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Intervention

INT. TODD'S LIVING ROOM - DAY

               The living room is spacious, with a tile floor a television
               and a sprawling couch. It leads into a kitchen on one side
               and a hallway on the other. BETH, TONY, PHIL and RANDY all
               sit on Todd's couch with ANDREW sitting on a metal folding
               chair in the middle of the floor holding a clipboard. 

                                   ANDREW
                         Okay, so when your friend arrives
                         here you need to be firm, but
                         gentle. We don't want him to feel
                         victimized. 

                                   TONY
                         Are we allowed to throw things?

                                   ANDREW
                         Don't throw things.

                                   TONY
                         Sweet.

                                   ANDREW
                         The first thing we're going to want
                         to do is get him to admit he has a
                         problem. I know you guys have all
                         written down some things you wanted
                         to say- 

               Andrew is interrupted by the sound of Tony lighting up a bowl
               of sticky green. He takes a massive hit, then passes it to
               Phil, who eagerly accepts. Andrew stares at them. 

                                   ANDREW (CONT'D)
                         What are you doing?

               Phil exhales his hit.

                                   PHIL
                         I can't speak for anyone else, but
                         I'm gettin' motherfucking high off
                         this bumbleberry green-green cause
                         I got a feeling that things are
                         about to get intense in here. 

                                   ANDREW
                         This is an intervention.

                                   PHIL
                         Exactly.

               Phil and Andrew look at each other. Phil holds the pipe out
               to Andrew.

                                   ANDREW
                         No thanks.

               Phil shrugs and hands the pipe to Randy. Andrew shakes his
               head and gets back to business. 

                                   ANDREW (CONT'D)
                         Ok, moving on. I know we should
                         have done this earlier, but I think
                         it would be a good idea for you all
                         to rehearse what you were going to
                         say. Beth, why don't we start with
                         you?

               Beth unfolds a piece of paper and begins reading from it.

                                   BETH
                         Todd, we have been friends for
                         almost six whole weeks. I will
                         forever remember and cherish our
                         memories together. But I can no
                         longer ignore the toll your
                         addiction is taking on yourself, on
                         your friends and loved ones, and on
                         your community.

                                   ANDREW
                         That's good, that's a good start.

               Todd enters. He looks around in confusion.

                                   TODD
                         Uh...hey, guys. What's up?

                                   ANDREW
                         Hello, you must be Todd.

               Andrew gets up and shakes Todd's hand then gestures to a
               second folding metal chair near his. 

                                   ANDREW (CONT'D)
                         Why don't you take a seat, your
                         friends had something they wanted
                         to say to you.

                                   TODD
                         Uh, yeah, sure. I guess.

               Todd sighs and looks at everyone.

                                   TODD (CONT'D)
                         So what's this all about?

                                   ANDREW
                         Beth, why don't you start from the
                         top?

               Beth takes a deep breath and reads.

                                   BETH
                         Todd, we have been friends for
                         almost six whole weeks. I will
                         forever remember and cherish our
                         memories together. But I can no
                         longer ignore the toll your
                         addiction is taking on yourself, on
                         your friends and loved ones, and on
                         your community. Every time you
                         murder and eat a human being, it's
                         like we all die a little bit on the
                         inside. 

               At this point Andrew's face shifts as if he is trying to
               decide what he'd just heard.

                                   BETH (CONT'D)
                         And one of us dies all the way,
                         literally. Because you kill them
                         for food. You're losing your
                         humanity, Todd, and I can't stand
                         idly by anymore.

               Silence. Andrew is visibly perplexed and disturbed. Beth
               folds the paper back up and puts it in her pocket.

                                   TODD
                         Holy fucking shit. This is an
                         intervention isn't it? I just
                         noticed the sign.

               Todd points to a large banner pinned to the wall behind the
               couch with the words "HAPPY INTERVENTION" written on it on
               festive lettering. Also two helium filled balloons bouncing
               against the ceiling. 

                                   BETH
                         Yes, Todd. That is what this is.

                                   ANDREW
                         Wait a minute. What are you saying?

                                   BETH
                         Were you not listening? You're
                         supposed to be the professional
                         intervener around here and you're
                         not even paying attention to what's
                         going on?

                                   ANDREW
                         Are you saying this man is a
                         cannibal?

