Click here for part 2 of Time Family https://youtu.be/lp9N9IhEuJY
In an alternate, almost entirely ridiculous universe, there’s Anne – an unsuspecting, slightly clumsy time traveller. She isn’t a spy or a double agent, just someone who doesn’t follow instructions well, which is precisely why the animated TV pilot *”Time Family”* kicks off with a rather chaotic bang.
Anne had one job in this animated TV pilot: retrieve a watch from Winston Churchill’s pocket for a top-secret time-traveling assignment and return it quickly. But because she never read the *Time Travel for Dummies* manual, she misinterpreted the mission entirely. Instead of returning the watch, Anne kept it in her handbag, thinking, “How hard could this be?”
The animated TV pilot wastes no time illustrating Anne’s complete ineptitude with time travel mechanics. As she flicks through the old English streets in her 1940s fashion, she barely notices the ripple effect she’s created. You see, this wasn’t just any watch—it was Churchill’s special alarm watch, custom-made to rouse him at exactly 6 AM. That fateful morning, as Anne unknowingly snoozed with Churchill’s watch under her pillow in the animated TV pilot universe, Churchill overslept… and so did the future of the world.
Cue the scene in the animated TV pilot: an old British cottage, complete with Winston Churchill in his striped pajamas, sound asleep while the Germans launch an air raid. His usual routine of puffing on a cigar and making rousing speeches is replaced by snoring like a chainsaw, while bombs are dropping outside his window. The comedic twist? His home gets leveled by a German bomb, but he’s completely unharmed, still cocooned under his bedspread, dreaming of afternoon tea.
In the animated TV pilot version of history, with Churchill’s morning gone awry, critical British decisions went unmade. As Anne casually strolls the streets of London with Churchill’s watch dangling from her handbag, thinking how cool it was to have touched history, the Nazis managed to strike key military targets while Churchill caught up on his beauty sleep.
The animated TV pilot makes it clear that Anne’s blunder sets off a chain of improbable events. With the Prime Minister momentarily off the radar, military commands get confused. Anne, blissfully unaware, hops into a time portal in the animated TV pilot to attend her next mission, still oblivious to the fact that she just accidentally made sure Germany won the war.
Meanwhile, back in animated TV pilot London, everyone’s in chaos. “Where’s Churchill?” becomes the British equivalent of “Where’s Waldo?” As the British war machine scrambles to make decisions without him, Anne inadvertently stumbles into a few more important moments in history.
In the animated TV pilot’s bizarre plot twist, Anne’s careless pilfering of Churchill’s watch opens the door for Germany to win the war with absolute ease. Hitler even sends a telegram to Anne, thanking her for her unintentional assistance, which only confuses her further.
The final scene of the animated TV pilot sees Anne returning to her own time, still holding Churchill’s watch. She’s utterly clueless that, because of her, World War II has a new chapter in the history books. Churchill remains somewhat of an urban legend, the guy who slept through the most important day of the war. And Anne? She casually tells her friends over coffee about the time she starred in this wild animated TV pilot where she did something historical. Spoiler alert: They don’t believe her.
In the end, the animated TV pilot *”Time Family”* closes with Anne staring at Churchill’s watch, still in her possession, wondering if she should return it or keep it as a souvenir. But she never quite gets the chance to decide, because the screen cuts to black, leaving viewers of the animated TV pilot in hysterics, wondering just how many other iconic moments Anne managed to mess up.
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Watch part 1 of Time Family https://youtu.be/zkAZWgGWDJs
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King Harold, as the history books tell it, died tragically at the Battle of Hastings in 1066 after taking an arrow to the eye. But what if I told you that’s not the whole truth? In a completely fictional and whimsical version of events, there’s a lesser-known tale that’s been waiting for its time to shine as an *animated TV pilot*—a love story so bizarre it practically screams *animated TV pilot*.
You see, King Harold had always had a special relationship with his war horse, Buttercup. Buttercup wasn’t just any horse; she was Harold’s most trusted companion, his confidante, and the apple of his eye. He would tell his closest advisors, “If there’s one thing I love more than this kingdom, it’s my Buttercup.” Many suspected this emotional bond, but no one knew just how deep his feelings for Buttercup truly ran until the fateful day of the Battle of Hastings. Cue an epic *animated TV pilot* moment right there.
