admit that it's always the person on the left of the screen who did it. Don't know why.
THE GAYS: Can't...stop...watching...