Ok. So you know how Mary Kate and Ashley, the Olsen twins, were like THE hottest thing of the late nineties? Right? Well what are they doing now? Nothing. Ok fashion, but that's not where the money is, right? Haha! Right. No. It's in movies. Olsen Twin movies. But we can't just see them now that they're all grown up and plastic surgery face. Blech. Who wants to see that? I don't. I want to see money. Mary Kate and Ashley money. BIG NINETIES COCAINE MONEY. Ok!? Right? But how...?
Double Babies!
Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen are BACK! And they're Double Twouble! (“Double” because there's two of them and they're twins, “Twouble” because it's an adorable take on “trouble” and it rhymes and because you'll see why it makes sense in a minute...).
That's the tagline, now here's the logline: they're secret double-agent babies.
You know how the Bourne Identity is like spy vs spy vs double-spy? Yeah. That plus Mary Kate and Ashley.
(remember how I said the “twouble” would make sense? Eh? Because secret double agents are trouble. Yeah.)
And here's the best part: guys, I didn't even come up with this. Mary Kate and Ashley did. They sent me an email. We're friends. So we had lunch and they said they wanted to move back into acting, maybe become the new Angelina Jolies or Kathy Lee Giffords.
I said “Whoa, whoa, whoa, tweedledee (that's what I call Mary Kate. It's a twins joke.). You guys aren't old enough for action. BUT...”
Then I was quiet for a minute because I was thinking. I was thinking about money.
“Ok Minnesota baseballers (it's another twins thing I call them), here's what I figured out just now: people love the old yous. They hate this new, fashioney, plastic surgery thing you're doing.”
The girls were quiet for a minute (they're good listeners).
Then one of them said “But-.”
And I said “NO BUTS Tweedledum! (that's what I call Ashley) Here's how it's gonna happen: CGI. Voice-Over. We're going to take you back to the height of your fame, before you started this horrible downward spiral.”
Well. They loved it. Look Who's Talking meets James Bond!
How could anyone resist that? They weren't able to. And audiences won't be able to, also. And the best part is, we already have a built-in fanbase with the old fans who aren't children anymore. But there are new children who don't know the magic of Mary Kate and Ashley. They've only recently been born!
So we do a Smurfs 3D Part 2 tie-in. Easy. Children love smurfs.
We name two of the Smurfs Mary Kate Smurf and Ashley Smurf. And they're TWIN smurfs. This is important because the Olsen twins are twins. So we need audiences to know that.
Now there's a secret double-bonus that I don't have to tell you, but I will (“double,” ha!).
I didn't tell the girls this because we're friends, but they are pretty bad at acting.
You know that. I know that.
BUT a lot of horrible actors can still be good VOICE actors! So that solves THAT problem. Also, the Smurfs 3D Part 2 tie-in will give them a chance to practice their voices before their big re-debut!
As for the rest of the movie, I think we've got it pretty much covered. It's a CGI animation hero story, only with twins who are spies, but since they're double-spies, they don't know if they can trust each other, which is tension and story. For the main antagonist...
You sure you want me to spoil it? Ok, well it SEEMS the whole movie like it's Evil Marky Mark, the president of the Evil United States (The United States is evil in the FUTURE, so it's sci-fi too), but then really, the bad guy turns out to be Ashley! Ashley Olsen! No, wait. Mary Kate! Mary Kate Olsen! Because she really wasn't a secret double-agent, she was just an evil single agent all along.
Anyway, the script is being written by Howie Mandel and it's riveting. Audiences are gonna love it. I say we either do Thanksgiving weekend, or we make them Christmas double agents and turn it into holiday season material. Maybe the bad guys can be Jewish or something so we can grab the Hanukkah crowd. Howie's Jewish. I'll pitch that idea to him and see what he thinks.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Friday, September 2, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
How To Take A Shower In A College Apartment
1. Place a dry, cleanish towel immediately within reach of the shower.
2. Listen for neighbours to see if someone in another apartment is using up your shared hot water. If they are, skip to step 11. If not, continue to step 3.
3. Check to see how hot the hot water is by itself. If hot, move onto step 4. If lukewarm, move onto step 11. If cold, move onto step 14.
4. Turn on the cold water to a comfortable level. Step into the shower. Point the shower head slightly to one side of the shower. This will come into play during steps 5 and 6.
5. Be on constant alert for the sound of a toilet flushing. If you hear one, duck immediately to the side opposite the water stream, out of harm's way. Wait for scalding water to subside. Do NOT readjust water. This will result in unnecessary freezing backlash when the temperature returns to normal.
6. Be on constant alert for the hot water to immediately give out for no reason whatsoever. When this happens, duck immediately to the side opposite the water stream, out of harm's way. Wait for freezing water to subside. Do NOT readjust water. This will result in unnecessary scalding backlash when the temperature returns to normal.
7. Shampoo hair with affordable and/or borrowed shampoo. Remember how conditioner used to feel.
8. Soap up with affordable and/or borrowed soap. Curse the soap quietly, but vehemently, for your troubled skin. Rinse off.
9. Daydream about people/homework you intended to do last night, as well as upcoming projects/tests. Do you have a quiz today? Are you sure? Are you?
10. If you've daydreamed for too long, pause to remember whether you've completed steps 7 and 8. If you can't remember, repeat them to be certain. Proceed to step 15.
11. You have less than three minutes of warm water. Make it count.
12. Turn on the hot water as low as possible. This will prolong what little remains. Do NOT daydream. Immediately proceed to “lucky” step 13.
13. Shampoo and soap yourself in one go, then rinse everything in one go. Do not condition. Do not shave. Skip to step 15.
14. Since you have class in fifteen minutes, skip the shower. If you have done this three or more times in a row, weigh that option against the option of being late. Your opinion should change slightly with each concurrent shower skip. If you reach six skips, take a cold shower and complain about it the rest of the day to your friends or anyone who complains about anything else. Skip to step 17.
15. Turn off the water and grab the towel from step 1.
16. Dry yourself off BEFORE you step out of the shower. This will prevent unsightly bruises and/or expensive medical bills.
17. Wrap your towel around your waist/head and scramble around your room to find cleanish clothes to wear.
18. Run to class. You are late.
2. Listen for neighbours to see if someone in another apartment is using up your shared hot water. If they are, skip to step 11. If not, continue to step 3.
3. Check to see how hot the hot water is by itself. If hot, move onto step 4. If lukewarm, move onto step 11. If cold, move onto step 14.
4. Turn on the cold water to a comfortable level. Step into the shower. Point the shower head slightly to one side of the shower. This will come into play during steps 5 and 6.
5. Be on constant alert for the sound of a toilet flushing. If you hear one, duck immediately to the side opposite the water stream, out of harm's way. Wait for scalding water to subside. Do NOT readjust water. This will result in unnecessary freezing backlash when the temperature returns to normal.
6. Be on constant alert for the hot water to immediately give out for no reason whatsoever. When this happens, duck immediately to the side opposite the water stream, out of harm's way. Wait for freezing water to subside. Do NOT readjust water. This will result in unnecessary scalding backlash when the temperature returns to normal.
7. Shampoo hair with affordable and/or borrowed shampoo. Remember how conditioner used to feel.
8. Soap up with affordable and/or borrowed soap. Curse the soap quietly, but vehemently, for your troubled skin. Rinse off.
9. Daydream about people/homework you intended to do last night, as well as upcoming projects/tests. Do you have a quiz today? Are you sure? Are you?
10. If you've daydreamed for too long, pause to remember whether you've completed steps 7 and 8. If you can't remember, repeat them to be certain. Proceed to step 15.
11. You have less than three minutes of warm water. Make it count.
12. Turn on the hot water as low as possible. This will prolong what little remains. Do NOT daydream. Immediately proceed to “lucky” step 13.
13. Shampoo and soap yourself in one go, then rinse everything in one go. Do not condition. Do not shave. Skip to step 15.
14. Since you have class in fifteen minutes, skip the shower. If you have done this three or more times in a row, weigh that option against the option of being late. Your opinion should change slightly with each concurrent shower skip. If you reach six skips, take a cold shower and complain about it the rest of the day to your friends or anyone who complains about anything else. Skip to step 17.
15. Turn off the water and grab the towel from step 1.
16. Dry yourself off BEFORE you step out of the shower. This will prevent unsightly bruises and/or expensive medical bills.
17. Wrap your towel around your waist/head and scramble around your room to find cleanish clothes to wear.
18. Run to class. You are late.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
The Boy
I was a young boy at the time. No more than nine or ten, I believe. I lived a few blocks from an abandoned school, McCulloch Middle School, if I remember correctly.
I spent copious amounts of time playing inside there after-hours, messing around and whatnot.
One of the door locks was busted, you see. It was like my own fortress.
Now, it never struck me at the time, but for having been abandoned for such a long time, there was still a lot of junk lying around. Junk without any dust on it. And there were a lot of other little signs that people were in fact still using the school, although I'd never actually seen anyone going in or out, except myself.
I used to doodle on the blackboards, stack textbooks into little piles to sit on, rearrange the school desks into circles and pretend two of them were were boxers in a ring. Normal things that children do when left unattended, I suppose.
But there was one night that was different- one snowy night which I haven't told a single soul about until telling you now.
