Attack of the Man-O-Dile

EXT. STREETS - DAY

               DETECTIVE DANIALS pulls up in a sedan and parks at the curb
               outside of GEORGE'S house. He exits his car and walks to the
               front door.

               INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY

               George and Detective Daniels stand across from one and other
               in George's living room. The room is a mess. It looks as
               though it has been ransacked, but was once plain and
               unassuming. It only houses a cabinet, couch and a TV. 

               Danials has a note-pad and pen in his hand, he is taking down
               notes as they speak.

                                   DANIALS
                         So the man knocked on your door,
                         put a gun to your head and forced
                         his way into your house?

                                   GEORGE
                         That's right. He told me he'd blow
                         my brains out if I tried anything.
                         I was terrified.

                                   DANIALS
                         I'm sure you were. What happened
                         next?

                                   GEORGE
                         Then he poured a whole box of
                         Wheaties down his mouth.

                                   DANIALS
                         The whole box? Jesus.

                                   GEORGE
                         Started knocking things off
                         shelves. Rubbing mud all over my
                         couch.

                                   DANIALS
                         I see...

               Danials jots down the information before pursuing the line of
               questioning.

                                   DANIALS (CONT'D)
                         What did your assailant look like?

                                   GEORGE
                         He was wearing brown Dockers,
                         Reeboks, he had a crucifix tattooed
                         on his right arm, yellow eyes, he
                         was green on top, and sort of off
                         white underneath.

                                   DANIALS
                         His shirt?

                                   GEORGE
                         Hmm?

                                   DANIALS
                         His shirt was green and white?

                                   GEORGE
                         No, his scales.

                                   DANIALS
                         Pardon?

                                   GEORGE
                         His scales. They were dark green on
                         top and then tapered off into an
                         off-white around his belly.

                                   DANIALS
                         Uhh...

                                   GEORGE
                         I'd say he was a good...oh, 9 feet
                         long, including the tail.

                                   DANIALS
                         He had a tail?

                                   GEORGE
                         Of course he did.

                                   DANIALS
                         And scales?

                                   GEORGE
                         Yep.

                                   DANIALS
                         Sir, I'm confused.

                                   GEORGE
                         What about?

                                   DANIALS
                         It sounds like you're describing
                         some sort of...reptile...

                                   GEORGE
                         Sure am.

                                   DANIALS
                         I'm interviewing you about the man
                         who broke into your house.

                                   GEORGE
                         And?

               Danials flips closed his notebook and pockets it and his pen.

                                   DANIALS
                         I feel like there's a little bit of
                         disconnect we're having here.

                                   GEORGE
                         Did you forget me telling you he
                         was a crocodile?

                                   DANIALS
                         You told me that?

                                   GEORGE
                         First thing I said when you walked
                         through my front door. I ran up and
                         screamed it right in your face,
                         like: "Crocodile!", How could you
                         have forgotten that?

                                   DANIALS
                         No. No, I remember that. I thought
                         you were just in shock.

                                   GEORGE
                         Of course I was in shock, how many
                         times does a man find himself
                         burgled by a goddamn crocodile?

                                   DANIALS
                         Burgled?

                                   GEORGE
                         He burgled me! 

                                   DANIALS
                         Burgled.

                                   GEORGE
                         It means: to burglarize. I'd think
                         a cop would know that.

                                   DANIALS
                         I don't work for Scotland Yard.
                         This isn't 18th century London,
                         alright? It's fucking Fairfield.
                         And I don't like your back-talk.

               Danials retrieves his badge from a pocket and shows it to
               George.

                                   DANIALS (CONT'D)
                         Now from here on out, I'm gonna
                         need you to respect this, you got
                         that?

                                   GEORGE
                         I think you need to respect the
                         fact that It's your job to arrest
                         this son of a bitch and find my
                         Playstation!

                                   DANIALS
                         Playstation? He took your
                         Playstation? That's what I'm doing
                         here? Looking for a Crocodile with
                         a stolen PlayStation?

                                   GEORGE
                         Stuffed it in a burlap sack and ran
                         off down the street.

                                   DANIALS
                         Didn't you say he was wearing
                         dockers?

                                   GEORGE
                         Yep.

                                   DANIALS
                         I was unaware that dockers catered
                         to the crocodile demographic.

                                   GEORGE
                         Well, he had the legs of a man.

               Danials raises an eyebrow, he stares at George in
               bewilderment.

                                   DANIALS
                         The legs...

                                   GEORGE
                         Of a man. Yep.

                                   DANIALS
                         Man legs?

                                   GEORGE
                         Indeed.

                                   DANIALS
                         On a crocodile.

                                   GEORGE
                         That is correct... Just the back
                         legs, though.

                                   DANIALS
                         So it was like a part man...

                                   GEORGE
                         Part crocodile.

                                   DANIALS
                         Legs of a man...

                                   GEORGE
                         Body of a crocodile.

                                   DANIALS
                         And his arms?

                                   GEORGE
                         They were kind of in between.

               Danials takes a deep breath, and nods to himself as though
               coming to a conclusion. 

                                   DANIALS
                         I think-

                                   GEORGE
                         It was like a...Man-o-dile...

                                   DANIALS
                         I think we're done here.

               Danials turns to walk toward the door. George leaps in front
               of him, barring the exit.

                                   GEORGE
                         What about my PlayStation?!

                                   DANIALS
                         Nobody gives a shit about
                         PlayStation's. There have been two
                         PlayStation's since PlayStation, do
                         you realize that?

                                   GEORGE
                         None of those PlayStation's have
                         Spyro.

                                   DANIALS
                         They do, actually.

                                   GEORGE
                         Original Spyro.

                                   DANIALS
                         You can play Playstation 1 games on
                         Playstation 2.

                                   GEORGE
                         I don't have a Playstation 2!

                                   DANIALS
                         You don't have a Playstation.

                                   GEORGE
                         I did until that crocodile stole it
                         from me!

                                   DANIALS
                         You mean burgled it from you?

                                   GEORGE
                         I want my goddamn Playstation back!

                                   DANIALS 
                         PlayStation's don't even cost money
                         anymore, just get a new one.

                                   GEORGE
                         What kind of cop are you? Would you
                         tell a man who'd just been stabbed:
                         "Well, why don't you just get not
                         stabbed?"

                                   DANIALS
                         What?

                                   GEORGE
                         I've been wronged, and you have to
                         do something about, or I'll call
                         the police station and-

                                   DANIALS
                         Tell them a Crocodile with human
                         legs stole your PlayStation?

                                   GEORGE
                         A manodile.

                                   DANIALS
                         What?

                                   GEORGE
                         A manodile.

               Danials stares.

                                   GEORGE (CONT'D)
                         That's what we're calling it.

                                   DANIALS
                         A manodile?

                                   GEORGE
                         Get it?

                                   DANIALS
                         Yeah. Yeah, I get it.

               Danials shakes his head and sighs deeply. 

                                   GEORGE
                         So, like I was saying, he grabbed
                         my PlayStation, bit my dog in half,
                         pulled his dockers down and took a
                         shit on my floor before he ran off
                         out the door.

                                   DANIALS
                         Oh, so that's what that's doing
                         there.

               Danials gestures to pile of shit plopped on the living room
               floor a few feet to their side. George looks to the shit,
               turns back to Danials, and nods.

                                   GEORGE
                         Yep.

                                   DANIALS
                         That is a tremendous pile of shit.

               George shrugs.

                                   GEORGE
                         It was a big manodile.

                                   DANIALS
                         Let's stop using the word
                         "manodile", shall we?

                                   GEORGE
                         Well that's what we're talking
                         about.

                                   DANIALS
                         That's what you're talking about,
                         but in reality there are no
                         manodiles.

                                   GEORGE
                         Then who shit on my floor? Who bit
                         my dog in half?

                                   DANIALS
                         Dog in half?

               EXT. BACK-YARD - DAY

               A half a dog lays in the grass in George's back-yard. Small,
               white. Like a corgi poodle mix. It would have been adorable
               if it had its other half. And wasn't dead.

               The dog's guts are spilled out, flies buzzing around it,
               blood stained tufts of fur gently sway in a slight breeze.
               Danials and George stand and look.

                                   DANIALS
                         ...Gross...

                                   GEORGE
                         See! I told you!

                                   DANIALS
                         Sir, I'm willing to turn a blind
                         eye to your apparent bisecting of
                         your dog on the condition that you
                         just drop this manodile business
                         once and for all and never contact
                         the police for any reason ever
                         again, whatsoever. Okay?

                                   GEORGE
                         It was the manodile!

                                   DANIALS
                         There are no manodiles! How could
                         there be a manodile?!

                                   GEORGE
                         It might have escaped from the zoo.

                                   DANIALS
                         There are no zoo's nearby that
                         house Manodiles, of that I am
                         certain.

                                   GEORGE
                         Probably because they've all broken
                         free.

                                   DANIALS
                         Doubtful.

                                   GEORGE
                         They're very resourceful.

                                   DANIALS
                         They don't-

                                   GEORGE
                         Always bet on manodile!

                                   DANIALS
                         Exist.

                                   GEORGE
                         Hmm?

                                   DANIALS
                         You made them up.

                                   GEORGE
                         I-

                                   DANIALS
                         I think none of what you said
                         happened. You know why? Because I
                         can actually see a PlayStation over
                         in that cabinet over there, through
                         the door.

               Danials points at the PlayStation through the glass doors. It
               sits under the TV, two controllers attached, lying on the
               floor in front of it. George turns and looks at it for a
               moment, then turns back around to face Danials.

                                   GEORGE
                         That's my back-up PlayStation.

                                   DANIALS
                         I also think you shit on your own
                         floor.

                                   GEORGE
                         You think I bit my dog in half too?
                         Look at the jaw radius!

                                   DANIALS
                         Sir, I want you to take a look at
                         my face, and tell me how many fucks
                         you think I give?

               George squints, intently studying Danials' disdainful
               expression.

                                   GEORGE
                         Four?

                                   DANIALS
                         None. Not one. Good day, to you,
                         sir. 

                                   GEORGE
                         But-

                                   DANIALS
                         I may be taking measures to have
                         you institutionalized. Just FYI.

               Danials turns and walks away. George shouts after him, waving
               his fist in the air.

                                   GEORGE 
                         That scaly, green, hoodlum is
                         probably playing Kingdom Hearts on
                         my PlayStation in some manodile
                         crack den in the bayou, and I'm not
                         gonna stand for it!

                                   DANIALS
                         Kingdom Hearts wasn't on the
                         original Playstation.

               EXT. SIDEWALK - DAY

               Danials has exited the front door of the house and walked
               down to the side-walk where his car was parked and is now not
               parked. He looks up and down the street, but it is nowhere in
               sight. 

                                   DANIALS
                         What the fuck?!

               A man runs over to Danials from the house next door.

                                   NEIGHBOR
                         Hey, man, was that your car?

                                   DANIALS
                         Yeah, did you see what happened to
                         it?

                                   NEIGHBOR
                         Someone took it.

