Randomly Chosen Loglines Writing Challenge!

[Priya]

Okay guys, Adam's inspired me! I herefore set forth a challenge to all writers. Choosing one idea for the last challenge was interesting. No doubt. But, now's time for something a little different...

Below, you'll see that I've chosen ten random loglines. None are brilliant. But that's the idea.

Now, what I'm thinking here is you've got to imagine that a producer's gone around the bend. Sure, he loves your writing, but that may be his last sane thought. Last night, after some particularly suspect mushrooms, he's come up with some ideas that he wants YOU to write. He's got money, he's got cachet, so, you know, you really do want to work with him. But, he's also been hitting the wacky weed a little too much. BUT. If you do this, and pull it off, it might just make your career.*

The rules:

-- Five page max (must have beginning, middle, end -- no partial entries). No more, no less.

-- You must stick to the logline (please paste logline to the top of your short) you choose (from the ten listed below). If it says lazy dentist, you must show/have a lazy dentist.

-- Genre's up to you. A lot of these lend themselves to comedy -- it might be interesting to go another way. The producer doesn't mind what genre it is, as long as you realize his vision!

-- Have fun!

-- Deadline's midnight on the 23rd of January. You have one week!

-- There will only be one winner (only one prize**). Voting will take place starting January 24th. Ultimately, my vote trumps all. Just so you know.

Ten Random Loglines:

1. A radio announcer, a lazy dentist, and a feisty refugee from Alaska worry about their loved ones on a desert island.

2. The father-in-law of a prince runs out of gas and ends up in a fantasy world in a Mexican border town.

3. A quartet of game programmers witness a murder.

4. A plaintiff and four charming tap-dancers overcome immense obstacles.

5. A pair of rhyming advertising executives cooks dinner for homeless people in a mansion.

6. A mutant jewelry salesman and a conservative Marine are guests at a party.

7. An idealistic waiter, a thoughtful football coach, and a short housekeeper search for the Fountain of Youth.

8. Six assassins practice an act for a talent show.

9. A knight, a masseuse, and a bug-eyed monster give conflicting reports to the police in a forest.

10. An accountant learns the world is going to end. (For OzFade)





* It's not really going to make your career. Or will it?

** In the interest of giving back:

The winner will get the opportunity to send me a completed script -- if the winner doesn't have a completed script, the next runner-up can send me a completed script, and so on (runners-up will not get passed along, though) -- I will read said script and give you notes on it. IF I LOVE the script. LOVE it. If I absolutely adore it, I'll pass it along to my agent -- if you don't already have one and are looking for representation. If I don't LOVE it, or you have an agent already (or don't want one) I'll give you notes (hi, former reader here) and help you get it into shape for contest season. That's it. Good luck all!

A note:

No, I will not read your script if you don't win, or if you don't enter. No, I will not pass it along if you don't win or don't enter. Please don't PM me. Don't email me. Don't call me. I'm not interested.

[OzFade]

K I'm in...hot damn logline just for me...can we make it a generic end of the world though so other people can swing an idea?

[Priya]

Uh, no. Loglines as they are. Oh, and I'm thinking about giving anyone who chooses number five bonus points. I mean, I won't. But, I'm thinking about it.

[OzFade]

That's cool...

Now rule of thumb...does the logline have to be in present form...or do we get some leeway (sp??) in terms of pre or post logline if that makes sense.

For example...

A knight, a masseuse, and a bug-eyed monster give conflicting reports to the police in a forest.

Can a story be told after this event (like them in interrogation etc)

[Priya]

The logline is the blueprint of your short story. I've tried answering this question a couple of times, it ends up with me assisting you on how to write it. Let's just say, if it says it's in a forest, then it's in a forest. Basically, if it says X, and you have to question X, go back to the logline, see what it says, and follow that.

I don't think I should answer any more questions in regards to the loglines. Good luck!