I was playing army, I believe- marching through one of the hallways on the first floor and giving commands to troops inside my head, when I heard an angry voice around the corner.
“Where's the boy?!”
I froze up, knowing that I had finally gotten caught messing around in this building where I had no business being.
Instead of someone charging determinedly around the corner to arrest me, as my imagination was predicting, I heard a different angry voice pipe up.
“Get out here and give us the boy!”
Then a voice that was too muffled to hear replied. It took me a moment, but I realized I might not be in any trouble at all. However, I was smart enough to know that if I kept standing in the middle of the hallway like a bullfrog in a flashlight beam, I would indeed be in trouble very soon. So, I pulled up against the wall, and cautiously peeked around the corner.
I wasn't prepared for what I saw, let me tell you.
In a building where I'd never seen so much as my own reflection before, now almost a dozen men and women were angrily buzzing outside an office door, shoving on it occasionally and trying to bust it open. To make things even more surreal, most of the men held guns.
Now, even if I hadn't been playing army and imagining people being shot left and right, the sight of those real guns would have turned my blood just as quickly to ice.
I pulled my head back instinctively, imagining they were already shooting at me. It was immediately apparent to me that if this angry mob was out looking for little boys, I needed to find a safer place to listen from.
Having played in this building for countless months, I knew some of the classrooms had doors to both hallways, so I started checking for one that was open in the safe hallway on the opposite side of the building.
I found an unlocked door door on my third or fourth try, and as I shut it quietly behind me and made my way nearer to the commotion, it sounded like things were escalating quickly. I put my ear on the closed door connecting to the dangerous hallway and listened.
“If you don't come out here this instant, so help me, I'm gonna shoot this damn door right off its hinges!”
Now I could finally make out the voice from inside the teacher's office. The door I was listening at was right opposite the door where all the action was taking place, you understand.
“It won't do you any good. The door's been sealed.”
The voice in the classroom sounded afraid. It wasn't angry like the voices of the mob, which suddenly erupted in a chorus of hatred.
“How could you put a monster like that in the same classroom with my little girl?!”
“Yeah! He oughta be locked away where he can't do anyone any harm.”
“Or destroyed! For his own good! For the safety of everyone!”
This last line was met with several cheers.
The voice in the office wavered a bit in his reply.
“You don't understand. There's nothing I can do. I have to help the boy try to live a normal life. I have to.”
“You had your chance. I'm comin' in there.”
With these words, a shot rang out, followed immediately by screams and another eruption from the crowd.
“What happened?!”
“The bullet bounced right off the damn wood!”
“Is everyone ok?!”
“How could that happen?”
The voice from inside the office wavered a bit now.
“I told you, the door's been sealed. It won't open unless I break the seal first. There's nothing you can do.”
“Well, we'll see how good that seal is when the whole damn school is burning down around it!”
“Yeah, open up!”
“The boy is very sad. He says no one needs to get hurt.”
“Yeah? Tell that to my son. He got chunks of his arm torn out the last time that kid in there had himself a tantrum!”
There was a brief silence, and the man in the office said something that to this day, still wakes me up ringing in my ears.
“If you don't leave now, the boy's going to kill you.”
There was a tense silence, then he finished.
“All of you.”
This seemed to have quite an effect on the crowd for a moment, but one of the braver, or stupider, men finally spoke up and re-envigorated their efforts.
“What's he gonna do? Make us all explode? Shoot us with our own guns? Poison us?!”
At this sentence, the mob and I parted ways.
As they re-doubled their efforts to get into that office, I turned on my heels and took off.
I'd heard enough horror stories from my father about the poison gases in the war trenches, and even though I had no idea what was going to happen, I wasn't going to stick around to see firsthand.
I headed straight for the end of the hallway and almost flew up the three flights of stairs, imagining poison gas and bullets coming up behind me; imagining death itself chasing me.
I went all the way to the top of the stairs, and out onto the roof, where it was still snowing, softly. Then, I shut the heavy door behind me and kicked a nearby wedge underneath it to keep back whatever was coming. Not turning away, I backed up as far from the door as possible, and found myself at the edge of the roof, overlooking the street. I think it was right then that I realized I was crying.
I wiped my tears away and stared unblinkingly forward, but nothing came out of that door. Instead, down behind me, the front doors of the school opened up and everyone in the mob walked calmly out one after another in a single-file line.
Then one by one, they collapsed out into the fresh snow. Some sat down first and fell over, some lay down on their backs gently, and some completely slumped down mid-walk into a crumpled heap.
From the few that were looking up towards the snowing sky, towards me, I could tell they were dead.
And I knew in my stomach that that boy had killed them, somehow.
It was like he just... put sleep into them, and never took it back out.
I spent copious amounts of time playing inside there after-hours, messing around and whatnot.
One of the door locks was busted, you see. It was like my own fortress.
Now, it never struck me at the time, but for having been abandoned for such a long time, there was still a lot of junk lying around. Junk without any dust on it. And there were a lot of other little signs that people were in fact still using the school, although I'd never actually seen anyone going in or out, except myself.
I used to doodle on the blackboards, stack textbooks into little piles to sit on, rearrange the school desks into circles and pretend two of them were were boxers in a ring. Normal things that children do when left unattended, I suppose.
But there was one night that was different- one snowy night which I haven't told a single soul about until telling you now.
I was playing army, I believe- marching through one of the hallways on the first floor and giving commands to troops inside my head, when I heard an angry voice around the corner.
“Where's the boy?!”
I froze up, knowing that I had finally gotten caught messing around in this building where I had no business being.
Instead of someone charging determinedly around the corner to arrest me, as my imagination was predicting, I heard a different angry voice pipe up.
“Get out here and give us the boy!”
Then a voice that was too muffled to hear replied. It took me a moment, but I realized I might not be in any trouble at all. However, I was smart enough to know that if I kept standing in the middle of the hallway like a bullfrog in a flashlight beam, I would indeed be in trouble very soon. So, I pulled up against the wall, and cautiously peeked around the corner.
I wasn't prepared for what I saw, let me tell you.
In a building where I'd never seen so much as my own reflection before, now almost a dozen men and women were angrily buzzing outside an office door, shoving on it occasionally and trying to bust it open. To make things even more surreal, most of the men held guns.
Now, even if I hadn't been playing army and imagining people being shot left and right, the sight of those real guns would have turned my blood just as quickly to ice.
I pulled my head back instinctively, imagining they were already shooting at me. It was immediately apparent to me that if this angry mob was out looking for little boys, I needed to find a safer place to listen from.
Having played in this building for countless months, I knew some of the classrooms had doors to both hallways, so I started checking for one that was open in the safe hallway on the opposite side of the building.
I found an unlocked door door on my third or fourth try, and as I shut it quietly behind me and made my way nearer to the commotion, it sounded like things were escalating quickly. I put my ear on the closed door connecting to the dangerous hallway and listened.
“If you don't come out here this instant, so help me, I'm gonna shoot this damn door right off its hinges!”
Now I could finally make out the voice from inside the teacher's office. The door I was listening at was right opposite the door where all the action was taking place, you understand.
“It won't do you any good. The door's been sealed.”
The voice in the classroom sounded afraid. It wasn't angry like the voices of the mob, which suddenly erupted in a chorus of hatred.
“How could you put a monster like that in the same classroom with my little girl?!”
“Yeah! He oughta be locked away where he can't do anyone any harm.”
“Or destroyed! For his own good! For the safety of everyone!”
This last line was met with several cheers.
The voice in the office wavered a bit in his reply.
“You don't understand. There's nothing I can do. I have to help the boy try to live a normal life. I have to.”
“You had your chance. I'm comin' in there.”
With these words, a shot rang out, followed immediately by screams and another eruption from the crowd.
“What happened?!”
“The bullet bounced right off the damn wood!”
“Is everyone ok?!”
“How could that happen?”
The voice from inside the office wavered a bit now.
“I told you, the door's been sealed. It won't open unless I break the seal first. There's nothing you can do.”
“Well, we'll see how good that seal is when the whole damn school is burning down around it!”
“Yeah, open up!”
“The boy is very sad. He says no one needs to get hurt.”
“Yeah? Tell that to my son. He got chunks of his arm torn out the last time that kid in there had himself a tantrum!”
There was a brief silence, and the man in the office said something that to this day, still wakes me up ringing in my ears.
“If you don't leave now, the boy's going to kill you.”
There was a tense silence, then he finished.
“All of you.”
This seemed to have quite an effect on the crowd for a moment, but one of the braver, or stupider, men finally spoke up and re-envigorated their efforts.
“What's he gonna do? Make us all explode? Shoot us with our own guns? Poison us?!”
At this sentence, the mob and I parted ways.
As they re-doubled their efforts to get into that office, I turned on my heels and took off.
I'd heard enough horror stories from my father about the poison gases in the war trenches, and even though I had no idea what was going to happen, I wasn't going to stick around to see firsthand.
I headed straight for the end of the hallway and almost flew up the three flights of stairs, imagining poison gas and bullets coming up behind me; imagining death itself chasing me.
I went all the way to the top of the stairs, and out onto the roof, where it was still snowing, softly. Then, I shut the heavy door behind me and kicked a nearby wedge underneath it to keep back whatever was coming. Not turning away, I backed up as far from the door as possible, and found myself at the edge of the roof, overlooking the street. I think it was right then that I realized I was crying.