                                   DANIALS
                         What did they look like?

                                   NEIGHBOR
                         Well, I couldn't tell from the
                         distance I was at, but he looked
                         like he was wearing Dockers.

                                   DANIALS
                         Dockers?

                                   NEIGHBOR
                         Yeah. And a beanie. 

                                   DANIALS
                         Dockers and a beanie? 

                                   NEIGHBOR
                         Yeah...and he was a crocodile. That
                         struck me as a little odd.

               Danials looks away from the neighbor and stares down the
               road, a grim look upon his face.

                                   DANIALS 
                         Motherfucker.

I’m a Werewolf, Bro!

INT. ROOM - DAY

               Brian sits on his couch in his cramped living room, smoking
               MARIJUANA from an empty can of SPRITE. He is seated on a
               couch situated across from a desk holding a lap-top and
               television. There's a forceful knock at the front door. From
               outside ROGER's voice can be hear shouting.

                                   ROGER
                         I'm a fucking werewolf, bro!!

                                   BRIAN
                         Roger?

                                   ROGER
                         Yes it's fucking Roger, let me in!

               Roger begins frantically pounding on the door. Brian shakes
               his head in disapproval and frustration. He takes his time
               getting up to answer the door. When he does Roger rushes past
               him into the room holding a bundle of rope. Roger is haggard
               and filthy. He's covered in bruises and scrapes, his hair is
               a mess and his clothes are shredded.

                                   ROGER (CONT'D)
                         I'm a fucking werewolf, bro!

               Brian stares at Roger, who stands panting, panicked and crazy
               eyed. Brian's face is a mask of incredulity. 

                                   BRIAN
                         I have a hard time believing that,
                         Roger.

               Roger begins darting from direction to direction, pacing back
               and forth. He violently shakes his head and grabs at clumps
               of his hair.

                                   ROGER
                         No, dude, you don't understand!

                                   BRIAN
                         Look-

                                   ROGER
                         No, you look! I was smoking with
                         some friends the other night, and
                         as I was walking home I
                         I...changed...

                                   BRIAN
                         Changed?

                                   ROGER
                         Everything went black. I can barely
                         remember a thing. Just thirst. An
                         ungodly thirst for...murder...

                                   BRIAN
                         The preferred beverage of
                         werewolves...

                                   ROGER
                         When I woke up I was in an alley. I
                         was covered in cuts and scrapes and
                         my clothes were destroyed...

                                   BRIAN
                         Come on, dude. You probably just
                         smoked laced weed like those other
                         times.

                                   ROGER
                         One time!

                                   BRIAN
                         Several times. Remember when you
                         were on the roof trying to cut
                         pigeons in half with an oar?

                                   ROGER
                         So like four times, but not this
                         time! Listen, this morning I read a
                         newspaper.

                                   BRIAN 
                         That is unusual.

                                   ROGER
                         No, dude, there was a story about a
                         murder!

                                   BRIAN
                         People are murdered every day.

                                   ROGER
                         But where I woke up was like right
                         where they went missing.

               Brian gazes at Roger.

                                   ROGER (CONT'D)
                         Or like 9 miles away-

                                   BRIAN
                         Come on, man!

                                   ROGER
                         A werewolf can cover 9 miles in
                         minutes on foot!

                                   BRIAN
                         On foot? As opposed to what? A
                         segway?

                                   ROGER
                         Why would a werewolf ride a segway?
                         Werewolves are way faster than
                         segways...

                                   BRIAN
                         Maybe it's crippled.

                                   ROGER
                         Werewolves can't be crippled, they
                         have a supernatural healing factor.
                         Brian, these are basic facts, I
                         can't believe I need to explain
                         these things to you.

                                   BRIAN
                         This is fucking retarded.

                                   ROGER
                         Plus, the corpse was covered in
                         shit!

                                   BRIAN
                         What the fuck does that have to do
                         with anything?

                                   ROGER
                         Everyone knows werewolves shit on
                         fresh kills.

                                   BRIAN
                         You're just making this up!

                                   ROGER 
                         You can't make up the truth, bro.
                         That's impossible. Now hold onto
                         your dick, cause I got even more
                         proof.

               Brian runs out the door only to return almost immediately,
               now holding a bulbous garbage bag in one hand.

                                   ROGER (CONT'D)
                         I woke up in an alley surrounded by
                         these.

               Roger upturns a garbage bag full of dead half-eaten fish and
               empty fried chicken receptacles.

                                   BRIAN
                         What the fuck is wrong with you
                         dude! Don't just pour trash on my
                         floor!

                                   ROGER
                         It's not trash! Or, it is...how do
                         you not understand what this
                         means?!

                                   BRIAN
                         You smoked angel dust and spent all
                         night eating trash in alleyways
                         across town? It's a miracle you
                         weren't robbed, or murdered or
                         raped.

                                   ROGER
                         That's insane. Who would rape a
                         werewolf? Who could rape a
                         werewolf?

                                   BRIAN
                         Another werewolf could, or a yeti,
                         or a Minotaur, chupacabra. 

                                   ROGER
                         Two of those things are imaginary,
                         the only way a chupacabra could
                         ever rape a werewolf would be
                         through subterfuge and trickery,
                         and counting me there are probably
                         only like 15 werewolves in the
                         whole of the Americas, and
                         therefore it would be very unlikely
                         for there to be another in the same
                         proximity.

                                   BRIAN
                         But it is possible you were roofied
                         by a chupacabra? 

                                   ROGER
                         Start take this shit seriously,
                         dude!

                                   BRIAN 
                         For fucks sake...

                                   ROGER
                         Dude, I woke up covered in blood.
                         This shit is for real.

                                   BRIAN
                         Could it have been from all those
                         cuts you have all over your body?

                                   ROGER
                         No, I must have killed someone. If
                         I concentrate really hard I get
                         flashes. I keep remembering this
                         old homeless guys face...I think I
                         ate him.

                                   BRIAN
                         Or maybe you just got your ass
                         kicked by a hobo crack-head.

                                   ROGER
                         I've had it up to here with your
                         wild theories, Brian. Stop trying
                         to cloud the issue, my being a
                         werewolf is what we need to be
                         focusing on.

               Brian glares at Roger. 

                                   ROGER (CONT'D)
                         Alright man, I'm done trying to
                         convince you, just humor me.
                         Please. Tie me up. If I don't turn
                         into a werewolf you can untie me
                         and I'll go. I promise.

               Roger puts his hands together as though petitioning for mercy
               Brian continues to glare at him for several more seconds, but
               finally relents.

                                   BRIAN
                         Fucking fine.

               Roger sighs in relief.

               INT. BRIAN'S ROOM - DAY

               Roger is now roped securely to a wood chair across the room
               from Brian who fiddles around on his LAPTOP. 

                                   ROGER
                         So, hypothetically, if my scrotum
                         were to start itching-

                                   BRIAN
                         You'd be on your own.

               Brian takes a hit from his SPRITE pipe and continues messing
               around on his computer.

                                   ROGER
                         Hey, man. Do you think I can get a
                         hit of that?

                                   BRIAN
                         Yeah, fine.

               Brian takes another hit before getting up and walking over to
               Roger. 

                                   BRIAN (CONT'D)
                         Hold still.

               Brian puts the SPRITE CAN WHICH IS A PIPE to Roger's mouth
               and lights. Roger inhales for a few moments before abruptly
               coughing, and spewing the contents of the pipe into the air
               in a puff of weed crumbs and ash. Brian forlornly watches the
               contents of his can-pipe slowly drift to the groun.

                                   BRIAN (CONT'D)
                         Come on, man!

               Roger coughs a few times.

                                   ROGER
                         I'm sorry, bro!

                                   BRIAN
                         It was my last bowl!

                                   ROGER
                         I said I was sorry!

                                   BRIAN
                         You owe me a bowl.

                                   ROGER
                         I swear I'll get you back.

                                   BRIAN
                         That's what you always say.

                                   ROGER
                         Sorry.

                                   BRIAN
                         Whatever.

               Brian tosses the can and sits back down at his desk. With a
               few clicks starts a movie. From across the room Roger strains
               to fix his eyes to the inconveniently located monitor. He
               gazes at Brian for a moment.

                                   ROGER
                         Hey, man. You think you could turn
                         the screen my way a little?

                                   BRIAN
                         You're still asking for favors?

                                   ROGER
                         It'll only take you a second.

                                   BRIAN
                         Will you shut up if I do?

                                   BRIAN (CONT'D)
                         Yes. I promise.

               Brian turns the monitor toward Roger.

               Roger and Brian watch the crocodile related movie for several
               silent seconds before Roger throws his head back and moans.

                                   ROGER
                         This movie sucks, bro!

               Before Brian can retort there's a knock from his front door.
               A voice is heard through the door. The voice of BAMBELJACKS.

                                   BAMBELJACKS
                         Yo, it's Bambeljacks.

                                   BRIAN
                         Come in.

               Bambeljacks opens the door and steps into the room, his eyes
               immediately fixing to Roger, bound in a chair on the other
               end of the room.

                                   BAMBELJACKS
                         Holding someone for ransom?

                                   BRIAN
                         No.

                                   BAMBELJACKS
                         Is it a sex thing?

                                   BRIAN
                         NO!

                                   ROGER
                         I'm Roger.

               Roger nods at Bambeljacks.

                                   BAMBELJACKS
                         That's rad, bro.

                                   BRIAN
                         What do you want?

                                   BAMBELJACKS
                         I was actually hoping I could pick
                         up some tree...

                                   BRIAN
                         Not a good time. Come back later.

                                   BAMBELJACKS
                         Later like...?

                                   BRIAN
                         From now. Later from now. In the
                         future, relative to the
                         present...get the fuck out of here.

                                   BAMBELJACKS
                         Right.

               Bambeljacks leaves. Brian turns to Roger.

                                   BRIAN
                         You're fucking up my whole day, you
                         know that?

                                   ROGER
                         Dude, will you stop giving me shit?
                         I'm sorry that I spoiled the 2 hour
                         masturbation session and X-files
                         marathon you had scheduled, but I'm
                         dealing with serious issues here!

                                   BRIAN
                         What the fuck are you talking
                         about?

                                   ROGER
                         The psychological torment of
                         knowing you've been stricken with
                         the curse of lycanthropy is
                         unfathomable to you!

                                   BRIAN
                         You're what's unfathomable to me.

                                   ROGER
                         That's bull-shit, dude. I'm hella
                         fathomable.

               Brian sighs deeply in exasperation and briefly massages his
               forehead.

                                   BRIAN
                         So, when the fuck are you supposed
                         to turn into a werewolf anyway?

                                   ROGER
                         As soon as the moon rises.

                                   BRIAN
                         The moon rises? It's fucking 3:30
                         in the afternoon!

                                   ROGER
                         3:30? You mean I'm gonna be tied in
                         this chair for two more hours?!

                                   BRIAN
                         I guess.

                                   ROGER
                         What if I have to piss?

                                   BRIAN
                         This was your idea!