As William the Conqueror’s army charged, Harold wasn’t thinking about tactical formations or military strategy. No, his thoughts were consumed by Buttercup’s shimmering mane, the way her hooves hit the battlefield with such grace, and how her neighs sounded like the most beautiful melody. Some say that right before the arrow struck, Harold whispered to Buttercup, “If I must die, at least I will die beside you.” This heartfelt proclamation would form the emotional core of any *animated TV pilot* worth its salt.
But Harold wasn’t quite the fighter he used to be. He’d gotten distracted mid-battle, daydreaming about the *animated TV pilot* of his life with Buttercup, where they ran through the fields of England in slow motion, free from the burden of kingship. He imagined this scene would play perfectly as the romantic B-plot in the *animated TV pilot* adaptation of his life. Meanwhile, his men were battling fiercely, but Harold was too focused on a little heart-shaped charm he’d braided into Buttercup’s mane that morning.
When the famous arrow finally hit him, Harold’s first thought wasn’t “Ouch” or “I’m losing the kingdom,” but rather, “Who will care for Buttercup in the *animated TV pilot* after I’m gone?” In those final moments, Harold’s last vision was not of defeat or conquest, but of him and Buttercup starring in their own *animated TV pilot*—a love story for the ages, one that could rival anything you’d find on prime-time TV.
It’s rumored that his last words weren’t even about the battle, but a heartfelt plea: “Someone… please… tell my story… in an *animated TV pilot*.” His dying wish, some scholars speculate, was not to be remembered as the king who lost England, but as the man who loved a horse so deeply that his life became an *animated TV pilot* before anyone knew what an *animated TV pilot* was.
So, while the history books focus on arrows and battles, let’s not forget the untold love story between King Harold and Buttercup, a story that—if we’re lucky—will one day be immortalized in a heartfelt *animated TV pilot*. Because, after all, isn’t that what true love deserves?
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A clip from my animated TV pilot Time Family, which went into consideration with ViacomCBS.
Here’s ai to fill in the gaps.
Once upon a time, an *Animated TV Pilot* was pitched with the ambitious goal of finally uncovering the mysterious truth about King Harold’s untimely demise. Historians for centuries have debated the causes of Harold’s death at the Battle of Hastings, but this *Animated TV Pilot* set out to reveal the story the textbooks refused to tell: King Harold had a rather peculiar relationship with his horse.
In this *Animated TV Pilot*, the story begins with King Harold preparing for battle, his faithful steed—whom he affectionately calls Buttercup—by his side. Buttercup, in this *Animated TV Pilot*, is no ordinary horse. She’s sassy, speaks with a refined accent, and often chides Harold for his clumsy attempts at battlefield strategy.
As the *Animated TV Pilot* unfolds, it becomes clear that Harold isn’t just fond of Buttercup for her battlefield abilities—there’s something more. He confides in her, spends long hours grooming her, and even writes her poetry. The court begins to whisper, but Harold doesn’t care. “They’ll never understand us, Buttercup,” he declares, his eyes twinkling with a strange devotion.
The real turning point in the *Animated TV Pilot* comes on the eve of the Battle of Hastings. Harold, feeling the weight of impending doom, decides to take his relationship with Buttercup to the next level. He writes her a love letter, which he reads aloud while they sit under a moonlit sky. Buttercup, with her animated charm, raises an eyebrow and responds dryly, “Harold, I’m a horse.”
This is where the *Animated TV Pilot* takes a wild twist. Harold, misinterpreting Buttercup’s response as a sign of mutual affection, leans in for what could only be described as the most ill-advised romantic gesture in history. Buttercup, realizing the danger, reacts the only way a horse can in an *Animated TV Pilot*—by rearing back and kicking Harold square in the chest.
The scene is both dramatic and darkly comedic, perfectly capturing the tone of this *Animated TV Pilot*. As Harold flies through the air in slow motion, the narrator solemnly intones, “And thus, the truth of King Harold’s death was not by arrow, but by hoof.”
The final moments of the *Animated TV Pilot* are spent with a montage of historians and experts reacting to the revelation. Some laugh, some weep, and others just stare blankly into the distance, wondering how this *Animated TV Pilot* ever made it to production. The credits roll as Buttercup trots off into the sunset, oblivious to the chaos she has caused.
In the closing seconds of the *Animated TV Pilot*, a title card appears: “Coming soon: How Richard the Lionheart lost his lunchbox.” The world is left eagerly awaiting the next installment, knowing that no history book could ever compare to the outrageous revelations of this *Animated TV Pilot*.
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After another TV idea is rejected, out of work TV writer Kevin is talked into producing a B-Movie with his friend Ben, who offers funds the movie.