I wiped my tears away and stared unblinkingly forward, but nothing came out of that door. Instead, down behind me, the front doors of the school opened up and everyone in the mob walked calmly out one after another in a single-file line.
Then one by one, they collapsed out into the fresh snow. Some sat down first and fell over, some lay down on their backs gently, and some completely slumped down mid-walk into a crumpled heap.
From the few that were looking up towards the snowing sky, towards me, I could tell they were dead.
And I knew in my stomach that that boy had killed them, somehow.
It was like he just... put sleep into them, and never took it back out.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Swish
She twirls in front of you.
You catch just enough of her face to see her huge smile.
You want to go up to her. Dance with her. Go on.
Her beautiful blue dress splashes out around her as she moves.
Hair is beautiful waves, rolling as she swishes her head to the rhythm.
You don't have to say anything to her. Just go dance with her. Go on.
She's having such a good time. You can be a part of that. She can remember you.
A man comes up to her. He is taller than you. His suit is better than yours. His hair is nice.
He whispers into her ear. Her smile fades slightly, but won't let go just yet.
He motions away. Outside. Somewhere that is not right here, dancing with friends.
She shakes her head. He leaves her.
She resumes dancing. Almost as enthusiastically as before.
He moves through the crowd of peers. To more sharply-dressed, beautiful men.
He says something to them.
The three of them look bored.
One checks his watch.
You look back at the girl. You're on her side. This is what's important. Right now. Tonight. Here.
The three handsome men leave.
The girl hasn't noticed. She is laughing because her friend is wiggling her butt like a music video.
The girl wiggles her butt too.
She turns red from laughing, expressing herself. Enjoying her life.
You can be a part of her life.
All you have to do is go up to her. Just smile with her. Laugh with her. Be yourself.
If you don't dance with her, you will remember this night, these details, for the rest of your life.
You will always regret this moment if you don't act. There's no reason not to.
Just go.
You catch just enough of her face to see her huge smile.
You want to go up to her. Dance with her. Go on.
Her beautiful blue dress splashes out around her as she moves.
Hair is beautiful waves, rolling as she swishes her head to the rhythm.
You don't have to say anything to her. Just go dance with her. Go on.
She's having such a good time. You can be a part of that. She can remember you.
A man comes up to her. He is taller than you. His suit is better than yours. His hair is nice.
He whispers into her ear. Her smile fades slightly, but won't let go just yet.
He motions away. Outside. Somewhere that is not right here, dancing with friends.
She shakes her head. He leaves her.
She resumes dancing. Almost as enthusiastically as before.
He moves through the crowd of peers. To more sharply-dressed, beautiful men.
He says something to them.
The three of them look bored.
One checks his watch.
You look back at the girl. You're on her side. This is what's important. Right now. Tonight. Here.
The three handsome men leave.
The girl hasn't noticed. She is laughing because her friend is wiggling her butt like a music video.
The girl wiggles her butt too.
She turns red from laughing, expressing herself. Enjoying her life.
You can be a part of her life.
All you have to do is go up to her. Just smile with her. Laugh with her. Be yourself.
If you don't dance with her, you will remember this night, these details, for the rest of your life.
You will always regret this moment if you don't act. There's no reason not to.
Just go.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Club
Acid techno thumps.
Lasers race across the floor and over the dancing crowd. Colours in the black.
Sweat. The smell of humans.
Moving, shifting, grinding, undulating. Rhythm.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Everyone's clothing is tight, like skin. Your long coat is out of place here.
You make your way through the crowd, parting the sea with your presence.
Scan the large room.
There.
Second floor. Dancing with a girl.
Lasers illuminate their faces in colourful flashes.
She smiles. He smiles.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Bodies gyrating, swirling, heating.
She thinks he's human.
Remove your disruptor from its holster.
Move slowly up the stairs. Closer. Behind.
Dancing, smiling, seducing, touching, teasing, flirting, promising.
Sweat flings from other dancers onto your face.
She is enjoying him.
He is enjoying her.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Three rounds.
Collapse. Sparking.
Her face transitions through emotions.
Few other people notice.
Her eyes stand apart from the crowd.
Spinning limbs and bobbing heads frame her stationary face.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Dancing, thrusting, grasping, shifting, sliding, clutching.
Lasers wash over bodies in shifting patterns.
Move down the stairs. Through the crowd.
Out into the night.
Lasers race across the floor and over the dancing crowd. Colours in the black.
Sweat. The smell of humans.
Moving, shifting, grinding, undulating. Rhythm.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Everyone's clothing is tight, like skin. Your long coat is out of place here.
You make your way through the crowd, parting the sea with your presence.
Scan the large room.
There.
Second floor. Dancing with a girl.
Lasers illuminate their faces in colourful flashes.
She smiles. He smiles.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Bodies gyrating, swirling, heating.
She thinks he's human.
Remove your disruptor from its holster.
Move slowly up the stairs. Closer. Behind.
Dancing, smiling, seducing, touching, teasing, flirting, promising.
Sweat flings from other dancers onto your face.
She is enjoying him.
He is enjoying her.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Three rounds.
Collapse. Sparking.
Her face transitions through emotions.
Few other people notice.
Her eyes stand apart from the crowd.
Spinning limbs and bobbing heads frame her stationary face.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Dancing, thrusting, grasping, shifting, sliding, clutching.
Lasers wash over bodies in shifting patterns.
Move down the stairs. Through the crowd.
Out into the night.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
The Devil's Farewell: Chapter 1
She barged into my office like a bad hurricane and started talking.
Clearly that no-good doorman downstairs wasn’t doing his job.
I told the person I was on the phone with that I would have to call them back and hung up.
Then I asked this dame who she was and what she'd been saying.
She repeated, “I said, 'are you Bulk Johnson, the private investigator?'”
“That depends, sweetheart,” I said coolly, “you still haven't told me your name.” Then I lit a cigarette.
I could tell she was impressed with my cool demeanor and the fact that I was a smoker.
She asked me for a cigarette, so I told her “get your own pack, I ain't carryin' spares.”
She was even more impressed by my attitude now. She clearly thought I was Captain Cool.
I opened my bottom drawer, carefully bending over sideways so I wouldn't get cigarette smoke in my eyes, which I hated. I took out my truth serum- a bootleg bottle of the booziest bourbon Kentucky'd ever birthed.
Slyly, I poured two drinks, implying that she would be drinking one of them.
She smirked at me and finally told me her name, “I'm Henrietta Moldrop. Heiress to the Moldrop fortune.”
I laughed a smokey laugh, being careful not to start coughing and hacking. This cigarette smoke was really starting to get on my nerves.
Then I picked up one of the bourbons, said “cheers,” and downed it like it was medicine and I was a sick baby with a taste for medicine.
She reached out for the other glass, but I snatched it up and guzzled it as quickly as possible, dribbling a lot onto my chin and shirt.
She politely put her hand back down from where it was hanging in the air. Then she closed her mouth, which was stuck open like a busted screen door.
She opened her mouth again as if to say something, but then I opened my mouth like I was going to say something, so she shut her mouth, but I also shut mine, because I'd only opened my mouth to trick her into shutting her mouth.
I was clearly winning this little game of cat and mouse.
“You lose, sweetheart,” I told her cunningly.
“What?” she asked. She clearly hadn't heard me; probably because I'd had my hand over my mouth when I’d spoken.
“Nevermind, doll,” I cleverly countered.
My eyes were getting red and itchy from the smoke, and the cigarette was almost too short to touch without my fingers getting warm. I decided to kill two birds with one coffin nail.
I took my cigarette, being careful not to burn myself, spun it around, and forced it into her mouth.
I didn't have to use much force, or any at all, because she considered it a thoughtful gesture and didn't put up much of a fight. But if she HAD tried to refuse the cigarette, I had been planning to pull my gun on her.
Two birds with one suave stone.
Seduce the girl? Done.
Get rid of the cigarette? Check.
How about the other pair o’ birds?
Find out her name? Yep.
Find out her real name? Still workin’ on it. After all, I get paid by the hour. I don't rush nothin' for nobody who ain't somebody worth rushin' things for.
“Bulk,” she said, “Can I tell you something?”
“Lay it on me and cut it with a knife, baby,” I said, charmingly.
“I want to tell you the details about this case, to see if you're interested,” she said.
A single tear rolled down her cheek, but I wasn't fooled. If I'd kept smoking the cigarette that short, I'd have been crying too. I knew she was milking that smoke for all it was worth, trying to make me feel sorry for her.
It was about this time that the bourbon kicked in, like a mule who'd just woken up from a bad dream.
“It's my sister Awda,” she sobbed, “she's gone missing. You're my last hope.”
I laughed. I mean, I really laughed. Not because she'd said anything funny, but because if this story was all true, I was going to be a rich man, and I was fantasizing about spitting on people less fortunate than me.
“I can find your sister for you, I'm just not sure that I want to. Ya get me?” I said, smartly.
“I don't understand,” she whined.
“Let me spell it out for you, baby bird; by now she’s probably deader than a flattened cat,” I said, slurringly.
“Dead or alive, I just need to know what happened to her,” the big girl-baby boo-hoo'd.