                                   ROGER
                         But it's only mid-day, when have
                         you ever heard of anyone turning
                         into a werewolf at 3:30 in the
                         afternoon? On a Sunday, no less.

                                   BRIAN
                         If you didn't have such a poor
                         grasp of the day night/cycle and
                         had a little more foresight, you
                         wouldn't even be asking that
                         question. 

                                   ROGER
                         Well just untie me and re-tie me in
                         a couple hours.

                                   BRIAN
                         You are just determined to piss me
                         off, aren't you?

                                   ROGER
                         It'll take you 30 seconds, dude,
                         come on! Stop being such a drama
                         queen.

                                   BRIAN
                         Me a drama queen? You're the one
                         who ran in here screaming that he
                         was a werewolf, bleeding and
                         throwing trash everywhere!

                                   ROGER
                         This is a legitimate emergency,
                         it's more than reasonable for me to
                         be a little flustered.

                                   BRIAN
                         A legitimate emergency?

                                   ROGER
                         People don't turn into werewolves
                         every day!

                                   BRIAN
                         You're not a werewolf! You're a
                         suggestible, simple-minded, stoner
                         with an inferior ability to not
                         smoked laced pot, and a generally
                         deficient sense of the difference
                         between fantasy and reality.

                                   ROGER
                         It will be easier for you if you
                         just untie me. I won't bother you
                         again until sundown. Honest.

               Brian shakes his head.

                                   BRIAN
                         Fine. Whatever.

               Brian grudgingly walks over to the chair and begins straining
               at the knots, but failing to undo them. He grows increasingly
               agitated before finally throwing his hands up.

                                   BRIAN (CONT'D)
                         Fuck this! I can't untie this shit!

                                   ROGER
                         What? What kind of knot did you
                         use?

                                   BRIAN
                         There are different kinds of knots?

                                   ROGER 
                         Yeah, bro, there's like a million
                         knots! What kind did you use?

                                   BRIAN
                         I don't know...custom?

                                   ROGER
                         There's no such thing as a custom
                         knot! You gotta get me out of here,
                         man. I'm gonna piss.

                                   BRIAN
                         Are you fucking serious?

                                   ROGER
                         Wait, I know what we can do...do
                         you have any bottles?

               Brian stares at Roger, face twitching with the sheer force of
               annoyance.

                                   BRIAN
                         You know what, man...fuck this. I'm
                         going to get something to eat.

                                   ROGER
                         Oh, sweet. Were you thinking like
                         fajitas...?

                                   BRIAN
                         You know what, fajitas sound
                         awesome.

                                   ROGER
                         Yes! Just get back quick so I can
                         eat them before I turn into a
                         werewolf. I still have to pee,
                         too...

                                   BRIAN
                         Oh, did I give the impression I was
                         getting you something?

                                   ROGER
                         What?

                                   BRIAN
                         Yeah, fuck you, Roger.

               Brian walks out the front door, giving Roger the finger.

                                   ROGER
                         You're gonna look like an ass-hole
                         when I turn into a werewolf!

               EXT. OUTSIDE BRIAN'S ROOM - NIGHT

               Bambeljacks lies in a pool of blood, covered in claw marks,
               outside of Brian's front door, which has been busted open.

               The chair inside has been crushed and the rope ripped apart.

               Brian stands over Bambeljack's corpse with a bag of left-over
               fajitas.

                                   BRIAN
                         ...Balls...

               A distant, unearthly, howl echoes through the night.

Cooking on a Budget with Sunday Muldoon

INT. SUNDAY MULDOON'S GARAGE - DAY

               SUNDAY MULDOON wears pajama pants and a Hawaiian shirt. He
               stands next to a make shift kitchen consisting of a hot
               plate, a pot, a pan and wood spoons. SHOES holds the camera
               in a wavering, rocky grip. 

               The room is messy. Pot paraphernalia, cigarette butts and
               liquor bottles are littered across it and a tent with a
               mattress inside of it fills out one corner. 

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Hey everybody, I'm Sunday Muldoon,
                         and this is "Cooking on a Budget
                         with Sunday Muldoon". Who is...me.
                         And on the camera we have Shoes.
                         Shoes, hand me the camera so you
                         can introduce yourself.

                                   SHOES
                         Right on.

               CUT TO

               Shoes stands in frame. He claps two mismatched shoes together
               and nods to the camera.

                                   SHOES
                         Word.

               CUT BACK

               Shoes again holds the camera with Sunday on screen next to
               his kitchen.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         So, today our meal will be an egg
                         sandwich and mashed potatoes. We're
                         still waiting on the bread, but in
                         the meantime let me take you on a
                         little tour of my kitchen.

               Sunday motions to the table to his side.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON (CONT'D)
                         This is my kitchen. I have a
                         variety of cook-ware... wood
                         spoons. My spice library is
                         constantly changing, but I find I'm
                         never without paprika, or crushed
                         waffle-cone.

               CUT TO

               Paprika and crushed waffle cone on the table. The waffle cone
               is in a zip-lock baggy. A cough is heard off camera and a
               cloud of smoke is blown into frame.

               CUT BACK

               Sunday has an egg in each hand. 

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         These're eggs. 

                                   SHOES
                         Eggs of a chicken.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Correct. Now, I usually buy my eggs
                         one at a time. They go about 80
                         cents per egg. Due to lack of funds
                         I didn't purchase these eggs,
                         though, uh... I actually procured
                         these eggs from a coop my neighbor
                         Julio keeps in his uh...back
                         yard... But if you can afford to
                         buy eggs, I would recommend this
                         approach over thievery, because I
                         was shot during my escape.
                         Fortunately Julio was unable to
                         ascertain my identity during the
                         event, and I know this because had
                         he discovered it was me, my balls
                         would be ensconced within the bowl
                         movements of his pit-bulls and my
                         head would be in a dumpster right
                         now, because Julio is a drug
                         dealer. Julio is actually, uh...my
                         drug dealer...but just buy the
                         eggs. 

                                   SHOES
                         Eggs aren't worth your life, dawg.

               CUT TO

               A close-up of Sunday holding an egg out in his palm.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Egg.

               CUT BACK

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Now, the way you should cook these
                         eggs is, turn your hot-plate up as
                         far as you can without blowing a
                         fuse. Crack the protective layering
                         and empty the contents into the
                         pan. 

               Sunday begins cooking the eggs. He stirs them a bit as they
               begin steaming. 

               The camera pans down as shoes notices blood pooling on the
               ground at Sunday's feet.

                                   SHOES
                         Dude, your bullet hole.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Ah, shit!

               CUT TO

               Sunday stirs the eggs for a moment before he looks up.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         While these are cooking lets go
                         find Elbows and check the status of
                         our mashed potatoes. 

               Sunday walks past Shoes, who follows close behind as they
               walk out of the front door of the shack and emerge into a
               sunlit back-yard, just as messy as Sunday's garage. Sitting
               with his back turned, on a rickety lawn chair is, ELBOWS. 

               Elbows is wearing a filthy wife beater, leisure pants and
               aviator sunglasses. He has a huge mustache and a cigarette
               dangles from his mouth. He robotically and monotonously
               mashes a bowl full of potatoes. 

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON (CONT'D)
                         How're the potatoes?

               Elbows continues mashing the potatoes, ash from his cigarette
               falls into the bowl. He pays no mind.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON (CONT'D)
                         Rad.

               Sunday looks up and nods to Shoes.

               CUT TO

               Back inside. Sunday is next to his cooking station once more.
               He lightly prods at the simmering eggs. 

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         So...I, uhh...yeah. Those potatoes
                         are actually, like, earth potatoes.
                         Like we just found em' out...like,
                         it was like a field?

                                   SHOES
                         Yeah, it was like a fucking field.
                         Filled with potatoes.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         I'm not sure why they were out
                         there...

                                   SHOES
                         Doesn't make any sense.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         But there were dozens...

                                   SHOES
                         Hundreds.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Innumerable potatoes.

                                   SHOES
                         Sacks of potatoes.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Sacks, buckets...

                                   SHOES
                         Buckets full of potatoes.

               Shoes pans down to reveal SCOOTER crouched on the ground.
               Scooter is wearing only boxer shorts. He has his ear planted
               next to an air-cleaner sitting on the floor. His face is
               intensely focused and filled with awe. He's holding a rag in
               one hand.

                                   SHOES (CONT'D)
                         Hey, it's Scooter.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Scooter! Hey, Scootey! Scoots
                         McGoots! Yeah...Scooter...

                                   SHOES
                         Do you smell...starter fluid?

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Whatcha doin' down there, Scoot?

               Scooter continues silently listening to the hum of the air
               cleaner for several seconds before slowly raising the rag to
               his face and inhaling deeply.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON (CONT'D)
                         Rad.

               The camera pans back up to look at Sunday.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON (CONT'D)
                         Uhh...so back to the eggs, then.

               Smoke streams into frame for a second before a cough is heard
               and a massive cloud is exhaled by Shoes who begins hacking
               uncontrollably.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON (CONT'D)
                         Shit, dude, are you cool?

               Shoes continues coughing. His hand enters the frame to hand
               Sunday a joint.

               CUT

               Sunday walks over to the hot-plate, grabs the pan and pours
               the now cooked eggs onto a paper-plate.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         And that's how you cook eggs!

                                   JULIO
                         Yo.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Oh, fuck my balls!

               The camera turns to reveal JULIO standing in the doorway.
               Julio stares at Sunday with dead eyes and his hands casually
               in his pocket. Both of his hands are in the same pocket. He's
               dressed like a drug dealer. Like a HELLA drug dealer. 

                                   SHOES
                         What up, fella?

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Julio! My man!

               Sunday forces an awkward smile. Shoes aims the camera back
               and forth from Julio to Sunday as the conversation proceeds.

                                   JULIO
                         Did you guys see anything weird
                         yesterday? 

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Weird like...?

                                   JULIO
                         A guy wearing panty-hose over his
                         head running around with about 20 -
                         27 eggs in his pockets?

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Eggs in pockets? Rings no bells,
                         sorry.

                                   JULIO
                         So you didn't see anything?

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Nope.

                                   JULIO
                         What're you cooking?

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Eggsssss...chili.

                                   SHOES
                         I thought we were cooking eggs?

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Egg chili.

                                   JULIO
                         Egg chili?

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         It's a...Mongolian recipe.

               Julio stares blankly and un-blinking. 

                                   SHOES
                         Do you think he knows?

                                   JULIO
                         Knows what?

                                   SHOES
                         Holy shit! I thought you left.

                                   JULIO
                         Why?

                                   SHOES
                         Uhh...

               Shoes looks to Sunday who shakes his head from side to side.

                                   JULIO
                         What the fuck is that?

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Is...

               Julio walks over to a pair of cargo pants hanging from a nail
               in the wall. The pockets are bulbous and swelling. Julio
               reaches into one of them and pulls out an egg. He stares at
               it, face igniting with rage.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON (CONT'D)
                         Shit...