                                   BETH
                         Yeah, that's why we're here.

                                   ANDREW
                         You said he had an eating disorder.

                                   BETH
                         That's correct. 

                                   PHIL
                         If cannibalism isn't an eating
                         disorder...I mean...

                                   BETH
                         Yeah, like, what would be?

                                   ANDREW
                         I'm not really sure how to go about
                         uh, are...you're not serious?

               Everybody looks and Andrew for a moment. Phil breaks the
               silence. 

                                   PHIL
                         I think we're building up some
                         pretty good momentum, I feel like
                         we should just keep on chugging
                         along. What do you think?

               He looks at Andrew. 

                                   ANDREW
                         Uh...

                                   PHIL
                         I agree.

                                   TONY
                         Can I go next?

                                   TODD
                         You guys, this is crazy, I don't
                         have a problem with eating people.

                                   PHIL
                         We know. That's the problem. Tony?

               Tony holds up his piece of paper and begins reading.

                                   TONY
                         Two weeks ago, you came over to my
                         house to chill. It was fun, we
                         drank a whole fifth of schnapps,
                         smoked some premium purple chronic,
                         and kicked back. I thought we
                         bonded that night, I thought you
                         were one of my real, true friends,
                         but the next morning when I woke up
                         from my deep alcohol induced sleep
                         I found that you had stolen all of
                         my weed, my skeleton-riding-a
                         skateboard bong, all of the cash
                         from my wallet and had somehow
                         removed all of my toes without
                         waking me up. When I went over to
                         your house to try to sort things
                         out, you answered the door eating a
                         burrito. With my toes in it. There
                         they were, all mixed in with beans
                         and chicken and salsa. My toes. I
                         felt betrayed. Probably the most
                         betrayed I have ever felt in my
                         life. How am I ever going to trust
                         you again? My grandma gave me that
                         bong. 

                                   ANDREW
                         This is a set-up, right? Did they
                         bring back Scare Tactics?

                                   RANDY
                         Loved that show.

                                   TONY
                         My toes are wood now.

                                   ANDREW
                         What the fuck is going on?

                                   TODD
                         Come on, how could you guys
                         actually think I eat people?

               Phil points to a large white-board with the words "People to
               Eat List" written on it, followed by a series of names, some
               of them crossed out, including: Phil, Randy, Beth, Tony and
               Viggo Mortensen.

                                   PHIL
                         Well that's kind of a dead
                         giveaway.

                                   TODD
                         Oh, shit...all right, I admit it.
                         I'm a cannibal.

               Tony studies the names on the whiteboard.

                                   TONY
                         I was wondering what happened to
                         Marsha.

                                   BETH
                         Why is Viggo Mortensen's name on
                         there?

                                   TODD
                         I just saw Eastern Promises.

                                   RANDY
                         Loved that movie.

                                   BETH
                         Why is it crossed off?

                                   PHIL
                         Alright everybody, let's get back
                         on track. 

               Phil looks to Andrew.

                                   PHIL (CONT'D)
                         What should we do next?

               Andrew takes a moment to respond. His eyes betray bafflement.

                                   ANDREW
                         I'm not really sure what's going on
                         here, but if this guy is actually
                         murdering and eating people-

                                   PHIL
                         He is.

                                   BETH
                         He definitely is.

               Everyone nods in agreement.

                                   TODD
                         I've seen him do it.

                                   PHIL
                         We're talking about you.

               Todd shrugs.

                                   ANDREW
                         -Then you should probably call the
                         police. 

                                   PHIL
                         Ya know...I like where this
                         intervention is heading so I think
                         we should just power on through
                         this. Let's save the police as a
                         last resort.

               Andrew gets out of his chair and begins walking toward the
               door.

                                   ANDREW
                         Well, I don't know if it's really
                         necessary for me to be here anymore
                         so I'm just gonna-

                                   TODD
                         Well, you actually can't leave. 

               Andrew stops half-way to the front door.

                                   ANDREW
                         What?

                                   TODD
                         The doors are all dead-bolted. You
                         can't exit the house without a key.
                         A key I have placed at the end of a
                         maze of tunnels underneath my
                         house. Tunnels filled with traps,
                         and starving, feral, pigs. You're
                         free to-

                                   PHIL
                         I thought you just kept it in your
                         wallet.