[Adam Isaac]

I'm thinking Priya's already got a short for each of these loglines.:D

I think I'll play in this one. Kind of soon though, let me ponder on the loglines for a night, and I'll see what rolls around in my head.

Blondie does good ones too, so this will give us two to work on.

:cool:

[Priya]

I didn't write these loglines. I went here:

http://www.lifeformz.com/cgi-bin/idea/idea.cgi

For all of them, including OzFade's.

As much as I'd like to see Blonde's loglines, the challenge is as stated. From those ten loglines, you must write a short (if you're up for the challenge, that is). Only then will you be eligible for the prize!

:)

[Adam Isaac]

Oz's looks the most appealing to me. Good on ya, Ozzie!

I don't write comedy well...we'll see what happens.

[Priya]

Doesn't have to be comedy!

[dpaterso]

Just, please, stop calling them loglines, because they ain't. They're random words thrown together. Most couldn't even be called story ideas. At best they're wacky situations. Have fun.

-Derek

[Priya]

Sorry, Randomly Thrown Together Words Writing Challenge doesn't have the same ring to it...

[sc111]

Can we have the name of the agent or agency included in the grand "if I love it" prize as stated below?


"I will read said script and give you notes on it. IF I LOVE the script. LOVE it. If I absolutely adore it, I'll pass it along to my agent -- if you don't already have one and are looking for representation."

[Adam Isaac]

Since the producer was on psilocybins the night before, there's a good chance I'm going to screw with his psyche. I'm in...this is my first dance ladies, don't be gentle with me.


Can we have the name of the agent or agency included in the grand "if I love it" prize as stated below?


Special Talent Agent Brock Sandoval with the Gardenia-Cavender firm on the southwest end of Hollywood.....that's who I think it is....who else could it be?

[Priya]

Can we have the name of the agent or agency included in the grand "if I love it" prize as stated below?

I'm not sure why that's important but, to answer your question: Yes, one person can know. In about a week or so.

As I said, if the winner doesn't need help with representation, I'm happy to give notes on one of their scripts. It's a "pick your own prize" prize.

Edit: Adam it is AWESOME that you're entering. I know one of the judges, so let me know if you want me to have a word...

[wenonah]

*sigh* I need to write something - I think I'm in.

[Hairy Lime]

I'm not in.

I don't want an agent.

[frankts1]

I'm not in.

I don't want an agent.

I suppose I could use an agent, but quite frankly (if you'll pardon the pun) I'm totally turned off by each of these "loglines". Much as I'd like to participate, none of these do anything for me or my so-called "wacky side".

Sorry.

[wenonah]

I have to agree... I can't reall come up with anything that I actually want to write that would follow any of these ideas :-( sorry, Priya!

[ylekot43]

I will be entering.

Guys, if you can't get into a five-page short because you don't like any of the loglines, then it will interesting to see how you handle a paid assignment offer with just one logline/premise.

Come on. It'll be fun.

[IndieMe]

I'll try, but I have another competition this week. Someone just told me I have to start over because I strayed too far from suspense and into thriller.

What's the difference between suspense and thriller anyway?

Anyway, I'll do my best :)

[frankts1]

I will be entering.

Guys, if you can't get into a five-page short because you don't like any of the loglines, then it will interesting to see how you handle a paid assignment offer with just one logline/premise.

Come on. It'll be fun.

I accept your offer of payment.

[dpaterso]

Someone just told me I have to start over because I strayed too far from suspense and into thriller.
What's the difference between suspense and thriller anyway?
Didn't Hitchcock say that suspense is the slow-burning anticipation that comes with the audience's knowing exactly what's about to happen next, while the characters don't know? And thriller relies on the audience's not knowing what will befall the characters in the next minute as they get deeper and deeper into trouble -- yet knowing full well that something must go horribly wrong? Or something like that.

Google, do your thing... hmm... yeah, here:
Mystery vs. Suspense Thriller Book Genres (http://www.mysterynet.com/books/testimony/mystery-vs-thriller.shtml)

-Derek

[wenonah]

I will be entering.