               A noise is heard from the front door, Shoes aims the camera
               toward it. Elbows is standing in the doorway, staring,
               smoking, and mashing potatoes.

               CUT TO

               Julio lies dead on the floor. Elbows sits on a stool eating
               the plate of eggs. His elbows are covered in blood. Sunday
               stares at Julio's corpse in aghast silence. 

                                   SHOES
                         Fuck, man.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Well...

                                   SHOES
                         Dude, where's Scooter?

                                   SCOOTER
                         I'm in the tent!

                                   SHOES
                         Oh.

                                   SCOOTER
                         Did Elbows just kill a guy?

                                   SHOES
                         Yeah.

                                   SCOOTER
                         Again!?

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Uhh...

               From off screen a loaf of bread flies into frame and bounces
               off of Sunday's face to land on the floor. 

                                   SHOES
                         Breads here!

               Sunday looks directly into the camera.

                                   SUNDAY MULDOON
                         Did you turn the camera back on?

                                   SHOES
                         ....No.

               CUT TO BLACK

[

Tagged , , , ,

Rise of the Dickinator: Short Script

EXT. PARK - DAY

               A GERALD sits on a park bench as the sun pierces dimply
               through an overcast sky. THE DICKINATOR approaches him.

                                   GERALD
                         Can I help yo-

               Gerald is cut off mid-sentence by The Dickinator's shooting
               of his dick with a gun. Blood spills from Gerald's crotch. He
               falls off of the bench and screams in agony.

               OPENING CREDITS

               EXT. PARK - DAY

               Gerald is still lying in front of the park bench. He rolls
               around and groans, soaked in blood. Detectives BACON and POOP
               stand over him.

                                   BACON
                         The annihilation of this mans
                         entire crotchial region is-is
                         staggering in its magnitude. I
                         mean, look at this. There's
                         nothing. There's nothing left. It's
                         ground beef. It's...it's catfood. 

                                   POOP
                         It's kinda fucked up, huh?

                                   BACON
                         This poor SOB might as well slap on
                         a pair a tits and start calling the
                         entry wound a vagina, cause...his
                         dick is...it's a write off.

                                   POOP
                         Dicks don't grow back.

                                   BACON
                         Dicks do not grow back.

               Bacon and Poop nod in concurrence.

                                   GERALD
                         I can hear everything you're
                         saying. I'm laying right here. This
                         is me, laying three feet away from
                         you, bleeding to death with no
                         dick.

               Poop and Bacon remain unresponsive toward Gerald's pleas.

                                   BACON
                         Get word to HQ, we need the meat
                         wagon down here with a fresh body
                         bag, stat. And tell em' I can't
                         shake the feeling we're gonna go
                         through quite a few of those
                         today....the smell of dick-blood is
                         in the air, getting stronger by the
                         minute. Can ya feel it, Poop?
                         There's a storm a-brewin'.

                                   GERALD
                         What the fuck, guys?!

               EXT. STREETS - DAY

               MONTAGE - SLOW MOTION

               The Dickinator walks down a sidewalk, lighting his cigarette.
               He's wearing a brown leather jacket, aviator sunglasses and
               he has a mustache. 

               Two hooligans, REGINOLD and PATRICK, smoking a joint in an
               alley-way look over as The Dickinator walks toward them. 

               END MONTAGE

                                   THE DICKINATOR
                         You fellas look like you got two
                         too many dicks.

                                   REGINOLD
                         Uhh....

                                   PATRICK
                         What?

               The Dickinator pulls his gat and blasts both these fools
               dicks off. They keel over, bleeding and crying in pain.

               The Dickinator eyes them both in disgust. He tosses his
               cigarette onto the ground and walks away.

               EXT. OFFICE - DAY

               Detective Bacon stands around eating a sandwich in an office.
               Poop enters the office.

                                   BACON
                         Hey, Poop.

                                   POOP
                         Hey, Bacon. There was a break on
                         The Dickinator case.

               Bacon throws his sandwich across the room.

                                   BACON
                         A BREAK ON THE DICKINATOR CASE?!

                                   POOP
                         Yup. Apparently somebody witnessed
                         the dick-shooting this morning.
                         Central command wants us to go pick
                         him up and take him in for
                         questioning.

                                   BACON
                         Sounds like a job for Bacon and
                         Poop.

                                   POOP
                         Word.

               Bacon and Poop perform a perfectly synchronized secret
               friendship hand-shake and a high-five. 

                                   BACON
                         Let's go find this witness, before
                         someone else does. Someone with a
                         much harsher disposition toward not
                         shooting people's dicks off. 

                                   POOP
                         You're talking about that guy that
                         shot that dudes dick off earlier?

                                   BACON
                         The very same.

                                   POOP
                         You think he knows someone saw him?

                                   BACON
                         Listen to me, Poop, I've been on
                         the job a lotta years and never
                         have I seen something like this.
                         Oh, sure, you get your random
                         firearm inflicted de-dickifications
                         from time to time.
                         Husband cheats on a wife, she
                         snaps. Budda-bing, she shoots his
                         dick off. Hippy college kid drops
                         too many acids, takes off all his
                         clothes, looks down, holy shit a
                         snake! Budda-boom, and he shoots
                         off his dick. Eight year old boy,
                         finds his old man's .38; shoots his
                         dick off, shoots his dads dick off,
                         shoots his dogs dick off, I mean
                         sometimes things just get outta
                         hand. But those cases all made
                         sense in their own way. There's a
                         rhyme and a reason to em'. Our guy,
                         running and gunning through the
                         streets of our fair metropolis,
                         iron-sights fixed to the dick of
                         every man, woman and child in the
                         city. He's a mad dog. A dog mad
                         with a thirst. An unquenchable
                         thirst for blood. The blood of
                         dicks. 

                                   POOP
                         It's pretty fucked up.

               Bacon walks across the room and picks up the shattered
               remnants of what was once his ham sandwich.

                                   BACON
                         I'm gonna finish this, then we can
                         go.

               EXT. STREETS - DAY

               BOBOWL strolls down a side-walk. The Dickinator drives up and
               shoots his dick off and drives away.

                                   BOBOWL
                         Shit!

               INT. CAR - DAY

               Bacon and Poop cruise down the road. They see Bobowl lying on
               the side-walk.

               EXT. STREETS - DAY

               Bacon and Poop rush out of their car to the fallen man on the
               sidewalk.
               They stop short of stepping into an ever growing pool of
               crotch-blood. Bacon looks down at the crotchless man with a
               pained expression. 

                                   BACON
                         This mother-fucker! He's always one
                         dick ahead of me! I can't stop him,
                         he's too smart. Every time I think
                         I'm closing in, he shrivels away.

                                   BOBOWL
                         Can one of you guys please call me
                         an ambulance? Somebody shot my dick
                         off, and I'm losing a lot of blood.

                                   BACON
                         Another innocent's blood spilled on
                         the streets. My streets! Another
                         man's life ended before its time.

                                   BOBOWL
                         I actually think I'll be OK if you
                         get me to a hospital.

                                   BACON
                         All hopes. All dreams of living a
                         rich, happy life. A life abundant
                         with still having a dick. All those
                         dreams....now flowing in a crimson
                         stream, seeping into the asphalt,
                         and spilling into the
                         sewers....like a tear....in the
                         rain.

                                   BOBOWL
                         What the fuck are you talking
                         about?

                                   POOP
                         Bacon, get a grip. I've been your
                         partner for 18 years and we always
                         get our perp. It's just a matter of
                         time.

                                   BACON
                         You're right, Poop. I let my
                         emotions get the best of me. Let's
                         go find this dick.

               A voice sounds from Poop's radio, he reaches into his car and
               grabs it.

                                   POOP
                         What is it HQ? We've got another
                         body, here.

                                   BOBOWL
                         Ambulance?

                                   POOP
                         Holy shit, Bacon. Someone's seen
                         The Dickinator, we gotta roll!

               Poop and Bacon gaze at each others determined faces. They get
               into the car, clasp their hands together and peel out, never
               looking away from one and other.

               EXT. STREETS - DAY

               Bacon and Poop's ride pulls up and stops in an empty lot.
               Bacon and Poop exit the vehicle and begin looking around.

                                   POOP
                         This is where gunshots were
                         reported.

               Bacon spies a shady looking character making his way into an
               alley across the lot.

                                   BACON
                         Over there.

               Bacon motions toward where he saw the figure. They look at
               each other, unholster their weapons and begin walking.

               EXT. ALLEY - DAY

               Bacon and Poop make it to the mouth of the alley in time to
               see The Dickinator approaching a homeless man sleeping in a
               pile of garbage. The Dickinator aims his gun at the homeless
               man's dick.

                                   BACON
                         Stop!

               The Dickinator notices Poop and Bacon standing at the end of
               the alley. He looks right into Bacon's eyes.

                                   BACON (CONT'D)
                         Don't you shoot that man's-

               The Dickinator shoots the homeless man's dick off.

                                   BACON (CONT'D)
                         Ah, Fuck! He shot his dick off!

               Poop and Bacon hurdle down the alley-way at top speed. The
               Dickinator fires a few rounds, forcing them to duck for
               cover, then takes off. Poop and Bacon are quickly hot on his
               heels. 

               EXT. EARTH - DAY

               Poop and Bacon furiously pursue The Dickinator who fires
               rounds wildly over his shoulder. Bacon is struck in the leg.
               He falls. Poop stops and kneels down next to Bacon.

                                   BACON
                         No! Leave me! Go get that
                         motherfucker!

                                   POOP
                         I'll come back for you.

               Poop stands and hesitantly begins chasing after The
               Dickinator once more. Bacon retrieves his radio from his
               jacket and tries to radio for back-up.

                                   BACON
                         This is officer Bacon, I need back
                         up at-

               A gunshot is heard from the distance. Bacon looks up in
               horror.

                                   BACON (CONT'D)
                         Poop...

               Bacon throws his radio away and fights through the pain of
               his bullet wound to stand. He begins limping toward the sound
               of the gunshot.

               EXT. COURTYARD - DAY

               Bacon rounds a corner entering the courtyard. Building on all
               sides, criss-crossed with paths and walk-ways. Bacon's eyes
               fix to something, filling with horror. He sees Poop. On the
               ground. Shot in the dick. Poop writhes in pain. Bacon drops
               to he knees and screams to the heavens.

                                   BACON
                         FFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

               Bacon punches the ground.

                                   BACON (CONT'D)
                         You shot Poop's dick off!

                                   POOP
                         He shot my dick off, bro.

                                   BACON
                         Shit!

                                   POOP
                         You think you could, like, put it
                         back together?

                                   THE DICKINATOR
                         Detective.

               Bacon looks up and sees standing across the courtyard from
               him, The Dickinator.

                                   THE DICKINATOR (CONT'D)
                         I believe you've been looking for
                         me.

               Bacon stands up. He walks around Poop and squares off with
               The Dickinator.

                                   BACON
                         I've been waiting for this moment.
                         Your days of terrorizing dicks are
                         over!

