Switch

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Hello.

Mr. Brooks, there's a Margo Brofman

on the phone for you.

- Oh, yeah? Put her through.

- Okay.

- Hello?

- Hey, Margo.

I'm giving a surprise party

Sunday night. Can you come?

Who're you gonna surprise?

You.

- Who else is coming?

- Just Felicia and Liz.

Oh, yeah?

- What's the occasion?

- That's the surprise.

- Hey, Mac.

- Nice-looking threads.

- Can I take some roses?

- Help yourself.

Thanks.

Here you go.

Come in, Steve.

Looking good, slick.

- Felicia.

- Hello, Steve.

Thank you.

- Thank you.

- You're welcome.

And Liz.

- Hi, Steve.

- Hi.

Hey, Margo.

Come on in.

Unbelievable!

Looking good there.

Sexy!

Unbelievable!

Slick, you are something else!

Come on, Margo.

It's my turn.

Oh, yes.

I don't believe this.

I'm sitting here with three

beautiful women who said they hated me.

- I gotta be dreaming.

- We still hate you.

We decided you should be punished

for the way you treat women.

Oh, yeah.

Men like you

just have to be stopped.

How're you gonna stop me?

We're going to kill you.

What a way to die.

Oh, God.

We did it.

We still gotta get him out of

the hot tub and down to the river.

- I don't think I can.

- You have to!

We can't do it without you.

You b*tches.

Where am I?

Purgatory.

- Where's that?

- Between heaven and hell.

What happens now?

On one hand, you've earned enough

credits to get you into heaven.

- Thank God.

- You're welcome.

On the other hand, you've been

so consistently rotten to women...

you deserve to go

straight to hell.

- That's pretty rotten.

- Perfect record. They all hate you.

- All of them?

- As far as I know.

You should know, but...

it's kinda hard for me to believe

there aren't a couple of women--

Right now I'll settle for one.

So I've decided

that you should go back...

and find one female

who truly likes Steve Brooks.

If you find her,

you go to heaven.

If you don 't,

you'll spend eternity in hell.

- Back?

- Unless you have a better suggestion.

Back's fine.

Back's terrific.

Good morning. This is Ross Britain.

It's 8:
00 in the Big Apple.

Here's Keith Slaughter

and the Butchers...

pla ying what Jerry Falwell describes

as the devil's music.

Excuse me.

- Yes?

- I wish to lod ge a complaint.

What is it this time?

I have as much ri ght

to Steve Brooks' soul as you do.

That's why I sent him back.

Ifhe can't find one female who

likes him, then his soul is yours.

That's not a fair test.

He'll pick some helpless...

unsuspecting female...

pretend to be everything he's not.

In the end she'll adore him.

And you'll be honor-bound

to admit...

an unregenerate debaucher

into heaven.

What do you suggest?

Teach him a lesson,

and at the same time...

make it impossible for him

to work his macho machinations...

on any more unsuspecting females.

And how do I do that?

Easy.

Make him a woman.

Security.

Okay, Mrs. Wetherspoon.

I'll take care of it

right away.

Some woman's screaming her head off

in Brooks' apartment.

Again?

She didn't sound like the others.

It was bloodcurdling.

- You want I should call SWAT?

- No.

Anybody here?

Are you sure

you don't need a backup?

It's Mac!

Hey, lady. Miss?

I'm up! I'm up!

What time is it?

You okay?

- What the hell happened?

- Easy.

Looks like you fainted

or something.

I guess I must have fainted

or something.

Oh, yeah.

Holy sh*t!

Where's Mr. Brooks?

Where's Mr. Brooks?

- Who are you?

- Where's Mr. Brooks?

Who am I?

How'd you get in here?

How do you know my name?

I never passed you through.

- Al was on duty.

- He didn't tell me.

You sign in?

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