Guys, if you can't get into a five-page short because you don't like any of the loglines, then it will interesting to see how you handle a paid assignment offer with just one logline/premise.

Come on. It'll be fun.

I agree and it is actually easier to swallow when someone pays (or at least promises to down the line) :rolleyes: ... honestly my plate JUST filled up last night with a real live paying feature-length gig so I need to focus my attention on that. I do enjoy the challenges of being constrained by a narrow subject, maybe I'm just rusty as none of the ones offered really did anything for me. Anyways, have fun!

[Priya]

Wenonah's the only one with a real excuse! (Yay Wen!)

If you don't like the "loglines," don't enter. Simple as that. I just thought this would be fun. And I tacked on the "prize" because I was feeling nice. Doesn't happen often. If people don't enter, that's cool. Less work for me!

[OzFade]

I'm so in I can't see a way out.

[dpaterso]

... honestly my plate JUST filled up last night with a real live paying feature-length gig
Go Wenonah!

Priya - where do the scripts go? Here? You?

-Derek

[ylekot43]

I accept your offer of payment.

See the "1 dollar option" thread.

[Adam Isaac]

I came up with a another idea last night. I might do two. Can't believe I actually outlined a comedy...it seemed funny last night, we'll see though.

[OzFade]

An accountant learns the world is going to end...ugh short and sweet but written at 2 in the morning with the flu and with beer in the system (peer pressure)

FADE IN:

INT. OFFICE BUILDING - DAY

A sea of cubicles line from wall to wall.

Sweaty, red face suit monkey's furiously tap away at
computers, shuffle through paperwork and pound away on
calculators.

One of the cubicles is empty. A framed picture of a fat cat
is the only personal item among the office paraphernalia.

A clock on the wall ticks over to noon. Everyone freezes,
exhausted faces on the clock.

INT. HARVEY'S HOUSE - DAY

The entire house has been emptied of all furniture...all
belongings...all life.

HARVEY, late 40's timid and looking like he's carrying the
weight of the world on his shoulders, flits in and out of
the room with a cardboard box.

A phone on the counter rings...switches to answering
machine.

MAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
(on answering machine)
Harvey it's Jack. Look...I know
I'm going to sound like a prick
but we really need you at the
office. There's way too much -

Harvey pulls the phone and the answering machine out of
their sockets and dumps them into the cardboard box.

EXT. HARVEY'S BACKYARD - DAY

Harvey bends down in front of a large hatch lid and
swallows the lump in his throat.

He glances up at the pristine blue sky...waves sadly at it.

INT. HATCH - DAY

Harvey climbs down a long ladder. He steps onto the
metallic floor, glances around.

All his household belongings clutter the dim lit room. A
fat cat lolls around on a chair.

He checks his watch...quarter past twelve.

INT. HATCH - LATER

Harvey slumps down in a chair...picks up a newspaper
clipping from a box and checks his watch. It reads five
past midnight.

HARVEY
So...Happy New Year's I guess.

And on the newspaper clipping a headline reads...

"Y2K. END OF AN ERA?"

FADE OUT:

THE END

[Fortean]

Oops! I meant "In A Grove."

OzFade, was that five pages, ("No more, no less")? Harbinger, (not Habronic, as originally posted), may be readying to pounce. (See post #31 in this thread (http://messageboard.donedealpro.com/boards/showthread.php?p=328067#post328067), eh.) I cannot find a proper way to convert MM files to a proper "code," (as you've managed), anyways, but this should fit. It's five pages according to my MM, (and I could trim the parentheticals for argument's sake)!

"9. A knight, a masseuse, and a bug-eyed monster give conflicting reports to the police in a forest."

