The_last_man_on_earth_2x04 -

(He looks off to the side, his eyes suddenly catching a flick of light. He blinks, focusing.)

(The scene is pitch black. The sound of crickets and crashing ocean waves fills the background. A tight spotlight illuminates a wooden stockade. Tandy's head and hands are locked in place. Around his neck is a glowing shock collar. He is sweaty, exhausted, and desperately trying to maintain his trademark false optimism.) The_last_man_on_earth_2x04

(He sighs deeply, resting his chin as much as the wooden board allows.) (He looks off to the side, his eyes

But I’m trying to change! I’m a new Tandy. I’m the reformed Tandy. I agreed to five weeks in this dog house instead of one! That’s how committed I am to showing them that the old, lying, ball-pool-diving Phil Miller is dead and buried. I just want to sit at the table again. I want to share a block of government-issue apocalypse cheese without feeling like I need to lie about who ate the last slice. A tight spotlight illuminates a wooden stockade

Citronella spray and electricity. A true sensory experience. Who needs five-star spas when you can have high-voltage shock therapy on a beach in Malibu? It's all about trust, guys! I get it! I really, truly do. (He looks up at the stars, his voice softening.)

Do you think they can hear me? New Phil. Melissa. Todd. Todd used to be my best friend. Now he looks at me like I’m a piece of expired cheese. And honestly, I don't blame him. I was a jerk. A Grade-A, certified, grass-fed turkey jerk.

It’s just... it's lonely out here. The world ended. Practically everyone we ever knew or loved was wiped out by a virus. And here we are, the last handful of human beings left on the giant blue marble, and I am locked in a box. We have all the space in the world, and I have about three square feet.