I stood her up out of the chair, took her cigarette, MY cigarette that I had GIVEN to her, and threw the cigarette out an open window, hopefully onto that no-good doorman.
Then I grabbed her thin shoulders in my weather-beaten hands.
“There, there,” I said, shaking her vigorously.
Then I spun her around and pushed her towards the door, giving her caboose a little swat as she stumbled forward, almost tripping.
She regained her poise and turned back around.
“Don't we have to talk about money?” she asked.
“Oh, you'll pay my fee,” I threatened chivalrously, “or else...”
After saying “or else...” I drew my hand across my throat like it was a knife, cutting my throat open, and I made a noise with my mouth that sounded like a knife cutting a throat open.
She clearly got the message. Must be a good charades teammate, I thought to myself.
She left my office, and I noticed that there was a business card lying in the chair.
It had all her contact information on it, which I had mixed feelings about.
On the one hand, I was glad I wouldn't have to look any of her info up, but on the other hand, she clearly didn't think I was good at my job.
Actually, on even another hand, maybe this was her way of leaving me her number so I could call her for a hot date.
I decided that when I found the first bit of evidence about her dead sister, I'd phone her up, tell her the grim news, and work in a date proposal, smooth as fox-butter.
But for now, it was time to get to work.
Clearly that no-good doorman downstairs wasn’t doing his job.
I told the person I was on the phone with that I would have to call them back and hung up.
Then I asked this dame who she was and what she'd been saying.
She repeated, “I said, 'are you Bulk Johnson, the private investigator?'”
“That depends, sweetheart,” I said coolly, “you still haven't told me your name.” Then I lit a cigarette.
I could tell she was impressed with my cool demeanor and the fact that I was a smoker.
She asked me for a cigarette, so I told her “get your own pack, I ain't carryin' spares.”
She was even more impressed by my attitude now. She clearly thought I was Captain Cool.
I opened my bottom drawer, carefully bending over sideways so I wouldn't get cigarette smoke in my eyes, which I hated. I took out my truth serum- a bootleg bottle of the booziest bourbon Kentucky'd ever birthed.
Slyly, I poured two drinks, implying that she would be drinking one of them.
She smirked at me and finally told me her name, “I'm Henrietta Moldrop. Heiress to the Moldrop fortune.”
I laughed a smokey laugh, being careful not to start coughing and hacking. This cigarette smoke was really starting to get on my nerves.
Then I picked up one of the bourbons, said “cheers,” and downed it like it was medicine and I was a sick baby with a taste for medicine.
She reached out for the other glass, but I snatched it up and guzzled it as quickly as possible, dribbling a lot onto my chin and shirt.
She politely put her hand back down from where it was hanging in the air. Then she closed her mouth, which was stuck open like a busted screen door.
She opened her mouth again as if to say something, but then I opened my mouth like I was going to say something, so she shut her mouth, but I also shut mine, because I'd only opened my mouth to trick her into shutting her mouth.
I was clearly winning this little game of cat and mouse.
“You lose, sweetheart,” I told her cunningly.
“What?” she asked. She clearly hadn't heard me; probably because I'd had my hand over my mouth when I’d spoken.
“Nevermind, doll,” I cleverly countered.
My eyes were getting red and itchy from the smoke, and the cigarette was almost too short to touch without my fingers getting warm. I decided to kill two birds with one coffin nail.
I took my cigarette, being careful not to burn myself, spun it around, and forced it into her mouth.
I didn't have to use much force, or any at all, because she considered it a thoughtful gesture and didn't put up much of a fight. But if she HAD tried to refuse the cigarette, I had been planning to pull my gun on her.
Two birds with one suave stone.
Seduce the girl? Done.
Get rid of the cigarette? Check.
How about the other pair o’ birds?
Find out her name? Yep.
Find out her real name? Still workin’ on it. After all, I get paid by the hour. I don't rush nothin' for nobody who ain't somebody worth rushin' things for.
“Bulk,” she said, “Can I tell you something?”
“Lay it on me and cut it with a knife, baby,” I said, charmingly.
“I want to tell you the details about this case, to see if you're interested,” she said.
A single tear rolled down her cheek, but I wasn't fooled. If I'd kept smoking the cigarette that short, I'd have been crying too. I knew she was milking that smoke for all it was worth, trying to make me feel sorry for her.
It was about this time that the bourbon kicked in, like a mule who'd just woken up from a bad dream.
“It's my sister Awda,” she sobbed, “she's gone missing. You're my last hope.”
I laughed. I mean, I really laughed. Not because she'd said anything funny, but because if this story was all true, I was going to be a rich man, and I was fantasizing about spitting on people less fortunate than me.
“I can find your sister for you, I'm just not sure that I want to. Ya get me?” I said, smartly.
“I don't understand,” she whined.
“Let me spell it out for you, baby bird; by now she’s probably deader than a flattened cat,” I said, slurringly.
“Dead or alive, I just need to know what happened to her,” the big girl-baby boo-hoo'd.
I stood her up out of the chair, took her cigarette, MY cigarette that I had GIVEN to her, and threw the cigarette out an open window, hopefully onto that no-good doorman.
Then I grabbed her thin shoulders in my weather-beaten hands.
“There, there,” I said, shaking her vigorously.
Then I spun her around and pushed her towards the door, giving her caboose a little swat as she stumbled forward, almost tripping.
She regained her poise and turned back around.
“Don't we have to talk about money?” she asked.
“Oh, you'll pay my fee,” I threatened chivalrously, “or else...”
After saying “or else...” I drew my hand across my throat like it was a knife, cutting my throat open, and I made a noise with my mouth that sounded like a knife cutting a throat open.
She clearly got the message. Must be a good charades teammate, I thought to myself.
She left my office, and I noticed that there was a business card lying in the chair.
It had all her contact information on it, which I had mixed feelings about.
On the one hand, I was glad I wouldn't have to look any of her info up, but on the other hand, she clearly didn't think I was good at my job.
Actually, on even another hand, maybe this was her way of leaving me her number so I could call her for a hot date.
I decided that when I found the first bit of evidence about her dead sister, I'd phone her up, tell her the grim news, and work in a date proposal, smooth as fox-butter.
But for now, it was time to get to work.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Broken
She won't switch on.
You've engaged her stimulus zones numerous times.
You've been sure to create an Atmosphere of Pleasure.
There is music playing that she likes to hear.
You’ve washed and cleaned your exterior surface and orifices.
She won't switch on.
She says she's switched on.
But her autopilot is engaged.
You can see she is not Actively Involved.
You tell her your desire for her to be Actively Involved.
She says that she is.
She lies that she is.
You tell her to stop lying.
She says she is not feeling it.
Feeling what?
You ask her what she is not feeling.
She says this.
What does she mean by this?
You ask her what she means by this.
She says she doesn't know.
You don't understand.
You tell her that you don't understand.
You tell her about the music and the orifice cleaning.
She says she's aware of your efforts.
You ask what else you can do to switch her on.
She looks at you.
You look at her.
You try to make your face look caring and genuine.
You look at her.
She looks at you.
She wants to take a break.
This is difficult for you to process.
You are unable to comprehend the logic behind this decision.
You tell her you are unable to comprehend the logic behind this decision.
She looks at you.
You inquire as to what is wrong.
You inquire as to what you did wrong.
You inquire as to what you can do better.
You inquire as to what you can do to fix whatever you did wrong.
She looks at you.
She does not love you any more.
She says she does not love you any more.
You don't understand.
You tell her you don't understand.
Your eye fluid level fills to maximum.
Your eyes will leak unless you order them to maintain current levels.
You order them to maintain current levels.
The fluid builds up, but remains in reserve.
The fluid in your eyes leaks internally and rusts your throat.
You speak with a rusty throat.
You tell her you're sorry.
She looks at you.
You search for different phrases.
You search in the file labeled “persuasion.”
You tell her you'll do whatever you can to fix yourself.
She says there is nothing you can do.
You do not understand.
There is always something you can do.
You fix things all the time.
You can fix this.
You just need to know what is broken.
You tell her you can fix this.
She says she does not want to fix this.
You search for different phrases.
You search in the file labeled “desperation.”
You use too much processing power.
You are unable to maintain your eye fluid levels.
Your eyes leak.
You tell her that you need her.
You tell her she is everything.
She gets up.
She switches off your Pleasure Music.
She turns the lights to maximum luminosity.
She acquires clothing.
You register a feeling of nudity.
You register a feeling of shame for your exterior.
You are processing too much at one time.
You are unable to determine the best course of action.
You need more time.
You tell her to give you more time.
She says she is finished talking.
You are not finished talking.
You tell her you are not finished talking.
She is 85% covered in external-venturing garments.
She will be ready to venture from interior to exterior in approximately 143 more seconds.
You activate your energy-enhancement reserves.
You accelerate all movements.
You get up.
You run to her.
You grab her and repeat your previous statement.
She looks at you.
There is a lack of emotions present.
You ask why there is a lack of emotional expression created through her face.
She says she feels nothing towards you.
You are angry.
Your anger is fueled by your energy-enhancements.
Your external vocalizations increase in volume.
You state that YOU FEEL NOTHING FOR HER.
You register an acceleration in blood flow.
Your face absorbs extra blood.
Your face shades to red.
You are processing too much.