               Todd sighs.

                                   TODD
                         Fuck! How did you know that?

                                   PHIL 
                         You told me once when we were hella
                         high. We were on our way out for
                         cheetos. I couldn't open the front
                         door. Remember?

                                   TODD
                         Yeah, now I do.

                                   PHIL
                         I was like: "Hey, man...the doors
                         locked."

                                   TODD
                         Yeah. Yeah.

               Todd nods.

                                   PHIL
                         And you were like: "yeah, you can't
                         get out without this key." Then you
                         showed me the key. Remember? I was
                         like "That key?" And you were like
                         "Yeah, this one. This key that I
                         keep in my wallet." Remember that?

               Todd nods some more. Phil takes a hit from the pipe.

                                   TODD
                         Yeah. Yeah, I do...but I'm not
                         going to unlock the doors.
                         So...you're still trapped.

                                   RANDY
                         When you say trapped you mean
                         like...we can't get out?

                                   TODD
                         Fraid so, buddy.

                                   PHIL
                         Well, we could break through a
                         window.

                                   ANDREW
                         Jesus fucking Christ. What is this?
                         What is this?!

                                   PHIL 
                         Hey, man, calm down. It's my turn
                         now. I have some words I want Todd
                         to hear. From my heart. 

               Andrew runs off and starts trying to find a way out, trying
               various windows and doors. Phil removes his paper and starts
               reading.

                                   PHIL (CONT'D)
                         I was willing to turn a blind eye
                         when you ate the mailman. I was
                         willing to look the other way when
                         you ate the pizza delivery guy. I
                         was willing to forgive you when you
                         ate my cousin. But when you ate my
                         dad...in my own house...and you
                         just left the mess there for me to
                         clean up for you.  It's like you
                         don't even care. It's like you
                         don't even care what kind of person
                         you are anymore, or the affect you
                         have on those around you. You ate
                         my father. Ate him alive. And I had
                         to deal with that. You need to stop
                         eating people. I thought that maybe
                         writing a short poem about the
                         experience might help you to
                         understand how you made me feel.
                         Here it is: You ate my dad, and it
                         made me mad, you ate my dad, and it
                         made me sad. It was the opposite of
                         rad. It was really, really bad, and
                         I would be glad if you had not
                         eaten my dad...but you did. The
                         end.

               Randy starts clapping. For a long time Randy's clapping is
               the only noise made. Eventually he stops.

                                   BETH
                         That poem was fucking retarded.

                                   TODD
                         Don't listen to her, bro. I was
                         moved.

                                   PHIL
                         Thanks, man. 

               Andrew walks back to the group and sits down in his chair.

                                   ANDREW
                         I just checked the doors and
                         windows and we're actually trapped
                         in here.

                                   TODD
                         Told you.

                                   PHIL
                         Could just break a window.

                                   ANDREW
                         Look guys, if this is all some kind
                         of sick joke you better fess up now
                         because it's not funny. I'm
                         actually starting to freak out,
                         alright. For real. Just...cut it
                         out.

                                   PHIL
                         No joke, man. 

                                   ANDREW
                         I'm calling the police.

                                   TODD
                         Your cell phones won't work in
                         here.

               Andrew tries his cell, he fidgets with it in frustration. It
               won't work.

                                   ANDREW
                         How are you doing this?!

                                   TODD
                         Technology.

                                   PHIL
                         Randy, why don't you go next. 

               Randy nods to Phil and readies his paper for reading.

                                   RANDY
                         I thought you were a cool guy. I
                         thought you were my friend. But the
                         night I woke up and found you
                         suckling upon a fresh wound I had
                         acquired earlier that day in a
                         bicycle accident changed all of
                         that. I remember that event vividly

               FLASHBACK

               INT. RANDY'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

               Randy is fast asleep. Under the blankets by his legs there is
               a man shaped lump, moving very slightly. Randy stirs to
               consciousness and notices the shape. He throws back the
               covers to reveal, Todd.

                                   RANDY (V.O.)
                         I remember you, drinking my blood
                         like milk from a mother's nipple. I
                         remember the awkward look you got
                         on your face when you realized I
                         was awake.

               Todd's mouth is open and pressed against Randy's bare and
               bloody leg. His eyes go wide as he realizes he has been
               discovered. He stares at Randy with an awkward, apologetic
               and shamed look. Randy stares back in disgust and shock.