IN A GROVE


ON BLACK

CUE MUSIC: "DANGER AHEAD" (http://tvland.classictvhits.com/Dragnet/Sounds/DragnetTheme.WAV) (a.k.a. "DRAGNET MARCH")

NARRATOR
The story you are about to see is true. The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

JAPANESE POLICEMAN
It was Wednesday, January seventeenth--

FADE IN:

EXT. RAJO-MON GATE - NIGHT

Rain pours down upon a tiled roof and overflows the gutters.

JAPANESE POLICEMAN
--It was raining in Kyoto.

A drainpipe, in the form of an oriental dragon's mouth, spits a steady stream of rainwater upon the helmet of a drenched Japanese policeman, KATO, in feudal garb.

KATO
I was working the night watch out of Rajo-mon. My name's Kato. I'm the policeman who cracked the case of the waylaid Log-Lion.

Six NINJA assassins ride their unicycles, from the country road into the shelter of the city's southern gate. One of the ninjas spots Kato and rides up to him.

FIRST NINJA
Hey, you a cop?

KATO
(smiles, bows to ninjas)
Hai!

SECOND NINJA
Hi, to you, too! But--
(emphasizing each word)
Are-- you-- a-- cop?

KATO
Hai! I am a policeman.

FIRST NINJA
You'd better haul your ass down the road. There's a samurai, with a dagger in his back, but it's not one of ours.

THIRD NINJA
Nice lookin' dagger, tho.

FOURTH NINJA
We're on our way to the Kyoto Comedy Talent Show.

KATO
Hai! That figures.

FIFTH NINJA
We're gonna kill 'em!

KATO
Hai?

SIXTH NINJA
Have you heard the one about the father-in-law of a prince, who runs out of gas and ends up in a fantasy world, in a Mexican town?

Kato smiles, bows.

KATO
(laughs heartily)
Hai! That's a funny one.

EXT. FOREST GROVE - DAY

Kato follows the road through the woods.

KATO
I walked all night to find the crime scene.
(giggles)
I wonder if those ninjas ever heard the story about the idealistic waiter, the thoughtful football coach, and the short housekeeper in their search for the Fountain of Youth?

Beautiful MASAJO's mournful moan pierces the morning mist.

MASAJO
Oh, woe is me!

KATO
Your name is O-Wo? My name is Kato. I am a policeman.

MASAJO
My name is Masajo. I am a masseuse, and a bug-eyed monster mauled my master, Takehiro, a samurai, last night.

Kato pulls out a notepad and readies his pencil.

KATO
Just the facts, m'am. Who take-e your hero? Which mall? For massage-o? Was he really the last samurai?

MASAJO
That horrible Log-Lion bandit attacked my Takehiro--

KATO
Just the facts, m'am. Describe him.

MASAJO
He was your height.

KATO
Hai.

MASAJO
Height?

KATO
Hai. How tall was he?

Masajo looks behind herself at the samurai TAKEHIRO, who lies on his stomach with a dagger protruding from his back. Takehiro groans and struggles to look up at Masajo and Kato.

MASAJO
He's much taller when he stands up.

Kato draws his sword from its scabbard with one hand, and shoves Masajo aside, knocking her down, with the other hand.

KATO
Drop your weapon, hot shot!

TAKEHIRO
(pointing to Masajo)
She's lying.

Kato glances over at Masajo, who massages her rump, upon which she fell. Takehiro collapses with a death rattle.

KATO
Hai. She's lying there, and I'm placing you under arrest.
(turns to face Takehiro)
You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say to me can be used as evidence in a court of law.

Takehiro remains motionless, silent, and quite dead.

KATO
Do you understand this right? With this in mind, do you wish to speak to me?

The bandit, known as the LOG-LION, emerges from behind a large log. His filthy clothes resemble matted fur, his unkempt hair resembles a lion's mane, and he has big bug-eyes.

LOG-LION
If Takehiro won't talk, I will. Masajo laid him low with a fatal blow by that long blade in this green glade.

KATO
(scribbling in his notebook)
Hai! Hey! Not so fast, hot shot!