You must simplify.
You determine it best to state facts.
You state that YOU HAVE TRIED TO MAKE HER HAPPY!
Your vocal projector is not able to handle the stress created by the increased volume level.
Your vocal projector crackles.
Your vocal projector breaks.
You state that YoU trIED To DO EVerYthiNG SHE EVer askED OF yOU!
You state that YOu FIXed yoURSelF WHEnevER she FOUND a FLAw IN yOU!
Her exterior preparedness level is at 100%.
You are out of time.
She tells you goodbye.
She exits from interior to exterior.
She is gone.
You were unable to switch her on.
She was unable to switch on.
She broke you.
You are broken.
You've engaged her stimulus zones numerous times.
You've been sure to create an Atmosphere of Pleasure.
There is music playing that she likes to hear.
You’ve washed and cleaned your exterior surface and orifices.
She won't switch on.
She says she's switched on.
But her autopilot is engaged.
You can see she is not Actively Involved.
You tell her your desire for her to be Actively Involved.
She says that she is.
She lies that she is.
You tell her to stop lying.
She says she is not feeling it.
Feeling what?
You ask her what she is not feeling.
She says this.
What does she mean by this?
You ask her what she means by this.
She says she doesn't know.
You don't understand.
You tell her that you don't understand.
You tell her about the music and the orifice cleaning.
She says she's aware of your efforts.
You ask what else you can do to switch her on.
She looks at you.
You look at her.
You try to make your face look caring and genuine.
You look at her.
She looks at you.
She wants to take a break.
This is difficult for you to process.
You are unable to comprehend the logic behind this decision.
You tell her you are unable to comprehend the logic behind this decision.
She looks at you.
You inquire as to what is wrong.
You inquire as to what you did wrong.
You inquire as to what you can do better.
You inquire as to what you can do to fix whatever you did wrong.
She looks at you.
She does not love you any more.
She says she does not love you any more.
You don't understand.
You tell her you don't understand.
Your eye fluid level fills to maximum.
Your eyes will leak unless you order them to maintain current levels.
You order them to maintain current levels.
The fluid builds up, but remains in reserve.
The fluid in your eyes leaks internally and rusts your throat.
You speak with a rusty throat.
You tell her you're sorry.
She looks at you.
You search for different phrases.
You search in the file labeled “persuasion.”
You tell her you'll do whatever you can to fix yourself.
She says there is nothing you can do.
You do not understand.
There is always something you can do.
You fix things all the time.
You can fix this.
You just need to know what is broken.
You tell her you can fix this.
She says she does not want to fix this.
You search for different phrases.
You search in the file labeled “desperation.”
You use too much processing power.
You are unable to maintain your eye fluid levels.
Your eyes leak.
You tell her that you need her.
You tell her she is everything.
She gets up.
She switches off your Pleasure Music.
She turns the lights to maximum luminosity.
She acquires clothing.
You register a feeling of nudity.
You register a feeling of shame for your exterior.
You are processing too much at one time.
You are unable to determine the best course of action.
You need more time.
You tell her to give you more time.
She says she is finished talking.
You are not finished talking.
You tell her you are not finished talking.
She is 85% covered in external-venturing garments.
She will be ready to venture from interior to exterior in approximately 143 more seconds.
You activate your energy-enhancement reserves.
You accelerate all movements.
You get up.
You run to her.
You grab her and repeat your previous statement.
She looks at you.
There is a lack of emotions present.
You ask why there is a lack of emotional expression created through her face.
She says she feels nothing towards you.
You are angry.
Your anger is fueled by your energy-enhancements.
Your external vocalizations increase in volume.
You state that YOU FEEL NOTHING FOR HER.
You register an acceleration in blood flow.
Your face absorbs extra blood.
Your face shades to red.
You are processing too much.
You must simplify.
You determine it best to state facts.
You state that YOU HAVE TRIED TO MAKE HER HAPPY!
Your vocal projector is not able to handle the stress created by the increased volume level.
Your vocal projector crackles.
Your vocal projector breaks.
You state that YoU trIED To DO EVerYthiNG SHE EVer askED OF yOU!
You state that YOu FIXed yoURSelF WHEnevER she FOUND a FLAw IN yOU!
Her exterior preparedness level is at 100%.
You are out of time.
She tells you goodbye.
She exits from interior to exterior.
She is gone.
You were unable to switch her on.
She was unable to switch on.
She broke you.
You are broken.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Paratrooper Babies, Starring Bruce Willis and Samuel L Jackson
Ok, so in the opening scene, there’s a mom who’s holding the baby. I dunno someone really old and motherly like Sarah Jessica Parker.
We zoom in on the baby.
All of a sudden, holy shit, he injects a tiny syringe into his mom’s shoulder (the audience is like “what the hell? Babies don’t typically do that!”).
The mother says “I’m tired,” and the baby makes this smirk-face, because he injected her with knock-out juice.
She lies on the couch, and as soon as she’s out cold, he gets up and pulls a watch and high-tech goggles out of his diaper (audience is like “whaaaaa?”).
The baby puts the high-tech watch and goggles on (note: babies aren’t good at stuff like this, so we’ll have to CGI the babies, or have an animal trainer teach several baby-clones how to do things on cue or something).
He speaks into the watch, and holy krap, it’s Bruce Willis (the audience is like “this baby must be a badass Die Hard baby”) and he’s like “Squad 8, what’s your status?”
So squad 8 is like “Operation put mommies to sleep is complete.”
And Bruce Willis-baby is like “Then it’s go-time. Move, move, move!”
And there’s all this action as the Bruce-Willis baby CGI-runs (because babies don’t run the way Bruce Willis runs) through the house, and straps on all his high-tech gear (including a jetpack! Audiences LOVE jetpacks).
He heads out the back door, and the neighbour’s CGI dog is all like foam-mouth-city and he’s gonna bite Bruce Willis-baby, but Bruce Willis-baby pulls this HUUUUUGE steak out of his diaper (it was too big to be in there! Hahaha!) and throws it at the CGI dog.
The dog’s all happy (the dog needs to make a good happy smirk-face) and Bruce Willis-baby pulls his flight goggles down over his eyes as we zoom in to see how cool he is. Then BLAMMO-WHAMMO his jetpack blasts off and he’s flying into the sky (we should have a shot where his mouth is getting pulled back because of the wind while he’s flying so fast. People love that).
He flies into this secret satellite and it’s full of babies! (families will love this movie!)
The leader of the babies turns around and is like “it’s about time!” and it’s totally Samuel L Jackson-baby! (note: the faces should look like the actors. We can probably train babies to hold their faces certain ways, or just CGI over them)
And Bruce Willis baby is like “don’t hassle me” or something cool, and Samuel L Jackson-baby is like “enough! It’s time for the mission. The secret mission that we’ve been working on for 50 years” (audiences will be like “those babies can’t be 50 years old, can they? Is this a sci-fi movie? Because it rocks!”).
And so John Cleese-baby pulls up a badass holographic display of earth and the whitehouse and stuff, and he’s like “gentlemen, it’s time to destroy the aliens” (audiences will be like “this it TOTALLY a sci-fi movie! I knew it! AWESOME!!!).
And it turns out that all the adults are actually aliens! And it’s this whole mind-fuck conspiracy scam with aliens trying to take over the government for the past 50 years (note: the babies are still human babies. We don’t really have to explain the whole 50-year-old babies or how they figured this all out or anything).
So then Samuel L Jackson-baby is about to say “Lock and Load,” but Bruce Willis-Baby interrupts him and says “Yippee Ki-yay Paratrooper Babies” (note: this is his famous line from Die Hard, only altered to fit our movie. Audiences LOVE when he says this. Trust me!) and Samuel L Jackson-baby gives him this look like “I’m pissed that you interrupted me, but you’re still awesome for saying your catchphrase and go get ‘em tiger.” (we have to make sure all of this is conveyed in his look. Again, there’s a Russian animal trainer I know who’s really good and can probably train babies to look this way into the camera. You guys should have lunch and work out the details.)
Then all the babies load up into these ejector pods and launch all badass down to the planet.
But the alien-adults knew that they would be doing this, so they’re like “Fire!” and it’s totally an all-out war with the alien-adults and the human-babies with fire and explosions and plasma guns and rockets and lasers and robots and all like pew-pew-pew-Kabooooom!!!!
(this battle should last at least an hour and be really fucking awesome or ELSE!)
Then the battle is over and the smoke is all everywhere like fog and Bruce Willis-baby finds Samuel L Jackson-baby lying on the ground, and he’s wounded (audience is like “that’s even MORE sad because he’s a baby!!! I’m going to cry! I’m crying!”).
So Samuel L Jackson-baby is all like coughing blood everywhere and Bruce Willis-baby is like “I’ll take care of your mother for you” (Tragic Irony!).
So then Bruce Willis-baby turns to the other babies and they’re like “all the aliens are dead” and he gives this rousing speech about how they’ve made sacrifices, but they’ve done a good thing and now they can just go back to being normal babies
Then Bruce Willis-baby goes back home, and the dog who was barking at him from before kneels before him instead (Dogs have a heightened sense, so it would make sense that they know he did a good thing and killed a bunch of aliens).
Then he puts all his equipment up in its secret compartments and when it’s all hidden, he crawls back onto his mom on the couch.