                                   RANDY (V.O.) (CONT'D)
                         The way we stared at one and other
                         in absolute silence for what felt
                         like hours.

               Todd removes his mouth from Randy's leg, and places a band
               aid over his naked wound. 

                                   RANDY (V.O.) (CONT'D)
                         I remember when you broke the
                         silence by saying-

                                   TODD
                         Sorry, I thought this was somebody
                         else's blood.

                                   RANDY
                         Then crawled on your hands and
                         knees out of my bedroom and down
                         the hallway.

               Todd crawls off of Randy's bed and creeps out of his room on
               all fours out of sight.

               BACK TO SCENE

               Randy sits at the couch reading. Everyone listens intently.

                                   RANDY
                         And I also remember a few other
                         things. I remember not being able
                         to sleep for more than a few
                         minutes at a time. I remember
                         locking my bedroom door and
                         propping a chair against the handle
                         at nights. I remember never feeling
                         safe, and always needing the lights
                         on. I remember those things,
                         because I am living them
                         constantly. And that's because of
                         you, Todd. For fear of you coming
                         into my room one night and drinking
                         all of my blood as I sleep. Or
                         maybe dropping all attempts at
                         subtlety and just bashing me over
                         the head, dragging me away and
                         eating me alive like you did Phil's
                         dad. Are you proud of yourself,
                         Todd? Are you proud of what you've
                         done to me?

               Todd, shrugs and halfheartedly nods.

                                   RANDY (CONT'D)
                         I still don't know how you got into
                         my house that night.

                                   TODD
                         I was actually hiding under your
                         bed all day long.

                                   RANDY
                         That makes it worse.

               Todd nods.

                                   PHIL
                         I'm officially calling for an
                         intermission in this intervention.
                         I'm gonna get a beer. 

               Phil walks over to Todd's refrigerator. He opens it for a
               split second, slams it shut, spins around and pukes into the
               sink.

                                   TODD
                         You okay in there, buddy?

               Todd walks out of the kitchen back to the couch and sits
               down. 

                                   PHIL
                         There are about two half-dozen
                         severed heads in there.

               Andrew abruptly stands and walks into the kitchen, looks into
               the fridge, screams and bolts for the front door. It still
               won't open. He runs back to the group, stopping next to the
               white board in a panic. 

                                   ANDREW
                         I don't know what you sick, crazy,
                         degenerates are doing or why you're
                         doing it. I don't know if this is a
                         joke or if it's real, and I don't
                         care anymore.

               As Andrew rants Todd gets up and walks over to the
               whiteboard. He begins writing something.

                                   ANDREW (CONT'D)
                         Do you realize that this is a
                         crime? Do you realize you're
                         committing a crime right now? I
                         could have you all thrown in jail
                         for this! 

               Andrew has written the words "This Guy" under the "People to
               Eat" list and drawn an arrow pointing toward Andrew. He walks
               away while Andrew continues his tirade.

                                   ANDREW (CONT'D)
                         I swear on everything that is holy,
                         if someone doesn't let me out of
                         that door right now, I am going
                         through one of these fucking
                         windows!

               Andrew turns around and sees Todd standing next to him with a
               mallet, practicing his hammer bashing technique. He notices
               the words on the white-board and the arrow pointing directly
               at him. Todd stops swinging the mallet and glares at Andrew.
               Andrew looks back. Fight or flight kicks in as Andrew turns
               tail and runs.

                                   BETH
                         I don't think this intervention
                         bull-shit is working. Didn't we pay
                         this dick-wad?

                                   PHIL
                         Yeah. And I am most assuredly not a
                         satisfied customer. 

                                   TONY
                         Wasn't he supposed to cure him?
                         Isn't that what this was all about?

                                   PHIL
                         That's what I thought, man. And I
                         don't think he did...

               Todd chases Andrew in circles into the kitchen on one side
               and out the other over and over again. Andrew grabs loaves of
               bread and bagels and bananas to hurl at his attacker in a
               last ditch effort at self defense.

                                   TODD
                         Stop throwing things at me!

                                   ANDREW
                         Leave me alone!

                                   TODD
                         You're going in my belly, you!

