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
INT. RANDALL’S ROOM – DAY
RANDALL is sitting on his couch reading his lap-top. A knock
comes from the front door.
LOUIE enters and seats himself next to Randall.
What are up to?
Were you about to jerk off, cause I
can come back in a couple minutes.
No, this isn’t jerking off porn.
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.
Yeah. Its pretty badass.
If that joint were a woman, I would
have an erection.
You do have an erection.
Touche, my friend.
So are we gonna burn this fucker,
I say we get through about half.
Think again, guy. We’re taking this
one all the way. Are you with me?
My God, man? Do you have any idea
what you’re asking?
I’m asking you to get really, very,
dangerously high with me right now.
Well when you put it that way, I’m
Never give up. Never surrender.
Louie strikes a bic lighter.
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.
Randall sits up.
I’ve never coughed like that
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.
Holy shit. That’s blood, dude!
Where did that come from?
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
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.
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.
My throat is fucked, dude.
Randall takes the joint from Louie.
We have to go on. You quoted
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
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.
God. I’m so high.
Randall’s eyes close. He breathes his last breath. The joint
goes out. JAMAI walks into the room.
Ya’ll smokin’ weed?
CUT TO BLACK