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*TRANSLATED FROM SPANISH* EXCERPT FROM THE ELIMINATED PILOT EPISODE OF "THE GOLDEN GIRLS". SCENE 3: In the kitchen, past midnight, Dorothy is eating cheesecake. She plays with it dully. She sighs a little. Sophia enters. SOPHIA What are you doing in the kitchen this time of the night? You're not married anymore, remember? DOROTHY (Answering with apathy) I know, ma. SOPHIA So what's wrong? This isn't about Blanche, is it? DOROTHY (Energetic) No, not at all! (Doubts) Well... maybe. SOPHIA By the grapes of Sicily, pussycat! Now you're jealous? DOROTHY Yes ma, I'm jealous. Watching that beastly puertorrican sailor, tattooed from head to toe, one-armed, looking at Blanche with his only good eye like a teenager looks at his first love, I got jealous. SOPHIA Not to mention they almost broke next room's matress last night. DOROTHY (Upset) What do you want me to say? SOPHIA I'll tell you a story (she sits). DOROTHY Ah! SOPHIA Sicilly. 1904. Francesco had always lived by himself on his farm. He was never seen with a soul. He got depressed and thought he would die cast away from the world with nobody to remember him. But one day, casually, he found an enormous pig in the garden. Back then we thought things like that only happened for two reasons: a gift from the Lord or a gift from the Mafia. So Francesco didn't ask questions and kept it. His life had changed. He didn't feel alone anymore. In the mornings he laughed at his pig's messes. In the afternoon they sat together to watch the sun set as they ate mouthfuls of spam. And in the night, they let into their passions in a way only God can judge. They were happy. Then one day, no apparent reason, the enormous pig died. With such a tragedy, Francesco could only do one thing: eat it. (Dorothy look at her mother beside herself). Sleep tight, pussycat. (She exits the kitchen.) --
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