                                   PHIL
                         ...Cause I'm pretty sure Todd still
                         eats people. 

               Andrew runs over to the couch in a blind panic.

                                   ANDREW
                         Somebody do something! HELP!

                                   PHIL
                         Hey, man... we're gonna need our
                         200 bucks back.

               Todd finally catches up to Andrew and bashes him over the
               head with the mallet. Andrew falls to the ground, bleeding
               and unconscious. Everyone else stares in aghast silence. Todd
               wraps his hands around Andrew's ankles and begins dragging
               him away. He pauses. Looks at the group.

                                   TODD 
                         You guys can chill if you want. I
                         was about to start the first season
                         of Lost.

               Todd pulls Andrew across the living room floor, around a
               corner and in to the kitchen. The gang all watches from the
               couch. Andrew's head wound leaves a streak of blood across
               the tile. The gang can see him going through kitchen drawers
               and cabinets retrieving various cooking utensils.

                                   PHIL
                         I've never seen Lost.

               Tony lights up the pipe. Todd walks out of the kitchen and
               addresses the group, holding a can of paprika in one hand and
               a meat cleaver in the other.

                                   TODD 
                         I'm about to have some dinner in a
                         minute, too.

               He shrugs, turns around and gets back to his food
               preparation. 

                                   TONY
                         ...paprika...?

               CUT TO BLACK
[
Tagged , , ,

Serial Cat: Part I

               INT. POLICE STATION - DAY

               ANDY sits in a harshly lit room. It's cramped, despite the
               sparse furnishing. Nothing but Andy's chair, another opposite
               him, a small waste basket and the metal table he rests his
               arms on. Andy passes several moments staring at his lap in
               silence before the doors open, and in walk Detectives Paxton
               and Fitzgerald.

               Andy continues to look down. Paxton and Fitzgerald position
               themselves on either side of him. Paxton puts his hands on
               the table and leans over until his face is a few inches from
               Andy's. Andy finally looks up.

                                   PAXTON
                         Have you ever seen The Shield,
                         motherfucker?

               Andy shakes his head, 'no'. Paxton pauses for a moment.

                                   PAXTON (CONT'D)
                         Fuck! Great, you'll have no frame
                         of reference. Now I'll have to
                         start from scratch.

                                   FITZGERALD
                         I keep telling you; you can't base
                         all of your interrogation
                         techniques on the assumption that
                         everyone has seen The Shield.

                                   PAXTON
                         Why do you have to kick me when I'm
                         down, man? 

                                   FITZGERALD
                         I'm just saying, I like your
                         enthusiasm, but you need to hone
                         your tools. Right now all you have
                         in your repertoire is drawing
                         parallels between yourself and Vic
                         Mackey from The Shield.

                                   PAXTON
                         I am pretty good at that, though.

                                   FITZGERALD
                         Are you kidding me? You're the best
                         at that.

                                   PAXTON
                         Thank you. That means a lot.

               Paxton pats his chest. He and Fitzgerald look at each other
               and smile. Andy looks from one to the other. Fitzgerald looks
               over to Andy.

                                   FITZGERALD
                         So, why'd you murder all those
                         prostitutes? 

                                   ANDY
                         I didn't!

                                   FITZGERALD
                         Just murder prostitutes? I know.
                         You had quite an extensive
                         collection. Usually serial killers
                         aren't so eclectic in their
                         selection of victims. I guess your
                         blood-lust knows no bounds.

                                   PAXTON
                         Yeah, you fuck-shit!

                                   FITZGERALD
                         Please don't punctuate, the silence
                         is there for a reason. 

                                   PAXTON
                         Sorry.

                                   FITZGERALD
                         It's okay, man. You're getting
                         better.

                                   PAXTON
                         Thanks, bro.

               Fitzgerald and Paxton bump fists.

                                   ANDY
                         Look, I'll tell you what happened,
                         but you're not going to believe me.
                         I know that this is going to sound
                         crazy-

                                   FITZGERALD
                         Friend you've killed nearly two
                         dozen people.

                                   PAXTON
                         Isn't that a bakers dozen?

                                   FITZGERALD
                         No, that is absolutely not a bakers
                         dozen.

                                   PAXTON
                         Sorry, I'm bad at math.