She wakes up and she’s like “oh, I must have dozed off. I hope I didn’t miss anything exciting” and Bruce Willis-baby winks at the camera and we roll the credits on a job well-done!!! (Also, I think we should get a tie-in with Burger King and Mattel to do some promotions and make toys and stuff. Kids LOVE toys. Trust me on this. Especially from movies!!!)
We zoom in on the baby.
All of a sudden, holy shit, he injects a tiny syringe into his mom’s shoulder (the audience is like “what the hell? Babies don’t typically do that!”).
The mother says “I’m tired,” and the baby makes this smirk-face, because he injected her with knock-out juice.
She lies on the couch, and as soon as she’s out cold, he gets up and pulls a watch and high-tech goggles out of his diaper (audience is like “whaaaaa?”).
The baby puts the high-tech watch and goggles on (note: babies aren’t good at stuff like this, so we’ll have to CGI the babies, or have an animal trainer teach several baby-clones how to do things on cue or something).
He speaks into the watch, and holy krap, it’s Bruce Willis (the audience is like “this baby must be a badass Die Hard baby”) and he’s like “Squad 8, what’s your status?”
So squad 8 is like “Operation put mommies to sleep is complete.”
And Bruce Willis-baby is like “Then it’s go-time. Move, move, move!”
And there’s all this action as the Bruce-Willis baby CGI-runs (because babies don’t run the way Bruce Willis runs) through the house, and straps on all his high-tech gear (including a jetpack! Audiences LOVE jetpacks).
He heads out the back door, and the neighbour’s CGI dog is all like foam-mouth-city and he’s gonna bite Bruce Willis-baby, but Bruce Willis-baby pulls this HUUUUUGE steak out of his diaper (it was too big to be in there! Hahaha!) and throws it at the CGI dog.
The dog’s all happy (the dog needs to make a good happy smirk-face) and Bruce Willis-baby pulls his flight goggles down over his eyes as we zoom in to see how cool he is. Then BLAMMO-WHAMMO his jetpack blasts off and he’s flying into the sky (we should have a shot where his mouth is getting pulled back because of the wind while he’s flying so fast. People love that).
He flies into this secret satellite and it’s full of babies! (families will love this movie!)
The leader of the babies turns around and is like “it’s about time!” and it’s totally Samuel L Jackson-baby! (note: the faces should look like the actors. We can probably train babies to hold their faces certain ways, or just CGI over them)
And Bruce Willis baby is like “don’t hassle me” or something cool, and Samuel L Jackson-baby is like “enough! It’s time for the mission. The secret mission that we’ve been working on for 50 years” (audiences will be like “those babies can’t be 50 years old, can they? Is this a sci-fi movie? Because it rocks!”).
And so John Cleese-baby pulls up a badass holographic display of earth and the whitehouse and stuff, and he’s like “gentlemen, it’s time to destroy the aliens” (audiences will be like “this it TOTALLY a sci-fi movie! I knew it! AWESOME!!!).
And it turns out that all the adults are actually aliens! And it’s this whole mind-fuck conspiracy scam with aliens trying to take over the government for the past 50 years (note: the babies are still human babies. We don’t really have to explain the whole 50-year-old babies or how they figured this all out or anything).
So then Samuel L Jackson-baby is about to say “Lock and Load,” but Bruce Willis-Baby interrupts him and says “Yippee Ki-yay Paratrooper Babies” (note: this is his famous line from Die Hard, only altered to fit our movie. Audiences LOVE when he says this. Trust me!) and Samuel L Jackson-baby gives him this look like “I’m pissed that you interrupted me, but you’re still awesome for saying your catchphrase and go get ‘em tiger.” (we have to make sure all of this is conveyed in his look. Again, there’s a Russian animal trainer I know who’s really good and can probably train babies to look this way into the camera. You guys should have lunch and work out the details.)
Then all the babies load up into these ejector pods and launch all badass down to the planet.
But the alien-adults knew that they would be doing this, so they’re like “Fire!” and it’s totally an all-out war with the alien-adults and the human-babies with fire and explosions and plasma guns and rockets and lasers and robots and all like pew-pew-pew-Kabooooom!!!!
(this battle should last at least an hour and be really fucking awesome or ELSE!)
Then the battle is over and the smoke is all everywhere like fog and Bruce Willis-baby finds Samuel L Jackson-baby lying on the ground, and he’s wounded (audience is like “that’s even MORE sad because he’s a baby!!! I’m going to cry! I’m crying!”).
So Samuel L Jackson-baby is all like coughing blood everywhere and Bruce Willis-baby is like “I’ll take care of your mother for you” (Tragic Irony!).
So then Bruce Willis-baby turns to the other babies and they’re like “all the aliens are dead” and he gives this rousing speech about how they’ve made sacrifices, but they’ve done a good thing and now they can just go back to being normal babies
Then Bruce Willis-baby goes back home, and the dog who was barking at him from before kneels before him instead (Dogs have a heightened sense, so it would make sense that they know he did a good thing and killed a bunch of aliens).
Then he puts all his equipment up in its secret compartments and when it’s all hidden, he crawls back onto his mom on the couch.
She wakes up and she’s like “oh, I must have dozed off. I hope I didn’t miss anything exciting” and Bruce Willis-baby winks at the camera and we roll the credits on a job well-done!!! (Also, I think we should get a tie-in with Burger King and Mattel to do some promotions and make toys and stuff. Kids LOVE toys. Trust me on this. Especially from movies!!!)
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Teeth and Money
I’ve got plum between my teeth. I always have something between my teeth. That’s the trouble with having large teeth.
One of the troubles anyway; I also have a tendency to bite things.
Like people.
All of my friends know this, because at one time or another, I’ve bitten them. And believe me, they weren’t expecting it. No one’s every retaliated in a mean way, though. And that doesn’t mean I wait until I’m really good friends with them before I bite them.
I just bite whenever I feel like biting.
My friends just don’t retaliate because they’re good people and they know my intentions are pure.
I can’t help it. Well, I can, but I choose not to.
Which leads to me biting total strangers.
I was actually recognized by a girl in a bar a few years ago for biting her and I didn’t even remember doing it.
Not until she explained the whole story, and jogged my memory.
“It was your first day working in the airport, and you bit me, and I didn’t even know you, and that was so weird and hilarious and what are you up to now? (glug, glug, flirty eyes)”
You try biting someone your first day on the job in an international airport and see what happens.
I did, and it was great.
This girl was a bartender, who was very very cute.
I didn’t rationalize it that way though.
Something deep in my mind just knew she wouldn’t mind being bitten, and that urge came a’ knockin’, so I did it.
Yes, I had bitten this woman, who I didn’t know then, and still don’t.
As I said, it had even proved to be a conversation starter a year and a half later, and believe you me, if I hadn’t been dating someone at the time I ran back into her, I would have gotten to know her a lot better.
She would have had a lot more bite marks if you know what I’m saying. I think you do. Yeah, you do.
You might think all this biting makes my mouth a filthy filthy place.
Well it does, and not just biting strangers and friends; I also put money in my mouth. I don’t do it as much as I used to, but for a good while, I did it on a daily basis.
It tastes interesting. Not great, but not bad.
It also freaks people out, which I don’t understand.
Who doesn’t like the taste of metal? Who’s never tried that even once in their life?
Metal is kind of like bubble gum; great to taste and chew around on, but if you swallow a lot of it, it’s going to be really gross and probably horrible for you.
Paper money is great too.
It’s such a combination of flavours: ink, paper, the hands/wallets/pockets of a thousand different people, and whatever they coat it with to make it shiny.
If you think that’s disgusting and you consider money filthy, work in a restaurant for a few months and see if you ever want to eat out again. Germs are EVERYWHERE.
At least coins sit in your car, boiling in the sun.
You think germs thrive and make little germ cities on the surface of a 125-degree copper penny?
That’s like humans deciding the surface of the planet Mercury is good for a weekend beach trip.
They’re more likely to multiply and spread out on the rim of your “brand new” paper coffee cup, as it sits there in its little cupstack in Starbucks, where the temperature and humidity are perfect 24/7.
If you think about this stuff long enough, you’ll want to disinfect everything, which sounds great, unless you know that disinfectants only kill 99.99% of the germs.
Disinfectants only kill the weak germs.
Disinfectants don’t even touch the 0.01% bodybuilder germs; which means the bodybuilder germs are the only germs left.
So they all have germ-sex with each other and make nothing but bodybuilder germ babies. BAM! 50 years later, humans are fucked because germs can all lift 100 times their own weight up over their heads, and all humans can do is spray an ineffective mist at the ULTRAGERMS™ and cower together in their plastic biosuits.
Our best hope for the future might be for you to put money in your mouth on a daily basis and toughen your immune system up like a little organized crime family.
“Welcome to Jon’s Body. Germ and crime free* since 1993.”
Just to reiterate, I don’t put money in my mouth to build my immune system; I do it because I like the taste. The immune-system-building is just a good “not-crazy” reason to put money in your mouth if you want to do it, but also care what other people think.
I think I’ve gotten way off-topic here.
In summary: my big teeth usually cause a lot of trouble for me, but sometimes they lead to pretty girls thinking I’m awesome. And germs are fucking scary, but if you put enough of them in your mouth, your body will build a white blood cell mafia, which will proceed to wipe out the bodybuilder germs for not paying their protection money.