                                   THE DICKINATOR
                         That may be, but not before I've
                         terrorized your dick.

                                   BACON
                         Hey, fuck you, guy!

                                   THE DICKINATOR
                         I'm about to make you wish your
                         dick hadn't been shot off.

               The Dickinator slides his jacket back, revealing his gun
               holstered at his side. Bacon removes his jacket to reveal his
               holstered under his shoulder. They mean-mug each other for an
               extended period of time, then draw. Then simultaneously shoot
               each others dicks off. 

               They both fall to the ground, clutching their groins. They
               hit the floor across from one and other and bleed to death.

Tagged , , ,

Dead-Beats: Episode II

Episode I

EXT. ALLEY - DAY

               Stewart and Louie sit on two milk crates, passing a joint
               back and forth, idly throwing trash at a zombie walking
               toward them at an excruciatingly slow pace. Both clearly
               stoned. 

                                   STEWART
                         All I'm saying is its hard to
                         mistake the feeling of shit in your
                         ass. Like, if you're not sure
                         whether you have shit in your ass
                         or not, you probably don't have
                         shit in your ass. I remember one
                         time I sharted in a movie
                         theater...everyone in the whole
                         multiplex could smell it on me, I
                         swear to God.

               The two continue throwing trash at the zombie.

                                   LOUIE
                         Look at this fucking thing...it
                         doesn't even notice we're throwing
                         trash at it. 

               Louie throws an empty can which strikes the zombie
               exceptionally hard on the forehead and bounces off.

                                   STEWART
                         So what were we doing out here
                         anyway? Besides throwing trash at
                         this zombie.

                                   LOUIE
                         We were looking for batteries...and
                         sausages.

                                   STEWART
                         That's right! How goes the quest?

                                   LOUIE
                         Pretty good for sausages, but
                         hardly any batteries. This is
                         fucking bull-shit dude. Can you
                         imagine if zombies never took over.
                         We could just go to the sausage and
                         battery stores like we used to.

               Louie and Stewart lazily scan the ground around them.

                                   STEWART
                         No batteries anywhere.

               Louie jumps into a nearby dumpster and starts digging.  

                                   STEWART (CONT'D)
                         Maybe you should try to climb
                         through one of these little
                         windows.

               Louie pokes his head out of the dumpster and Stewart gestures
               to a miniscule basement window.

                                   LOUIE
                         Why don't you do it?

                                   STEWART
                         I'm not small enough.

                                   LOUIE
                         Neither am I.

                                   STEWART
                         C'mon, dude, you'll fit.

                                   LOUIE
                         No, I don't want to mess up my
                         clothes.

                                   STEWART
                         Sorry, I didn't know you were the
                         fastidious type.

                                   LOUIE
                         You don't even know what fastidious
                         means.

                                   STEWART
                         That's bull-shit, dude! I know
                         words. Look that shit up in the
                         dictionary.

                                   LOUIE
                         I think we already used the F
                         section of our dictionary to roll
                         joints.

               From either side of Stewart and Louie, moans begin ringing
               out. The duo look around them and see several zombies
               advancing. 

                                   STEWART
                         Shit.

                                   LOUIE
                         Looks like we're gonna need to
                         fight our way out of this. You
                         ready?

               Stewart tosses the joint aside and grabs a framing hammer
               from his belt, while Louie retrieves a machete from a hip
               sheath and jumps out of the dumpster. 

                                   STEWART
                         Lets stomp these shit-fucks.

               EXT. ALLEY - DAY

               Stewart sit down on two boxes. All the zombies lay dead at
               their feet and they're both covered in blood. Stewart reaches
               into his pocket and pulls out a joint that is soaked in the
               blood of their felled zombie enemies. 

                                   STEWART
                         Fuck, dude, those zombies got their
                         blood all over our joint.

               Stewart and Louie stare at the joint for a moment, then look
               at each other, before simultaneously shrugging.

                                   LOUIE
                         Fuck it.

               Stewart nods and begins lighting up.

               EXT. STREETS - DAY

               Stewart shuffles through the streets in a daze. His eyes are
               glassy and devoid of comprehension. Every once and a while
               he stops and looks into the distance. Sometimes he notices a
               strange figure. He can't tell what it is, but it looks like a
               MUSHROOMBEAR.

               INT. STEWART AND LOUIE'S ROOM - DAY

               Stewart stands in the middle of his room and stares at the
               floor. Jenna enters.

                                   JENNA
                         Oh, hey, I thought I heard someone
                         come in. Where's Louie?

               It takes several moments before Stewart responds.

                                   STEWART
                         He's...out there...

               Jenna notices Stewart's drugged out manner and grows
               concerned.

                                   JENNA
                         Is something wrong? Why do you
                         smell like shit?

                                   STEWART
                         I think I sharted...

                                   JENNA
                         Did something happen out there?
                         Besides you shitting your pants?
                         Where's Louie and why are you back
                         so soon?

                                   STEWART
                         Something happened.

                                   JENNA
                         What? Is Louie OK? Are you-

               Jenna's concern morphs into frustration as she struggles for
               direct answers.

                                   JENNA (CONT'D)
                         Would you just tell me what's going
                         on?!

               Stewart slowly raises his gaze from the floor to meet
               Jenna's. 

                                   STEWART
                         We smoked...laced weed. Louie lost
                         it, he ran off. I remembered how to
                         get back. I walked for days, but I
                         finally made it.

                                   JENNA
                         Laced weed? Laced with what?

                                   STEWART
                         Zombie blood. Didn't there used to
                         be a rug here?

               Stewart points down at the floor.

                                   JENNA
                         So you're saying Louie is running
                         around the city high on
                         zombie blood?

                                   STEWART
                         Yeah, but what happened to the rug
                         that used to be here?

                                   JENNA
                         Jesus Christ, he can't be out there
                         like...like you. You're high as
                         shit, he'll get killed.

               In the time it takes Jenna to cease speaking Stewart has lain
               himself on the floor, face down, with arms and legs splayed
               out.

                                   STEWART
                         Now... I'm the rug.

                                   JENNA
                         For fuck's sake.

               Justin walks into the room.

                                   JUSTIN
                         Hey guys, what's crappening?

                                   JENNA
                         Louie's in trouble, Stewart is
                         tripping balls.

                                   STEWART
                         I'm a rug, yall.

               Justin gives Stewart an analytical gaze.

                                   JUSTIN
                         Seems normal to me.

                                   JENNA
                         We have to help Louie before he
                         gets himself eaten.

                                   STEWART
                         I'm a rug.

                                   JUSTIN
                         How?

                                   STEWART
                         I'm a rug.

                                   JENNA
                         I need to talk to that douche,
                         Ronnie.

                                   STEWART
                         I'm a rug.

                                   JENNA
                         Just don't let him do anything
                         crazy...er.

               Justin shrugs. Jenna runs out of the room.

                                   JUSTIN
                         Don't bore me with the details or
                         anything.

                                   STEWART
                         I'm a rug! I'm a ...rug....rug. I'm
                         a rug!

                                   JUSTIN
                         You are not! YOU ARE NOT A RUG!

               EXT. STREETS - DAY

               Louie frantically scrambles across the city. His head darts
               around as though on a swivel. He twitches and sniffs at the
               air, pupils like saucers. He begins rooting through dumpsters
               and piles of trash like a dog digging up a garden. He
               collects items. A roll of duct tape, a chair back, a length
               of re-bar, a box of old forks, an aluminum salad bowl.

                                   LOUIE (V.O.)
                         I amass my tools. My armor. My
                         shield. My hammer. Like a berserker
                         of the Nords, I will descend into
                         battle indifferent to any pain
                         which may await me. My only
                         thought...the domination of the
                         souls of my enemies.

               Louie strides stone-faced through the alley. He is now bare
               chested, except for the chair back which he has duct-taped to
               his torso. He also wears the salad bowl like a helmet.

               In one arm he holds the trash-can lid like a shield and in
               the other he grasps the re-bar which he has taped several of
               the forks to, creating a make-shift mace. 

               He spots a zombie and his face splits with fury. He screams
               and rushes at it, his mace reared back and poised to
               strike. 

               INT. HALLWAY - DAY

               Jenna stands outside of Ronnie's door holding a fifth of rum.
               She knocks. Ronnie answers the door wearing boxers, a wife
               beater and an ankle knife. He's sipping on a bottle of mouth
               wash.

                                   JENNA
                         I need your help.

               Ronnie eyes Jenna intensely and takes a sip of mouth-wash.

                                   JENNA (CONT'D)
                         Here's the score. Louie is running
                         around the city hopped up on zombie
                         blood, hallucinating, and getting
                         into God knows what kind of trouble
                         and I can't go out there and get
                         him by myself. 

                                   RONNIE
                         So you want me to be your tour
                         guide through the city of the
                         damned, huh?

                                   JENNA
                         Well you don't have to make it
                         sound so melodramatic.

                                   RONNIE
                         What's in it for me?

               Jenna holds up the bottle of rum.

                                   RONNIE (CONT'D)
                         Not gonna cut it. I have my own
                         demands. I notice you have breasts.
                         I don't. Let's talk about that.

                                   JENNA
                         My breasts are not on the table.

                                   RONNIE
                         Foot stuff?

                                   JENNA
                         God no.

                                   RONNIE
                         Is the booze still an option?

               Jenna tosses the bottle in the air. Ronnie quickly snatches
               it, twists it open and takes whiff. 

                                   RONNIE (CONT'D)
                         This'll add a nice flavor to the
                         mouth-wash.

                                   JENNA
                         Let's get this show on the road,
                         alright?

                                   RONNIE
                         Just give me a minute, I have to
                         put a shirt on.

               EXT. ABANDONED LOT - DAY

               A zombie drops to the ground. Lifeless and bleeding from a
               massive head wound. Louie stands over it, now with blood
               painted across his face in commando stripes. He raises his
               arms, props one leg on the corpse of his fresh kill and
               screams in triumph.

                                   LOUIE (V.O.)
                         I'm the cleaner. Scrubbing up the
                         putrid messes death keeps leaving
                         behind. These walking corpses may
                         have escaped the steely hands of
                         the reaper...but they won't escape
                         mine.

               He drops to his knees over the zombie and bites out a chunk
               of its neck, drawing forth a dark red stream of blood. Louie
               frenziedly laps it up like a thirsty dog at a chocolate-milk
               fountain.

                                   LOUIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
                         The stained and stagnating blood of
                         the abomination fuels my power. My
                         rage. Their blood fuses with my
                         being. I am the spirit of necrosis,
                         personified in a form unknowable to
                         human consciousness. My
                         power...ultimate.

               INT. STEWART AND LOUIE'S ROOM - DAY

               Stewart retains his approximation of a rug. Justin paces back
               and forth before walking right up to Stewart's prone body.

                                   JUSTIN
                         You're not gonna do anything weird
                         if I leave will you?

                                   STEWART
                         Rugs can't talk. Rugs have...no
                         concept of language. Your words
                         mean nothing to me.