                                   FITZGERALD
                         Knowing how much a baker's dozen is
                         really doesn't even have that much
                         to do with-you know what, fuck it.
                         It's cool. Uhh...back to the
                         murders....yeah, I was going to
                         say, you've killed two dozen-

                                   PAXTON
                         How much is a bakers dozen?

               Fitzgerald sighs. He sinks his head, raising his hand to
               pinch the bridge of his nose.

                                   FITZGERALD
                         Sweet Jesus, can you shut the fuck
                         up right now? Just shut the fuck
                         up. Keep your goddamn mouth closed.
                         You're a shame to the police force,
                         you're a shame to your parents, and
                         you're a shame to me. Every day
                         knowing I'm partnered with a shit
                         spewing sack of ass-holes like you,
                         every goddamn morning when I'm
                         forced to relive the waking
                         nightmare of arising from my
                         slumber only for the first thing to
                         permeate my new-found consciousness
                         to be the knowing that you are a
                         detective and I am your partner is
                         like Prometheus on the rock, being
                         eviscerated and having his flesh
                         devoured only to be made whole
                         again to relive that punishment day
                         after day. I fear falling asleep at
                         night, knowing that I will wake the
                         next morning.

               Silence.

                                   ANDY
                         Wow.

               Paxton starts crying. He runs out of the interrogation room.
               Fitzgerald watches him leave. He breathes deeply, shakes his
               head, then turns his attention once more to Andy.

                                   FITZGERALD
                         So why'd you murder all those
                         people, buddy?

                                   ANDY
                         I'm trying to tell you.

                                   FITZGERALD
                         What're you trying to tell me,
                         Andy?

                                   ANDY
                         I'm trying to tell you-

                                   FITZGERALD
                         What are you trying to tell me,
                         Andy?

                                   ANDY
                         I'm trying-

                                   FITZGERALD
                         Tell me, Andy. Tell me what you're
                         trying to tell me. 

                                   ANDY
                         Can you stop inter-

                                   FITZGERALD
                         Don't ask me not to interrupt you,
                         Andy, I'll just keep doing it.

                                   ANDY
                         It was the CAT!

               Fitzgerald stoically stares at Andy. Andy stares back.

                                   FITZGERALD
                         Your cat...tortured, murdered and
                         dismembered 23 people?

                                   ANDY
                         Yes.

                                   FITZGERALD
                         That's-

                                   ANDY
                         I know it sounds insane, but it's
                         the truth!

                                   FITZGERALD
                         Andy, don't interrupt me, it's
                         rude. And, no, it doesn't sound
                         insane. You sound insane.

                                   ANDY
                         I know.

                                   FITZGERALD
                         What kind of cat are we talking
                         about here?

                                   ANDY
                         I don't know, man. It's like
                         a...greyish one? I guess.

                                   FITZGERALD
                         Don't even know what kind of cat
                         you have?

                                   ANDY
                         Who cares? It probably wasn't even
                         a cat. But evil, personified in a
                         cat's adorable, furry, body.

               FLASHBACK:

               INT. ANDY'S HOUSE - DAY

               Andy on his living room couch watching Cartoons on his TV and
               eating a bowl of cereal. Sun shines through open windows. A
               beautiful afternoon.

                                   ANDY (V.O.)
                         It started out innocently enough.
                         My cat had died a few months ago,
                         it was a little early for me to
                         start thinking about getting a new
                         one, but then there was a ring from
                         the door bell. 

               The doorbell rings, Andy looks over from his cartoons. He
               puts his cereal down and walks to the front door.

                                   FITZGERALD (V.O.)
                         The cat rang your door bell?

                                   ANDY (V.O.)
                         In retrospect, yeah, I think he
                         did. 

               Andy opens the door and sees THE CAT sitting on his welcome
               mat, looking up at him intensely. A cute, healthy, Asian
               shorthair with a friendly, kind of retarded look on his face.
               It MEOWS. Andy wears a quizzical expression, he looks around
               to see who might have left the cat at his doorstep and sees
               nothing. He looks back down at the cat. It MEOWS.

                                   ANDY (CONT'D)
                         Uhh...hey.

               The cat welcomes itself into Andy's home.

                                   ANDY (CONT'D)
                         Alright, I guess.

                                   ANDY (V.O.) (CONT'D)
                         So, I took him in.