Masajo pulls the dagger out of Takehiro's back.

MASAJO
I'll hear your roar, Log-Lion!

INT. COURTYARD - DAY

Kato bows before an elderly Japanese MAGISTRATE, the BAILIFF, and the COURT CLERK.

KATO
Your honor, I have also brought four other witnesses who saw the murder.

MAGISTRATE
(to the bailiff)
Has this anything to do with that silly plaintiff and those four charming tap-dancers?

BAILIFF
No, your honor, that case has met with immense obstacles before the appeals court in Edo.

KATO
These men are video-game programmers, your honor, not tap-dancers.

Four VIDEO-GAME PROGRAMMERS, in feudal garb but wearing thick eyeglasses and pocket protectors, enter and bow to the magistrate and to the bailiff.

MAGISTRATE
So you fellows can't dance?

VIDEO-GAME PROGRAMMERS
(in unison)
Hai! That's a virtual fact.

MAGISTRATE
Yes, you can dance, or yes, you can't dance? Its virtue is not in question.

VIDEO-GAME PROGRAMMERS
(in unison)
Hai! Yes, we can't dance.

The Bailiff hands the Magistrate a note, which, when read, shocks the Magistrate.

MAGISTRATE
I've heard enough. The prisoner is guilty.
(quietly to the bailiff)
According to my accountant, we're already on the fifth page, and this world is about to come to its end.

The Court Clerk rises and reads from a scroll.

COURT CLERK
On January twenty-third, trial was held in the castle courtyard, by the chief magistrate of Kyoto prefecture. Here are the results of that trial.

INT. PRISON - DAY

Masajo squirms uncomfortably under glaring lights.

BAILIFF (O.S.)
Masajo was tried and convicted of homicide in the first degree and received sentence as prescribed by law. Murder in the first degree is punishable by a period of not less than twenty years in the prefecture penitentiary.

FADE OUT:

P.S. There's a video available on-line with a similar story-line, here (http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-3611257047604037409&q=public+domain). And, Harbinger wasn't too far away!

[Harbinger]

OzFade, was that five pages, ("No more, no less")? Habronic may be readying to pounce.

I have the strangest feeling that was directed at me :)

[Fortean]

I have the strangest feeling that was directed at me :)You're right! Well, about that feeling, at least, (tho we may argue about what constitutes "five pages"). Eh, Humbug?

[OzFade]

lol Fortean not even close to five pages...I thought the max was five pages. Why are there so many damn rules when it comes to a writing excersise. Oh well...if my pages are disqualified I'm running the next comp.

[magicghost2977]

6 Assassins practice for a talent show

FADE IN:

INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT

Smoke... Liquor... Cards... ASSASSIN #1 throws the Jack of Hearts onto the table... Five other assassins seated around the table look at the card, then glance to #1 as if to say **** you...

ASSASSIN 1
What...

The others look back at their cards...

ASSASSIN 2

We oughta’ be thinkin’ about tomorrow...

ASSASSIN 3
Why’s that? It ain’t American Idol...

ASSASSIN 4
That’s a good show...

ASSASSIN 5
Great f***’in show...

ASSASSIN 6
I don’t see why we gotta be a part of this anyhow...

ASSASSIN 1
It’s my f***’in niece, alright? My sister’s a good woman... This is her daughter’s dream...

ASSASSIN 3
She’s in 3rd grade...

ASSASSIN 1
So what... It’s still a competition...

ASSASSIN 4
It’s never too early to dream...

ASSASSIN 5
Amen to that...

ASSASSIN 6
Whad’ you wanna be when you were younger, Manny?

ASSASSIN 4
Me? An engineer...

ASSASSIN 3
Get outta here... You can’t even play Bridge let alone build one...

ASSASSIN 4
Hey... I told you they were cheating...

ASSASSIN 1
Who was cheating?