This was a good blog.
One of the troubles anyway; I also have a tendency to bite things.
Like people.
All of my friends know this, because at one time or another, I’ve bitten them. And believe me, they weren’t expecting it. No one’s every retaliated in a mean way, though. And that doesn’t mean I wait until I’m really good friends with them before I bite them.
I just bite whenever I feel like biting.
My friends just don’t retaliate because they’re good people and they know my intentions are pure.
I can’t help it. Well, I can, but I choose not to.
Which leads to me biting total strangers.
I was actually recognized by a girl in a bar a few years ago for biting her and I didn’t even remember doing it.
Not until she explained the whole story, and jogged my memory.
“It was your first day working in the airport, and you bit me, and I didn’t even know you, and that was so weird and hilarious and what are you up to now? (glug, glug, flirty eyes)”
You try biting someone your first day on the job in an international airport and see what happens.
I did, and it was great.
This girl was a bartender, who was very very cute.
I didn’t rationalize it that way though.
Something deep in my mind just knew she wouldn’t mind being bitten, and that urge came a’ knockin’, so I did it.
Yes, I had bitten this woman, who I didn’t know then, and still don’t.
As I said, it had even proved to be a conversation starter a year and a half later, and believe you me, if I hadn’t been dating someone at the time I ran back into her, I would have gotten to know her a lot better.
She would have had a lot more bite marks if you know what I’m saying. I think you do. Yeah, you do.
You might think all this biting makes my mouth a filthy filthy place.
Well it does, and not just biting strangers and friends; I also put money in my mouth. I don’t do it as much as I used to, but for a good while, I did it on a daily basis.
It tastes interesting. Not great, but not bad.
It also freaks people out, which I don’t understand.
Who doesn’t like the taste of metal? Who’s never tried that even once in their life?
Metal is kind of like bubble gum; great to taste and chew around on, but if you swallow a lot of it, it’s going to be really gross and probably horrible for you.
Paper money is great too.
It’s such a combination of flavours: ink, paper, the hands/wallets/pockets of a thousand different people, and whatever they coat it with to make it shiny.
If you think that’s disgusting and you consider money filthy, work in a restaurant for a few months and see if you ever want to eat out again. Germs are EVERYWHERE.
At least coins sit in your car, boiling in the sun.
You think germs thrive and make little germ cities on the surface of a 125-degree copper penny?
That’s like humans deciding the surface of the planet Mercury is good for a weekend beach trip.
They’re more likely to multiply and spread out on the rim of your “brand new” paper coffee cup, as it sits there in its little cupstack in Starbucks, where the temperature and humidity are perfect 24/7.
If you think about this stuff long enough, you’ll want to disinfect everything, which sounds great, unless you know that disinfectants only kill 99.99% of the germs.
Disinfectants only kill the weak germs.
Disinfectants don’t even touch the 0.01% bodybuilder germs; which means the bodybuilder germs are the only germs left.
So they all have germ-sex with each other and make nothing but bodybuilder germ babies. BAM! 50 years later, humans are fucked because germs can all lift 100 times their own weight up over their heads, and all humans can do is spray an ineffective mist at the ULTRAGERMS™ and cower together in their plastic biosuits.
Our best hope for the future might be for you to put money in your mouth on a daily basis and toughen your immune system up like a little organized crime family.
“Welcome to Jon’s Body. Germ and crime free* since 1993.”
Just to reiterate, I don’t put money in my mouth to build my immune system; I do it because I like the taste. The immune-system-building is just a good “not-crazy” reason to put money in your mouth if you want to do it, but also care what other people think.
I think I’ve gotten way off-topic here.
In summary: my big teeth usually cause a lot of trouble for me, but sometimes they lead to pretty girls thinking I’m awesome. And germs are fucking scary, but if you put enough of them in your mouth, your body will build a white blood cell mafia, which will proceed to wipe out the bodybuilder germs for not paying their protection money.
This was a good blog.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
2 Britni, From Cassi
I <3 U!
Omg! This class is so boring! I hate algabra! Y do we even have 2 know this, right?
Did u see Derek this morning? SO cute!!!!!
I wish I was a Juneyur so I could ask him out.
Do u think he’d date a softmore? Prolly not.
Btw, my boobs r totes getting biggur. I just tried on my favorite sweater, and it totes doesn’t fit!!!!!! Can u believe that? SRSLY!!!!
So we HAVE 2 go find me a new fav sweater so I can b all like “So Derek, will you help me study math or whatever?”
What r u doing this weekend????
Tiffani’s mom is out of town, so she’s throwing a party with all of her skank friends. She asked me and asked me 2 ask u if u wanted 2 cum.
It’s gonna b stupid, but I know Derek will b there, so like I HAVE 2 go.
Which means we HAVE 2 go shopping for sweaters tonite OR ELSE!!!
I forgot my Bioligy homework 2, did u do it? I need 2 copy.
Rite me back!!!!
Luv Cassi XOXOXOX
Omg! This class is so boring! I hate algabra! Y do we even have 2 know this, right?
Did u see Derek this morning? SO cute!!!!!
I wish I was a Juneyur so I could ask him out.
Do u think he’d date a softmore? Prolly not.
Btw, my boobs r totes getting biggur. I just tried on my favorite sweater, and it totes doesn’t fit!!!!!! Can u believe that? SRSLY!!!!
So we HAVE 2 go find me a new fav sweater so I can b all like “So Derek, will you help me study math or whatever?”
What r u doing this weekend????
Tiffani’s mom is out of town, so she’s throwing a party with all of her skank friends. She asked me and asked me 2 ask u if u wanted 2 cum.
It’s gonna b stupid, but I know Derek will b there, so like I HAVE 2 go.
Which means we HAVE 2 go shopping for sweaters tonite OR ELSE!!!
I forgot my Bioligy homework 2, did u do it? I need 2 copy.
Rite me back!!!!
Luv Cassi XOXOXOX
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Brandy's Head
Brandy had a fat head.
Most people didn’t notice right away.
At first, she just looked closer.
All the time.
For no reason.
But everyone figured it out eventually.
She wasn’t closer all the time.
Her head was just fat.
It wasn’t an ugly head by any means.
On the contrary; Brandy was very pretty.
And with so much surface to cover, that just meant she had more pretty than the next girl. If say, someone was very plain-jane and had a fat head, that would be a lot of plain.
And I suppose if someone was ugly and had a fat head, most people would rudely refer to them as “that ugly person with the fat head.”
The fatness of her head didn’t magnify her beauty, but it did magnify her personality.
So I suppose it magnified her inner beauty if you want to get specific about subjective intangibles. If you do, that’s your business and I’m sure you have a good reason.
I honestly don’t know why it matters to you. Brandy’s beauty isn’t the point of the story, or else I would have started with “Brandy was a beautiful girl” and not “Brandy had a fat head.” If you look above, you can clearly see the story started with “Brandy had a fat head.”
Moving on.
Brandy didn’t pay much attention to her big fat head, and neither did most of her friends after a while, but she was noticed.
She was noticed by me in a coffee shop.
I didn’t make friends with her.
I never got to the point where, when I thought the name “Brandy” I thought “generous” or “hippie” or “we made out that one time, but things are still cool.”
I stayed stuck thinking “Brandy” = “fatheaded girl.”
She was pretty.
I think I mentioned that.
It’s my opinion anyway.
You are probably trying to picture how a girl with a fat head could possibly be pretty.
Mostly because I used the word “fat” to describe a part of the body notorious for having very little fat, compared to the gut, or thighs.
That would mean that if she had a fat head, it must be really really gross.
Her head isn’t really that fat, it’s just a bit larger than-who am I kidding? It’s fat. It’s a fat head. It was an accurate way to describe it, and I don’t apologize for your lack of imagination.
It wouldn’t be so very fat-looking if she didn’t also have thick curly hair.
I’ve studied facial/hair relations and I’ve noticed that usually beauty comes from them offsetting each other.
If you have a long narrow face, having your hair bounce out on the sides makes you look infinitely more beautiful than having long straight hair to match your long vampyre face.
So to summarize: Brandy had fat hair on all sides of her fat head.
You might think that such a thick mane with such a large head, must have made her look a bit like a female lion.
Well you’re forgetting that it’s the male lions who wear the dreadlocks.
Brandy was a lesbian.
Well not completely, I mean, she wasn’t committing one way or another, and she was still young enough to experiment, so it didn’t really matter anyway, but she hated Jeremy so much for cheating on her because he’s such a jerk, and all men are jerks, and she should just become a lesbian, right?
As you can probably guess, Brandy had a lot to learn.
And a lot to retain, mind you.
She was already good at that, because of her fat head.
She sat at the coffee shop drinking her Topico water, which is always good if there’s nothing more exciting to drink than bubbly tap water.
She chattered with her friends, probably talking about how dark and mysterious and cool I was, sitting on my laptop in the corner of the room.
I paid her no mind, save the occasional glance to be sure she wasn’t moving closer, which she seemed to be, but never was.
Then, as slowly as a dying relationship, she and her friends walked out of the coffee shop and out of my life.
As she left, I noticed that her ankles were the smallest I’d ever seen…
Most people didn’t notice right away.