               SERIES OF SHOTS:

               Andy feeding the cat

               Andy messaging the cat

               Andy playing with the cat

               Andy changing the cat's litter

               END SERIES

               Andy walks over and puts a collar with a tag reading, BARRY,
               around Barry's neck. 

                                   ANDY (V.O.) (CONT'D)
                         I named him, Barry.

               He pets Barry.

                                   ANDY (V.O.) (CONT'D)
                         It wasn't long until I realized.
                         Realized there was
                         something...wrong...with Barry.
                         Something terrible and foul and
                         twisted.

               END FLASHBACK

               INT. INTERROGATION ROOM - DAY

               Fitzgerald and Andy sit at opposite ends of the table.
               Fitzgerald's eyes are squarely upon Andy. Andy appears tired,
               jaded, indifferent to the world around him.

                                   FITZGERALD
                         So, what convinced you-

               Paxton bursts into the room.

                                   PAXTON
                         Thirteen!

               Fitzgerald and Paxton stare at one and other.

                                   PAXTON (CONT'D)
                         It's thirteen. A baker's dozen.

                                   FITZGERALD
                         I know that.

                                   PAXTON
                         Well I wanted you to know that I
                         knew.

                                   FITZGERALD
                         I appreciate you taking the
                         initiative to educate yourself.

                                   PAXTON
                         Thanks, man.

                                   FITZGERALD
                         Why don't you go pick us up a pack
                         of smokes. You smoke, Andy?

               Andy nods.

                                   FITZGERALD (CONT'D)
                         Go pick us up a pack of smokes,
                         pal.

                                   PAXTON
                         Will do, partner!

               Fitzgerald flinches at the word 'Partner'. Paxton leaves,
               shutting the door behind him. 

                                   FITZGERALD
                         So, what convinced you your cat was
                         a serial killer, Andy?

               Andy ponders the question.

                                   ANDY
                         Well, I started to get really
                         suspicious when I found that face.

               BEGIN FLASHBACK:

               EXT. OUTSIDE OF ANDY'S FRONT DOOR - DAY

               Andy is holding a human face, barely pinching it between a
               thumb and forefinger, trying to make as little contact as
               possible. He holds it, stares at it, grimacing, expression
               contorted in horror. The face hangs from his faint grip like
               a bundle of wet paper towels, dripping blood, swinging gently
               back and forth.

               A MEOW is heard, Andy looks down to see Barry sitting at his
               feet. Sitting directly under the face, allowing the droplets
               of blood to descend into his mouth.

                                   ANDY (V.O.) 
                         I mean, my old cat would bring me
                         mice and birds and lizards it had
                         killed. And that's all it was with
                         Barry at first. But it kept getting
                         worse each time.

               SERIES OF SHOTS:

               EXT. OUTSIDE OF ANDY'S FRONT DOOR - DAY

               Andy holding a dead mouse. A MEOW.

               Andy holding a dead pigeon. A MEOW.

               Andy holding a dead human finger. A MEOW.

               Andy holding a pair of deer antlers, with some skull and
               brain attached. A MEOW.

               Andy holding a bloody crucifix. A MEOW.

               Andy holding a severed goat leg, with a human hand sewn to
               the other end. A MEOW.

               Andy holding the face.

                                   ANDY
                         Yeah, this is starting to seem kind
                         of fucked up.

               Andy carries the face to his kitchen, drops it down his
               kitchen sink, and turns on the garbage disposal.
Tagged , , ,

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. Danials is wearing a cheap suit
               and BADASS AVIATOR SUNGLASSES. He exits his car, and walks to
               the front door. He takes off his sunglasses, badassily. 

               INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY

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

               Danials has a note-pad and pen in his hands, he is quickly
               jotting things down as they converse.

                                   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 writes down the information before pursuing the line
               of questioning.

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

                                   GEORGE
                         He was wearing brown Dockers and
                         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 along with
               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: "Crocodile!" right in
                         your face, 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?

               He points at the badge. 

                                   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
                         He had the legs of a man.

               Danials raises an eyebrow, and 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. 

                                   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 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 could 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 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 reeboks. 

                                   DANIALS
                         Dockers and reeboks? 

                                   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 dimly
               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; accidentally 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. They leave Bowbowl for dead.

               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. Buildings 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 , , ,

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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