ASSASSIN 3
You believe this guy? I took’em to the home where my mother’s at... They play Bridge every Sunday... In 3 hours he lost his shirt... I was gonna bring him to Bingo Tuesday but now I’m too embarrassed...

ASSASSIN 4
F*** you...

ASSASSIN 3
What, my mother’s got a reputation to uphold... They’re cutthroat down there...

ASSASSIN 5
(laughing wildly)
Manny the Hammer bested by “Whispering Pines”...

ASSASSIN 3
Matter of fact I second guess you bein’ in on this. Third grade may be a little much for you to take on-

ASSASSIN 4
Alright, alright -

ASSASSIN 2
(as the laughter fades)
I think we should do a joke...

ASSASSIN 6
Like what? What kinda joke?

ASSASSIN 2
Like an interactive joke... Like, you know... Like the aristocrats...

ASSASSIN 1
(taking out his cigar)
The Aristocrats... What’s that?

The assassins look at one another nonplussed...

ASSASSIN 5
You never seen the DVD?

ASSASSIN 1
I’m an old man, I ain’t got time for DVD’s...

ASSASSIN 5
You wanna tell it?

ASSASSIN 3
Naw, you can tell it...

ASSASSIN 4
I’ll tell it...

ASSASSIN 6
Shut the f*** up, ya engineer...

ASSASSIN 5
Alright, alright... There’s this family that comes before a talent agent, right... Father says ‘Boy, have I got an act for you...’ Talent agent says ‘What’s the act?’ Father says ‘Well, my family and I come onto the stage... Take off all our clothes... We each take turn f***’in each other... Me and my wife... My daughter sucks my d***... My son does my wife doggy-style till he cu** all over my daughter, who drinks it up and then sh**s all over the stage... At this point they call out the family dog -

BANG... Assassin #1 shoots Assassin #5 in the head, ending the narrative... The rest look up...

ASSASSIN 1
I don’t ever wanna hear that kinda filth out of any one of your mouths again, you understand me?

ASSASSIN 3
Don’t look at me, I wanted to do a skit...

ASSASSIN 2
A skit... Like what...

ASSASSIN 6
You know, nothin’s funnier than those Geico commercials... With the cavemen... That’s some creative s***.

ASSASSIN 4
I thought they did the lizard...

ASSASSIN 2
Gecko...

ASSASSIN 6
Nah, it’s Geico, you stupid f***...

ASSASSIN 2
Well, what’s Lacey wanna do?

ASSASSIN 1
Sing...

ASSASSIN 3
Why does she need us?

ASSASSIN 1
Her principle’s a bit of a harda**... Real tough guy...

ASSASSIN 2
Does he know whose family she’s in?

ASSASSIN 1
That’s just it... Way he sees it Lacey gets no special treatment strictly because of the family...

ASSASSIN 4
So we’re not performing... You just want us there to ensure a fair and balanced contest...

ASSASSIN 3
Listen to Bill O’Reilley over hear... Fair and balanced...

ASSASSIN 1
Lacey wants us to be part of the act.

ASSASSIN 2
(cashing his cigar)
I got it. Vinny, go get your axe...

ASSASSIN 3
For what?

ASSASSIN 2
Just go get it...
(moving to the body)
Tony... Pete... Help me here, get his arms...

MOMENTS LATER

An axe blots out the light as it rises through the air... Falls with a sickening THUCK...

INT. STAGE - THE BIG NIGHT

A record spins... The needle is set... “I FALL TO PIECES meanders through the air...”

LACEY, in a beautiful dress, lip syncs to the lyrics, pretty as a picture... Behind her the assassins emerge from the darkness, dressed as clowns, holding a garbage bag...

Assassin #3 reaches into the bag, retrieving the dismembered arm of
Assassin #5... More body parts are passed around... The clown assassins separate to either end of the stage...

ASSASSIN 3
Hey Pete... What am I, a clown? I’m here to amuse you?

ASSASSIN 4
Shut up, Vinny... Focus...