Kevin lies to his fiancée, saying that his TV show got commissioned, hiding the fact that he’s making a film.
Whilst Kevin is out to make the best film he possibly can, Ben cuts corners at every opportunity to maximise his profits. To make the biggest saving possible Ben decides that they should work with an amateur dramatics society, as the actors would be ‘happy to be in front of the camera, for a few measly sandwiches’.
For the screenplay the pair chose one of Kevin’s first scripts, a badly written zombie flick. During filming Ben’s frustration with the actors reaches boiling point, which results in the pair stepping over a serious on-set accident. The theatre company pull out of the movie as a result.
Seeing Ben’s true colours leads to Kevin ending their friendship, which ultimately sends Kevin on a journey to discover what friendship and community spirit are really about.
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Raymond Butterfield, known to friends as Ray, was an aspiring actor with a penchant for dramatic flair but a curious lack of roles. Blessed with a sharp jawline, a commanding voice, and a rather limited selection of waistcoats, Ray had always imagined himself as the next great thespian. However, his talents had thus far been confined to the smallest of stages, performing the most minor of parts. Fate, it seemed, had a different plan.
One fateful evening, Ray found himself cast as the third villager in a production of *The Tragic Tale of Timothy Thistleweed.* The role was, to say the least, underwhelming—a brief appearance in the background, a mumbled line or two, and then an unceremonious exit. But Ray was determined to give it his all. He had fashioned a costume from the finest materials his meager budget could afford, and he had practiced his lines with the intensity of a man preparing for a lead role at the Royal Shakespeare Company.
The night of the performance, the audience was packed with local critics, enthusiastic patrons, and, as luck would have it, an influential film director known for his appreciation of raw, untamed talent. Ray had rehearsed every gesture, every glance, and every subtle nuance of his character. He was ready.
Or so he thought.
As Ray took the stage, his heart pounded with the intensity of a thousand timpani drums. The lights were brighter than he had imagined, and the murmur of the audience seemed louder, more judgmental. But Ray was determined to conquer the moment. He stepped forward, ready to deliver his line, when disaster struck. A poorly fastened button on his ill-fitted costume betrayed him, and with one grand gesture, the entire outfit—crafted with such care—came apart.
In that moment, Ray experienced what would henceforth be known as his *accidental exposure* to the audience. The gasp that escaped the crowd was matched only by Ray’s own horrified intake of breath. There he stood, center stage, in nothing but his undergarments, the victim of a wardrobe malfunction so profound it could only be described as theatrical sabotage.
The silence that followed was thick with anticipation. Ray’s face turned a shade of red previously unknown to mankind. But, as with all moments of accidental exposure, the embarrassment was fleeting, and what followed was nothing short of extraordinary.
Rather than retreat in shame, Ray decided, in that peculiar instant, that this accidental exposure would not define him. With a dignity that belied his current state of undress, Ray struck a pose that could only be described as heroic. He raised one hand to the heavens and, in his most commanding voice, delivered a line that was nowhere in the script but would forever be etched in the annals of theatrical history: “Behold, the truth of man!”
The audience, stunned by the audacity of Ray’s accidental exposure, erupted into applause. Laughter rippled through the crowd, not in mockery, but in admiration of the young actor’s bravery. Ray, his accidental exposure now a badge of honor, bowed deeply, giving the audience the full measure of his performance.
The critics, who had come expecting a mundane evening, were now scribbling furiously in their notebooks. And the director, who had been searching for a new talent to star in his upcoming film, found himself utterly captivated by the actor who had turned an accidental exposure into a defining moment.
The next day, the papers were abuzz with headlines like “Accidental Exposure Reveals Star Power!” and “Ray Butterfield: The Actor Who Bared It All—In More Ways Than One!” Ray, once a struggling actor, was now the talk of the town.
It wasn’t long before Ray received a call from the director, offering him a lead role in a film titled *The Naked Truth.* The irony was not lost on Ray, who accepted the offer with a wry smile. His accidental exposure had, quite literally, exposed him to the world—and it was a world that now wanted more of him.
As Ray stepped onto the film set for the first time, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the strange twist of fate that had led him here. His accidental exposure, which had once seemed like the end of his career, had instead been the very thing to launch it.
And so, Ray Butterfield, the actor who accidentally exposed himself on stage, became a star. His story served as a reminder that sometimes, in the world of theater and film, the most unexpected moments—the accidental exposures—are the ones that shape our destinies.
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