                                   JUSTIN
                         Good. Then I'm outta here.

               Justin leaves. 

               A few moments go by. From Stewart's new position as a rug he
               notices something peculiar standing in his door-way. It's a
               bear. Standing on two legs. But its torso is the head of an
               enormous orange and green dotted mushroom. It's bear
               appendages and big friendly bear head awkwardly sprout from
               its mushroom trunk. The Mushroombear waves at Stewart. The
               unchanging plastic gaze of the Mushroombear bores into him.

                                   STEWART
                         Mushroom....bear....?

               The mushroom bear waves for Stewart to follow it as it walks
               out of sight, down the hallway.

                                   STEWART (CONT'D)
                         Don't leave me!

               Stewart clambers up and gives chase. Upon emerging into the
               hallway Stewart sees Mushroombear near the end of the
               corridor about to turn a corner.

                                   STEWART (CONT'D)
                         Wait for me!

               Mushroom bear briefly turns to look at Stewart before
               rounding the corner.

               Stewart chases after it. He catches up with it as it begins
               ascending a stairwell.

                                   STEWART (CONT'D)
                         Where are you going?

               Mushroombear looks at Stewart and slowly waves for him to
               follow him, then jogs up the steps. Stewart hurriedly paces
               at its heels, but once again loses vision of his quarry. 

               When Stewart gets to the top of the stair-well he notices a
               door leading to the roof is ajar, he walks through it.

               EXT. STREETS - DAY

               Jenna and Ronnie wander down side-walks and through back
               streets, hunting for clues as to Louie's location and
               activities. 

                                   JENNA
                         I can't believe this. Not a sign of
                         him except for a broken machete
                         blocks away.

                                   RONNIE
                         Don't get ahead of yourself. I
                         smell blood.

               Ronnie abruptly darts off in a different direction. Jenna
               follows after him. Ronnie leads them out to an empty lot
               littered with mangled zombie corpses. 

                                   JENNA
                         Oh my God...what did this?

                                   RONNIE
                         Not what...who.

                                   JENNA
                         You mean Louie? No way! He couldn't
                         kill this many zombies, he doesn't
                         even have a weapon. 

                                   RONNIE
                         I never would have thought that
                         pansy had it in him either, but
                         look at this.

               Ronnie walks over to one of the zombie corpses and points out
               a fresh bite-wound on its neck.

                                   RONNIE (CONT'D)
                         Zombies don't attack each other, so
                         who would bite a zombie? And why?

                                   JENNA
                         Why would Louie-?

                                   RONNIE
                         You said they were tripping out on
                         zombie blood like it's a drug?
                         Maybe Louie found a way to get
                         more. Straight from the source. Who
                         knows what kind of crazy shit it's
                         done to him by now. Someone
                         consuming this much zombie blood is
                         unprecedented. He's probably
                         descended completely into madness.
                         Now nothing but a feral killing
                         machine, devoid of remorse. Of
                         reason. Unable to feel fear, or
                         pain. A perfect engine of
                         destruction, geared toward one
                         purpose and one purpose only. The
                         feeding of its mad thirst for the
                         blood of the dead.

                                   JENNA
                         Holy fucking shit.

               Ronnie chuckles to himself.

                                   JENNA (CONT'D)
                         What's so funny?

               Ronnie stares at Jenna, a grin breaking across his face.

                                   RONNIE
                         Do you know how long I've been
                         waiting for something like this?
                         Finally a worthy adversary to cross
                         swords with. A challenge. I thought
                         I'd wiped out all the real threats
                         long ago.

               Ronnie stares toward the horizon and continues his monologue
               to himself.

                                   RONNIE (CONT'D)
                         You just wait, Louie. I'm comin'.
                         And when I find you, then we'll
                         find out who's really the-

               Louie charges up behind Ronnie and puts his shin all up in
               Ronnie's ball-bag. Ronnie pukes a little and falls to his
               knees whimpering. 

                                   JENNA
                         Louie! Thank God you're alright!

               Louie stomps Ronnie to the ground and pins him there with his
               leg. Louie is still adorned in his sacred armor and he holds
               his mace menacingly aloft. His face is rabid and caked with
               dried blood.

                                   RONNIE
                         The zombie blood has given him the
                         strength of 50 men! Jenna! Shoot
                         him! NOW!

                                   JENNA
                         Shoot him with what?

                                   RONNIE
                         What happened to the gun?!

                                   JENNA
                         At no point today have I had a gun.

                                   RONNIE
                         Fuck!

                                   LOUIE
                         Who are you?! Why are you here?!

                                   JENNA
                         Louie, it's me, Jenna. We're
                         friends.

                                   LOUIE
                         I'm no longer the one you called
                         'Louie'. I have ascended. I am the
                         avatar of the Necro-lords! I embody
                         their will and am imbued with their
                         power! 

                                   RONNIE
                         What the fuck?

               Louie stomps Ronnie again.

                                   LOUIE
                         Dare not enrage me, lest I strike
                         you down with the mace of
                         desecration.

                                   RONNIE
                         Are those forks?

                                   JENNA
                         Louie, stop! Listen, you have to
                         come back home with me.
                         You're going to get yourself killed
                         out here. 

               Louie scoffs.

                                   LOUIE
                         Killed? 

               Louie laughs like a maniac.

                                   LOUIE (CONT'D)
                         The realm of the Necro-lords is
                         deathless! DEATHLESS!

               Louie unleashes a mad scream before bringing his mace down
               onto Ronnie's back, embedding several fork prongs into his
               skin, before ripping them back out and running away with
               freakish speed. Still screaming. Ronnie screams as well, but
               in pain.

                                   RONNIE
                         Ahh! Fuck me!

                                   JENNA
                         Wow...he's really out of it.

                                   RONNIE
                         I'm going home.

               EXT. ROOFTOP - DAY

               Stewart emerges onto the roof, the sun baring down from
               overhead. Pebbles crunch under his feet as he walks. He sees
               Mushroombear standing by the ledge. Stewart walks up to it.

                                   STEWART
                         Why are we here?

               Stewart looks down and notices the precarious 60 foot drop
               for the first time. He gulps.

               The Mushroombear puts his hand on Stewart's shoulder. It
               stares at Stewart with big round eyes fixed perpetually in an
               expression of friendly understanding and warmth. The
               mushroom bear guides Stewart's gaze down to the street before
               extending his arm out, gesturing over the ledge.

                                   STEWART (CONT'D)
                         I don't understand?

               Mushroom bear points at Stewart, then points over the ledge.

                                   STEWART (CONT'D)
                         What are you trying to say?

               Mushroombear points at Stewart then raises one of his hands
               into the air and drops it quickly into his other hand with a
               clap, Mushroombear then lies face up on the ground, awkwardly
               positioning himself like a corpse. 

                                   STEWART (CONT'D)
                         You want me to jump?

               Mushroombear throws his hands out in celebration and nods his
               head, still staring up at Stewart from the ground.

                                   STEWART (CONT'D)
                         But I...I don't wanna...

               Mushroombear stands and squares up with Stewart. He pokes
               Stewart hard on his forehead.

                                   STEWART (CONT'D)
                         Hey! Quit it!

               Mushroombear lowers his hand and begins slowly shaking his
               head 'no' back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

               Stewart stares at Mushroombear for a beat.

                                   STEWART (CONT'D)
                         This is fucked up. I'm leaving.

               Stewart turns to walk back to the stairs, but as soon as he
               has turned, Mushroombear is standing in front of him once more.
               Mushroombear holds a dead trout in two outstretched hand-paws.
               Stewart gives the trout a quick glance.

                                   STEWART (CONT'D)
                         What!? Fuck you!

               Stewart violently smacks the trout from Mushroombear's hands,
               pushes Mushroombear out of the way and storms off down the
               stairs.

               EXT. ROOFTOP - DAY.

               Louie stands atop a random building somewhere in the middle
               of the city. He surveys his realm like a king on a hill. He
               raises his mace and shield to the sky and screams to the
               heavens.

               INT. STEWART AND LOUIE'S ROOM - DAY.

               Stewart sits on a sofa in his room, rocking back and forth,
               stricken expression on his face. He puffs a cigarette. 

                                   MUSHROOMBEAR
                         Hey.

               From across the room Mushroom bear stands peering at Stewart.
               He whispers.

                                   MUSHROOMBEAR (CONT'D)
                         I'm gonna watch you...next time you
                         pee.

               Stewart's face contorts in horror, as if he'd just seen a
               spider crawl out an elephants dick-hole. 

                                   MUSHROOMBEAR (CONT'D)
                         I. Will. Watch!

                                   STEWART
                         NNNOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

               Stewart falls to the floor and begins crying and
               hyperventilating. Shouting over and over again. His shit
               totally abandoning him. Jenna runs in and quickly crosses the
               room, kneeling down next to Stewart.

                                   JENNA
                         What's wrong?!

               Stewart sees Jenna and collects himself a bit. He sits up and
               looks her dead in the eyes.

                                   STEWART
                         I'm seeing things. I can't tell
                         what's real or...illusory.

                                   JENNA
                         Well why don't you tell me what you
                         see and I'll tell you if its real
                         or not.

               Stewart glances at the Mushroombear.

                                   STEWART
                         I'm seeing something that's part
                         bear...and part Mushroom. 

                                   JENNA
                         OK, well that's definitely not
                         real.

               Stewart looks at the Mushroombear, which still leers at him.

                                   STEWART
                         But he's right over there!

               Stewart begins to panic again. Jenna grabs his head and
               forces him to look at her face.

                                   JENNA
                         Stewart, you need to listen to me.

               Stewart feebly nods.

                                   JENNA (CONT'D)
                         There is no Mushroombear. You're
                         just fucking crazy right now. Trust
                         me. 

               Stewart briefly contemplates her words, before nodding.

                                   STEWART
                         OK. There is no Mushroombear. There
                         is no Mushroombear.

                                   JENNA
                         That's right. You're imagining it.
                         You still smell like shit, though.

                                   STEWART
                         Sorry.

                                   JENNA
                         That's alright. You want a fruit
                         roll-up?

               Stewart grins.

                                   STEWART
                         You have those?

               Jenna stands.

                                   JENNA
                         I'll be right back. And remember,
                         if you see the Mushroombear, just
                         tell it to fuck itself.

               Jenna leaves the room for fruit roll-ups. Stewart re-seats
               himself on the couch, now much calmer.

               He looks up to once more face the terrifying visage of the
               Mushroombear, again holding its dead trout. Stewart mean-mugs
               the Mushroombear for a moment. He slowly raises his arm and
               gives the Mushroombear the finger. 

               EXT. ALLEY - DAY

               Dawn breaks as Louie lies unconscious in a pile of garbage.
               He's covered in blood, and still armored and holding his
               weapons. He stirs, then wakes. He sits up and surveys his
               situation. He sees the remains of half a dozen slain zombies
               littering the ground around him and realizes what he's
               wearing. His expression grows more confused by the second.

                                   LOUIE
                         What the shit?