At first, she just looked closer.
All the time.
For no reason.
But everyone figured it out eventually.
She wasn’t closer all the time.
Her head was just fat.
It wasn’t an ugly head by any means.
On the contrary; Brandy was very pretty.
And with so much surface to cover, that just meant she had more pretty than the next girl. If say, someone was very plain-jane and had a fat head, that would be a lot of plain.
And I suppose if someone was ugly and had a fat head, most people would rudely refer to them as “that ugly person with the fat head.”
The fatness of her head didn’t magnify her beauty, but it did magnify her personality.
So I suppose it magnified her inner beauty if you want to get specific about subjective intangibles. If you do, that’s your business and I’m sure you have a good reason.
I honestly don’t know why it matters to you. Brandy’s beauty isn’t the point of the story, or else I would have started with “Brandy was a beautiful girl” and not “Brandy had a fat head.” If you look above, you can clearly see the story started with “Brandy had a fat head.”
Moving on.
Brandy didn’t pay much attention to her big fat head, and neither did most of her friends after a while, but she was noticed.
She was noticed by me in a coffee shop.
I didn’t make friends with her.
I never got to the point where, when I thought the name “Brandy” I thought “generous” or “hippie” or “we made out that one time, but things are still cool.”
I stayed stuck thinking “Brandy” = “fatheaded girl.”
She was pretty.
I think I mentioned that.
It’s my opinion anyway.
You are probably trying to picture how a girl with a fat head could possibly be pretty.
Mostly because I used the word “fat” to describe a part of the body notorious for having very little fat, compared to the gut, or thighs.
That would mean that if she had a fat head, it must be really really gross.
Her head isn’t really that fat, it’s just a bit larger than-who am I kidding? It’s fat. It’s a fat head. It was an accurate way to describe it, and I don’t apologize for your lack of imagination.
It wouldn’t be so very fat-looking if she didn’t also have thick curly hair.
I’ve studied facial/hair relations and I’ve noticed that usually beauty comes from them offsetting each other.
If you have a long narrow face, having your hair bounce out on the sides makes you look infinitely more beautiful than having long straight hair to match your long vampyre face.
So to summarize: Brandy had fat hair on all sides of her fat head.
You might think that such a thick mane with such a large head, must have made her look a bit like a female lion.
Well you’re forgetting that it’s the male lions who wear the dreadlocks.
Brandy was a lesbian.
Well not completely, I mean, she wasn’t committing one way or another, and she was still young enough to experiment, so it didn’t really matter anyway, but she hated Jeremy so much for cheating on her because he’s such a jerk, and all men are jerks, and she should just become a lesbian, right?
As you can probably guess, Brandy had a lot to learn.
And a lot to retain, mind you.
She was already good at that, because of her fat head.
She sat at the coffee shop drinking her Topico water, which is always good if there’s nothing more exciting to drink than bubbly tap water.
She chattered with her friends, probably talking about how dark and mysterious and cool I was, sitting on my laptop in the corner of the room.
I paid her no mind, save the occasional glance to be sure she wasn’t moving closer, which she seemed to be, but never was.
Then, as slowly as a dying relationship, she and her friends walked out of the coffee shop and out of my life.
As she left, I noticed that her ankles were the smallest I’d ever seen…
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Writer's Block... I think...
I’m stumped.
I can’t think of a single thing to write. I told my brain that this time was the time to come up with something.
I even scheduled it on my calendar.
Here I am sitting and staring at my computer.
What should I write about?
Today I want to write something funny.
Well how about an infomercial?
No, I’ve done enough of those for a while.
How about a fake letter.
No, I just did that.
How about-
How about you shut up and let me think for a minute! Jesus. You’re always talking and offering suggestions, but you don’t know what I like anymore. You don’t know me.
I’m just trying to help.
Well stop trying to help. Just give me some space to breathe! Jesus, I feel like I’m suffocating with all the ideas you’re trying to force me to do.
I’m sorry.
Well, I’m sorry I yelled at you.
What would you like to write about?
I don’t know! Can’t we talk about something else ever?!
Ok.
Ok then!
…
Shit, I’m sorry.
…
I’m just going through a lot right now, and sitting here trying to write something is putting a lot of pressure on me, you know?
I know.
Well, I don’t mean to snap at you, and I know you’re just trying to help.
…
I’m sorry.
I also apologize. Maybe I should just let you do your own thing for a while. You’re good at coming up with ideas.
No I’m not, YOU are. You’re the part of my brain that comes up with ideas. I’m the part that is impassioned and temperamental and proud of it!
I can do other things too.
…
It’s true. I’m the part that’s abstract and thinks on a higher plane.
Are you condescending to me?
What?! No-
Yes you are. You’re saying you’re better than me because you can think of big stupid things like God and Politics and Ethics and Energy and Soul-krap-stuff!
That doesn’t mean I’m better than you.
You’re damn right it doesn’t! Let me tell you something pal; I’m down to earth. I’m with the people. I’m not all hoity-toity. I’m gritty. I’m mean. I’m like a lone-wolf bounty hunter private investigator renegade, ok? People would KILL to be like me in real life.
I’m sure they would.
Well you just watch your mouth, ‘cuz I’m also a loaded gun.
…It seems like it’s very easy to upset you today.
Yeah, so?
I’m just saying.
So maybe I’m a little uptight today. I can admit that. my job is very stressful. You just come up with the ideas, I’m the one that has to hammer them out with fingers and sweat and tears and blood and stuff.
You bleed and sweat when you type?
No, but. You know, it’s a saying.
I see. Well this seems to have gone rather poorly. Shall we try again soon?
Yeah I guess. I’ll take a break and have an imaginary cigarette and cool off, ok?
Sounds good.
This didn’t turn out very funny.
Not really, no.
Well what if I tell a joke.
I don’t think that will help.
Oh come on!!!
Very well.
So there’s this Jewish nun, right?
Right.
…
…
Get it?
Is that the whole joke?
Well, it’s based on true life, so I think people can relate to it in a real sense.
There’s no punch line.
…
That’s like saying “so there’s the Eiffel tower” and then that’s supposed to be a joke.
…You didn’t like it.
Well… I was expecting a real joke, not something you just made up.
Yeah I know.
Let’s just try again in a bit, ok?
K. Bye.
Goodbye.
I can’t think of a single thing to write. I told my brain that this time was the time to come up with something.
I even scheduled it on my calendar.
Here I am sitting and staring at my computer.
What should I write about?
Today I want to write something funny.
Well how about an infomercial?
No, I’ve done enough of those for a while.
How about a fake letter.
No, I just did that.
How about-
How about you shut up and let me think for a minute! Jesus. You’re always talking and offering suggestions, but you don’t know what I like anymore. You don’t know me.
I’m just trying to help.
Well stop trying to help. Just give me some space to breathe! Jesus, I feel like I’m suffocating with all the ideas you’re trying to force me to do.
I’m sorry.
Well, I’m sorry I yelled at you.
What would you like to write about?
I don’t know! Can’t we talk about something else ever?!
Ok.
Ok then!
…
Shit, I’m sorry.
…
I’m just going through a lot right now, and sitting here trying to write something is putting a lot of pressure on me, you know?
I know.
Well, I don’t mean to snap at you, and I know you’re just trying to help.
…
I’m sorry.
I also apologize. Maybe I should just let you do your own thing for a while. You’re good at coming up with ideas.
No I’m not, YOU are. You’re the part of my brain that comes up with ideas. I’m the part that is impassioned and temperamental and proud of it!
I can do other things too.
…
It’s true. I’m the part that’s abstract and thinks on a higher plane.
Are you condescending to me?
What?! No-
Yes you are. You’re saying you’re better than me because you can think of big stupid things like God and Politics and Ethics and Energy and Soul-krap-stuff!
That doesn’t mean I’m better than you.
You’re damn right it doesn’t! Let me tell you something pal; I’m down to earth. I’m with the people. I’m not all hoity-toity. I’m gritty. I’m mean. I’m like a lone-wolf bounty hunter private investigator renegade, ok? People would KILL to be like me in real life.
I’m sure they would.
Well you just watch your mouth, ‘cuz I’m also a loaded gun.
…It seems like it’s very easy to upset you today.
Yeah, so?
I’m just saying.
So maybe I’m a little uptight today. I can admit that. my job is very stressful. You just come up with the ideas, I’m the one that has to hammer them out with fingers and sweat and tears and blood and stuff.
You bleed and sweat when you type?
No, but. You know, it’s a saying.
I see. Well this seems to have gone rather poorly. Shall we try again soon?
Yeah I guess. I’ll take a break and have an imaginary cigarette and cool off, ok?
Sounds good.
This didn’t turn out very funny.
Not really, no.
Well what if I tell a joke.
I don’t think that will help.
Oh come on!!!
Very well.
So there’s this Jewish nun, right?
Right.
…
…
Get it?
Is that the whole joke?
Well, it’s based on true life, so I think people can relate to it in a real sense.
There’s no punch line.
…
That’s like saying “so there’s the Eiffel tower” and then that’s supposed to be a joke.
…You didn’t like it.
Well… I was expecting a real joke, not something you just made up.
Yeah I know.
Let’s just try again in a bit, ok?
K. Bye.
Goodbye.
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