               He stands up on unsteady legs, dropping his mace like he'd
               just discovered he was gripping a dead cat. He tears away his
               make-shift armor and tries to flee the scene of carnage but
               only makes it a few feet before he falls to his knees and
               begins violently heaving up zombie blood by the liter. He
               falls into the pool of zombie blood-vomit and groans.

                                   LOUIE (CONT'D)
                         Fuck...

               INT. STEWART AND LOUIE'S ROOM - DAY

               Stewart is peacefully passed out on the couch. Fruit roll-up
               wrappers and a cup of water lay on the floor in front of him.
               Jenna lies asleep in an old mummy-bag on the floor. Louie
               wanders from the hallway through the door-frame and a few
               feet into the room. He's still covered in blood, bare
               chested, his hair is a mess, his eyes are blood-shot. He
               appears as a hangover incarnate. He sees Jenna and Stewart
               sleeping. Jenna wakes. She groggily sits up and sees Louie
               standing in front of her.

                                   JENNA
                         Louie, you're alive!

                                   LOUIE
                         Whatever...

               Louie stumbles a couple more feet into the room before
               clumsily laying down and passing out. Jenna watches as Louie
               goes instantly unconscious. She shrugs and lays back down.

               INT. STEWART AND LOUIE'S ROOM - DAY

               Stewart and Louie sit side-by-side on their couch in awkward
               silence. They're Smoking a potato pipe. 

                                   STEWART
                         So...that was fucked up.

               Louie nods.
Tagged , , , , , , ,

Dead-Beats: Episode I

Premise: Stewart and Louie are two stoners who’ve somehow managed to live well into the zombie apocalypse. They now spend their days exactly as they did before, kicking back and getting stoned. Together with their neighbors they live in a world of the dead, making it by, day by day.

INT. BUILDING – DAY

Stewart stands at a 3rd story window of an old, abandoned,
school building staring out of it at a zombie standing on the
street below wearing a BLUE HAT. The room he stands in is
largely barren, filthy and dilapidated with a few random
pieces of broken furniture sitting around. Through the door
way behind him emerges Louie. Stewart continues to stare out of
the window.

Louie
Hey, man.

Stewart
What up?

Louie
What’re you looking at?

Stewart
That fucking zombie is still out
there.

Louie
Blue hat?

Stewart
He’s just loitering out there.

Louie
It’s weird.

Louie walks over and joins Stewart at the window.

Stewart
They’re supposed to be the walking
dead, not the…milling around dead…

Louie looks over and notices a dirty and stained couch on the
other side of the room.

Louie
New sofa?

Stewart
Yeah, I found it down on the first
floor.

Louie
Is that blood?

Stewart
Yeah, there was a dead body on it,
but it’s sterilized.

CUT TO

Stewart stands over the sofa with a lighter and a bottle of air
air-freshener, shooting a jet of flame over it.

CUT BACK TO

Louie plops down on the sofa.

Louie
I like it.

JERRY walks into the room accompanied by DALE. Dale is
covered in blood, with a dazed look on his face and thousand
yard stare, with a piece of glass sticking out of his arm.

JERRY
Hey, guys!

Louie/Stewart
Hi, Jerry.

JERRY
New sofa?

Stewart
Yep.

JERRY
Bitchin.

Louie
Who’s this dude?

JERRY
Pretty sure his name is Dale. I
couldn’t get much out of him.
Something about his wife being
eaten.

Stewart
Hey, Dale.

Louie
It’s nice to meet you.

Dale stands in place, staring around the room awkwardly.

DALE
Yo.

Louie
So, dead wife?

Stewart
Tough break, man.

DALE
Yeah.

Louie
You know you have some glass in
your arm?

DALE
It’s cool, my skin’ll grow over it.

Stewart
I don’t know about that, but…

DALE
Hey, do you guys have any guns?

Louie
Yeah, hold on.

Louie and Stewart stand up and walk to the other side of the
room, Louie retrieves a gun and a pack of cigarettes from a
desk drawer, hands the gun to Dale and pulls out cigarettes
for himself and Stewart.

DALE
Thanks.

Dale walks back to the sofa and sits down, cradling the gun.
Jerry joins Stewart and Louie at the desk as they light their
smokes.

Stewart
He seems weird.

JERRY
You know there were hardly any
zombies running around, maybe we
should go looting?

Louie
We already looted everything,
though.

Stewart
Yeah, and we’re down to our last
eight cartons of cigarettes. I
don’t even want to think about how
much weed we have left.

Behind Stewart, Louie and Jerry, Dale can be seen dropping to his
knees, crossing himself and shooting himself in the head,
spattering blood all over the sofa. The trio turn around
after hearing the shot.

Louie
Ah, shit!

JERRY
Why do they keep doing that?

The three walk over to Dale’s dead body.

Stewart
My sofa!

A few beats go by with Jerry, Stewart and Louie staring at Stewart’s
dead body.

JERRY
You guys wanna smoke?

INT. JERRY’S ROOM – DAY

Jerry, Stewart and Louie sit on three chairs passing a joint.

Louie
We have nine…we have nine…we
have ni-nine…we have….what do
we have nine of?

Stewart
To be perfectly honest, I totally
see where that dude was coming
from. I mean, I might kill myself
when we run out of weed.

Jerry jumps up in alarm.

JERRY
Holy shit! Did you guys hear that?!

Louie
….What?

JERRY
Are you guys sure there aren’t
anymore zombies in this building?

Stewart
No. Not really.

JERRY
I think I just heard something.

Louie
Something like?

Louie (CONT’D)
Like a zombie.

Stewart
Shit. You know what that means.

Louie
Zombie hunt!

Stewart
Alright everybody, grab your
scarves and machetes and lets do
this.

INT. HALLWAY – DAY

Jerry, Stewart and Louie stand with scarves wrapped around their
necks, all holding machetes.

Stewart
Ok, you, me and Jerry will go this
way.

Stewart points down the hall.

Louie
Then?

Stewart
I think that’s everything.

JERRY
Alright, everyone watch each others
backs. But also try to watch your
own backs at the same time. Just in
case.

Louie
I just don’t think I can do that,
Jerry.

Stewart
That doesn’t even seem possible.

JERRY
Just keep one eye on your back, and
one on everyone elses back.

Stewart
Jerry…you’re high.

Jerry laughs, and nods in agreement.

Louie
We must look so gay in these
scarves.

INT. BUILDING – DAY

Jerry, Louie and Stewart walk through the building searching for
the zombie for a couple of minutes. Stewart and Louie suddenly
become aware that Jerry is no longer a member of their
hunting party.

Louie
Dude! Where’d Jerry go?

Stewart
Holy shit, he’s gone.

Louie
How long has he been gone for?

Stewart
Could have been days.

Louie
Maybe he went in there?

Louie gestures to a doorway leading to a dark corridor.

Stewart
Yeah, maybe.

Louie
Check.

Stewart.
Obviously I’m not going to do that.

Louie
Why?

Stewart
It’s dark in there!

Louie
So?

Stewart
So…you go.

Louie
Fine.

Stewart
It is fine.

Louie
You think I won’t?

Stewart
I never said that.

Louie
I will.

Stewart
I bet.

Louie
But after I go in, you have to.

Stewart
Deal.

Louie looks at the dark corridor and takes a deep breath
before slowly and warily inching himself toward it. After
coming to within a few feet from the doorway he abruptly
turns around and faces Stewart.

Louie
Nah, I don’t want to do that.

From the darkness behind Louie Jerry appears.

JERRY
Hey guys!

Louie screams girlishly and whirls around, slashing blindly
with his machete, cutting Jerry’s head off. Jerry blood
splashes Louie, and the limp, headless corpse of Jerry falls
to the floor with a thump along with his detached head.
Louie stares at the corpse wide-eyed and slack-jawed for
several moments before Stewart walks over to him.

Stewart
Dude…

Louie and Stewart stare at each other.

INT. HALLWAY – DAY

Louie and Stewart stand side by side in front of a closed
door. Louie stares at the ground, glassy eyed, guilt-ridden
and shell-shocked. Stewart knocks several times before the
door is opened. Inside the room stands JENNA.

JENNA
Hey guys, what’s up?

STEWART
Hey, I’m afraid we’ve got some bad
news.

JENNA
Bad news?

STEWART
Yeah, you remember Jerry?

JENNA
No.

Stewart looks at Louie

STEWART
This might be easier than we
thought.

JENNA
What?

STEWART
Nothing. Anyway, uh, Louie you want
to tell her what happened to Jerry?

Louie is startled out of his daze.

LOUIE
He, uhh…he died.

JENNA
That blows. How?

LOUIE
How?! Goddamnit, why can’t you just
let sleeping dogs lie?! Nothing’s
gonna bring Jerry back! His fucking
head is off!

JENNA
What?

STEWART
Please forgive Louie, he’s just a
little distressed. He’s the one who
found the body.

Jenna looks at Louie apologetically.

JENNA
I’m sorry, Louie, that must have
been awful.

LOUIE
There was so much blood…

STEWART
But to answer your question, he had
his head cut off.

JENNA
Head cut off? By who?

STEWART
A zombie must have done it.

JENNA
They’re cutting peoples heads off
now?

STEWART
They must’ve learned to use
machetes…

JENNA
You’re telling me we have to worry
about machete zombies now? On top
of the regular zombies and the acid
zombies, and the rollers zombies,
and the tree zombies and the
falling zombies?

STEWART
God, tree zombies are the worst.

JENNA
How do they even get up there?

STEWART
It’s a conundrum. Wrapped in a
riddle. Shat from the ass-hole of
an enigma…Yeah.
Anyway ceremonies going to be about
40 minutes give or take. We still
need to roll him up. Down another
rug. By the way, might you have
some kind of liquid resistent
receptacle, roughly large enough to
store a severed human head? We only
need it for a little bit.

JENNA
I’ll go check.

EXT. HALLWAY – DAY

Stewart and Louie stand outside of a different door. Knocking
occurs. Much the same way they knocked on the previous door.
This time it’s RONNIE, spattered with blood with a hatchet in
hand, who answers the door, glaring at the duo with a manic
intensity.

RONNIE
Listen you motherfuckers. I don’t
know which one of you is doing it
and I don’t care, because whoever
it is – fucking listen up, douche
bags, because I went to a lot of
trouble to stock-pile those plastic
eating utensils when the shit went
down. I was the one with the
foresight to realize what a
commodity plastic eating utensils
would be! I’m the one who went
through the effort, I’m the one who
got stabbed and spit on! I’m the
one with the blood on my hands! I
did it! Not you, or you or anyone
else in this building, and I want
it made perfectly clear that when I
catch whoever is stealing my
plastic eating utensils…stealing
my plastic eating utensils, I will
cut their dick off and FUCK THEM
WITH IT!

Ronnie slams the door in Stewart and Louie’s faces.

STEWART
I can’t quite put my finger on it,
but there’s something about that
guy that puts me off.

INT. HALLWAY – DAY

Stewart and Louie stand outside of a different door, this one
adorned with words like “Go away” and “Justin’s Room” in
crayon and sharpie, as well as childish drawings of
defecating and fornicating and concurrently defecating and
fornicating stick people. Stewart knocks. Louie sniffs at the
air and grimaces.

LOUIE
I hate coming here, I can already
smell the masturbation.

STEWART
Smells more like piss to me.

JUSTIN flings open the door and stands awkward postured,
staring at Stewart and Louie with casual disdain.

JUSTIN
What up?

LOUIE
Smells like piss.

JUSTIN
My bucket had a hole in it.

STEWART
Got a keep your eye out for that.

JUSTIN
I knew the hole was there.

Justin shrugs.

STEWART
Right. Well, anyway, do you
remember Jerry?

JUSTIN
The cunt?

STEWART
Uhh…

LOUIE
Don’t you talk about Jerry like
that!

JUSTIN
Cool it, bro. The guy was a dead
beat, he still owes me from q-tip
poker.

STEWART
I’m sorry to hear you two weren’t
on good terms, but it might please
you to be informed that he’s been
decapitated

JUSTIN
Good.

STEWART
Service is gonna be in about a half
an hour.

JUSTIN
Can’t make it, I’m about to start
an All in the Family marathon.

STEWART
TV stopped working weeks ago.

JUSTIN
It’s all up here.

Justin points at his head.

JUSTIN (CONT’D)
From now on you guys try to
remember to bring me your band-aids
when you’re done with them,
alright?

STEWART
We’ll try to keep that in mind.
Have a nice afternoon.

JUSTIN
And also, if you see Jenna, tell
her I did eat her cat, but it was
dead when I found it.

Stewart and Louie stare in aghast silence for a moment.
Justin stares back.

JUSTIN (CONT’D)
It was dead when I found it! So she
can feel free to stop hurling
allegations willy-nilly like some
kind of medieval werewolf hunter.

LOUIE
You’re a fucked up weirdo, Justin.

STEWART
We’ll try to remember…

INT. HALLWAY – DAY

Stewart and Louie stand outside of a room with no door.

STEWART
Hey, Ben? You home?

BEN walks over to the threshold and stands in front of the
duo.

BEN
Hey, fellas.

STEWART
I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.

Stewart nudges Louie and gestures toward Ben.

LOUIE
Jerry’s dead, dude.

BEN
Oh shit, not Jerry!

Louie lights up a cigarette and shakes his head.

STEWART
Yeah, everyone’s upset. Really,
though, if such a gruesome tragedy
could befall one so beloved and
ubiquitously adored as…as fuckin’
Jerry, you know I what I mean?
Someone with so much to live for,
with so much to offer those around
him… It’s a tragedy the scale of
which I find hard to fathom, to be
quite frank.

Stewart looks at Louie and briefly grins at his friend’s
scowling face.

LOUIE
Yeah, it’s shitty.

BEN
I hear ya.

STEWART
Service is in a half hour.

BEN
Same place as last time?

STEWART
Yep.

EXT. ALLEY – DAY

Jenna and Ben stand by as Louie and Stewart strain to hoist a
rolled up human corpse rug taqito into a dumpster in an alley
behind their building. The duo finally succeed in shoving the
remains of a once pristine rug as well as those of their dead
acquaintance into the dumpster. Stewart and Louie stand side
by side and address the crowd.

STEWART
And so begins the memorial service
for Jerry…Jerry. Jerry was a
beloved neighbor, sort of. Kind of
a roommate. I guess. He was a good
smoking pal. He spoke once of
owning a hamster when he was a
child. Were that hamster alive and
here today I’m sure it would
express its remorse in whatever
manner is generally accepted in
hamster society. Jerry and I
weren’t quite close enough to be
friends, but I like to think we
would have become friends had his
life not been cut so tragically and
unfairly short. I feel Jerry would
have had a lot to offer us, were it
not for one disastrously stray
machete that ended those hopes and
possibilities with absolute
finality.

Stewart glares at Louie.

STEWART (CONT’D)
So, yeah. I’m done over here.
Anyone else?

Louie just stares at the ground.

JENNA
I wish I’d gotten to meet him. When
his head was still on. And he
wasn’t dead.

STEWART
Yeah, it would be pointless even to
introduce you two at this
juncture…

BEN
He seemed like a good guy.

STEWART
He certainly did.

Stewart nudges Louie lightly.

STEWART (CONT’D)
Nothing to say?

Louie just bows his head and shakes ‘No’.

STEWART (CONT’D)
Well, let’s go smoke.

Louie nods, but glances back at the dumpster and gazes at it
for a moment. He turns as the group begins to walk off and
follows after them. After they’ve walked some feet from the
dumpster Louie abruptly breaks ranks and runs back. He opens
the lid and peers inside.

LOUIE (WHISPER)
Sorry I cut your head off, bro.

He places the lid closed and runs to catch up with the group,
but stops and turns back once more, now hurrying over to a
the bowling ball bag on the floor. He picks it up, takes a
deep breath, closes his eyes, unzips, opens the dumpster lid
and upturns the bag. The contents fall with a thud.

LOUIE (CONT’D)
My bad.

Louie again races back to join the group. Upon arriving at
them he approaches Jenna and hands her the bag.

LOUIE (CONT’D)
Here’s your bag back.

JENNA
Thanks.

INT. STEWART AND LOUIE’S ROOM – DAY

Stewart and Louie sit on their new sofa passing a carved
potato pipe. Stewart is amidst an enthralling story.

STEWART
So I was just…just shitting all
over everything. All over my
slacks, the floor, the walls and I
was heaving and coughing and
choking and there were globules of
phlem cascading through the air.
And the smell of my shit finally
reached my nose and the smell was
so overpowering…it was like if
someone filled a sack with dead
cats and fish cum and left it in
the sun, and every other day some
diseased animal would come out and
piss in the bag, and it ate nothing
but goats milk and coffee mixed up
with powdered multi-vitamin. And it
would just piss like a liter of
this syrupy, pussy, rancid – but
there was like an omnidirectional
explosion of vomit, and the force
of the vomits expulsion was so
great that it propelled from my
rectum one last eruption of
diarrhea…and then that was
it….I laid there for God knows
how many hours, weeping, in a pool
of a cornucopia of the worst bodily
fluids….they said they’d never
let me ride splash mountain
again…

Louie stares at Stewart for a moment, eyebrows raised, face
blank.

LOUIE
How does any of that tie in with me
cutting someone’s head off by
mistake?

Stewart takes a massive hit and holds it for several seconds,
before exhaling. He shakes his head.

STEWART
I’ve forgotten.

THE END

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The Joint (Short Screen-play)

INT. RANDALL’S ROOM – DAY

RANDALL is sitting on his couch reading his lap-top. A knock
comes from the front door.

RANDALL
Come in.

LOUIE enters and seats himself next to Randall.

LOUIE
What are up to?

RANDALL
Watching porn.

LOUIE
Were you about to jerk off, cause I
can come back in a couple minutes.

RANDALL
No, this isn’t jerking off porn.

LOUIE
Alright, well put your porn away
and take a look at this.

Louie retrieves a joint from his breast pocket. It is
immaculate. Packed so full of weed it looks pregnant, but
everywhere, and not just in its uterus.

RANDALL
Holy scrotes!

LOUIE
Yeah. Its pretty badass.

RANDALL
If that joint were a woman, I would
have an erection.

LOUIE
You do have an erection.

RANDALL
Touche, my friend.

LOUIE
So are we gonna burn this fucker,
or what?

RANDALL
I say we get through about half.
Maximum.

LOUIE
Think again, guy. We’re taking this
one all the way. Are you with me?

RANDALL
My God, man? Do you have any idea
what you’re asking?

LOUIE
I’m asking you to get really, very,
dangerously high with me right now.

RANDALL
Well when you put it that way, I’m
down.

LOUIE
Never give up. Never surrender.

Louie strikes a bic lighter.

RANDALL
Galaxy Quest.

INT. RANDALL’S ROOM – DAY

Enough time has passed for Randall and Louie to have smoked
about half of the joint. Randall is knee-deep in a gnarly
coughing fit, face buried in hands. Louie pats him on the
back. Louie has blood droplets on his shirt and face.

LOUIE
You alright?

Randall sits up.

RANDALL
I’ve never coughed like that
before.

LOUIE
What is that shit all over your
fucking hands, man?

Randall holds his hands out and looks at them, they both have a healthy coat of blood.

RANDALL
Holy shit. That’s blood, dude!

LOUIE
Where did that come from?

RANDALL
Look in my mouth, do I have blood
in my mouth.

Randall opens his mouth and turns his head toward Louie.
Louie peers inward to see all kinds of fucking blood in
there.

LOUIE
Yeah dude. That’s full of blood.
You got it all over your mouth, and
your hands and…and the couch and
my shirt and face.

Louie stares around the room while taking a hit off the mega
joint, just now noticing the blood spattered all over.

LOUIE (CONT’D)
Where did all this blood come from?
Did this all come from inside your body?

Louie takes another hit, exhales and immediately starts going
into a coughing fit of his own. Blood is ejected out of his
mouth. Globs of it violently clash with the floor and walls.
Louie turns toward Randall and accidentally coughs a splash
of blood right in his face. Randall barely even takes notice.

LOUIE (CONT’D)
My throat is fucked, dude.

Randall takes the joint from Louie.

RANDALL
We have to go on. You quoted
Galaxy Quest.

Randall takes another hit.

SLOW-MOTION MONTAGE (SOUNDTRACK NOTE: KASHMIR – LED ZEPPELIN)

Randall coughs more blood. He takes a hit. Holds it. Exhales.
Coughs even more blood.

Louie tries to hold in a cough, but the blood just starts leaking
from his nose, ears and eyes.

Randall falls to the floor, heaving and spazming with joint
in mouth.

Louie takes a hit and coughs so hard he accidentally hurls
the joint through the air. It lands, still burning. Randall
collapses onto the couch.

Louie crawls toward the joint. Dead-set on burning it to
the very end. He squirms through his own blood, still
violently coughing and choking. He stops halfway to the
joint, arm reaching out toward it. He goes still.
His eyes staring at nothing.

END MONTAGE/CUT MUSIC.

Randall lies on the couch. His blinking the only sign of life.

RANDALL
God. I’m so high.

Randall’s eyes close. He breathes his last breath. The joint
goes out. JAMAI walks into the room.

JIMMY
Ya’ll smokin’ weed?

CUT TO BLACK

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New Movie Idea – Lieutenant Dick-Fist

Lieutenant Dick-Fist is like a detective, but with the super-power that his dick is a fist that can thrust itself forth from his crotch and strike things within an immediate distance and that are located in front of his crotch. The Lieutenant’s dick-fist would mostly punch other people’s crotches, some dogs or midgets in the face. Maybe he’s developed a style of martial art which revolves entirely around positioning his crotch into position to maximize the destructive potential of his dick-fist. ? The finale is him and the villain’s dick-fists arm wrestling. That’s not gay is it? Treatment and sketches coming soon.

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