THE PRINCIPAL’S eyes go wide as he realizes...

Arms, legs, shoes, a tie... The objects go flying across the stage in a magnificent display of juggling prowess...

THE PRINCIPAL looks to the judges... They’re all smiles... He can’t believe it... Is he the only one who sees?

THE ASSASSINS reach their grand finale... As the song ends Lacey takes a bow... The rest of her act follows suit, save for Pete, who holds up Assassin #5’s smiling head...

The audience cheers wildly as the judges rise in ovation...

END

[ylekot43]

A Knight, a Masseuse, and a Bug-eyed monster give conflicting reports to the police in a forest.

EXT. ENCHANTED FOREST -DIRT ROAD -NIGHT

The light of a low-slung moon permeates through the forest canopy.

A pair of Storm-troopers, JERRY and DON, sit on their speeder-bikes behind a BILLBOARD that reads: GOT PORRIDGE?

Jerry aims a radar gun at a passing coach drawn by six white horses. The radar SCREEN reads 12MPH.

JERRY
You hear about Snow White?

Don sips his coffee.

JERRY
Overdosed. Can you imagine if your daughter grew up to be a drug mule?

JERRY
I hear ya’. Hey, any more of those ring dings left?

On his horse, a BLACK KNIGHT races past the Troopers at breakneck speed.
The radar SCREEN reads 23MPH.

JERRY
We got a live one.

The speeder-bikes roar into action -- lights flash red and blue.

INT. ENCHANTED FOREST -SHREK HOUSEHOLD -SIMULTANEOUS

Modest organic decorum adorns the rough walls of a quant fairty-tale cottage.

SHREK and GWYNETH PALTROW have one hell of argument:

Gwyneth grabs her boobs:

GWYNETH
Well if you didn’t want people looking at these, then maybe you shouldn’t have bought them for me pencil-dick.

SHREK
That’s not what you were saying last night.

GWYNETH
That’s because I was thinking of someone else.

SHREK
Who? Donkey? Was it Donkey?

GWYNETH
I f0ck an animal in the back of cab one time and you’re jealous forever.

SHREK
That was the night we got engaged.

GWYNETH
Semantics. It’s always f0cking semantics with you. I’m going to the bar. And I’m taking a cab to get there.

EXT. ENCHANTED FOREST -CONTINUOUS

Jerry smugly strides up to the Black Knight. Don stays on his bike.

JERRY
Sir, can you roll up your visor?

Still on his horse, the Black Knight, a real Patrick Warburton type, lifts the face-plate of his helmet to reveal an albino-white face.

JERRY
You know why I pulled you over?

BLACK KNIGHT
Oh I don’t know... racial profiling?

JERRY
You’re white.

BLACK KNIGHT
But my armor is black. You saw the black armor and you pulled me over. I read all about it in the issue of People Magazine where they picked me as person of the year.

JERRY
They picked everybody.

BLACK KNIGHT
They didn’t not pick me.

JERRY
Where you coming from sir?

BLACK KNIGHT
I was at dinner party in some mansion with homeless people -- or maybe they were Hobbits -- I don’t know, Jesus was there, it was weird.

JERRY
Saw your horse swervin’ all over the road. You been drinkin’ a little?

BLACK KNIGHT
No.
(beat)
Been drinkin’ a lot.

JERRY
Alright sir, can you please step down from your horse?

BLACK KNIGHT
No. How bout’ you get on the horse?

Jerry turns on his blaster-gun.

Don gets off his speeder bike.

The RADIO cackles:

POLICE RADIO
We got a 1082 at the corner of Canterburry and Chaucer -- domestic disturbance.

DON
Jerry, gotta’ move -- got a D.V. call at your sister’s house.

Jerry sizes up the Black Knight and walks away.

BLACK KNIGHT
Must be Nascar night at the red-neck ranch. Which is of course much different than the Nascar Knight -- man that guy is fast.

Don and Jerry race by on their speeder-bikes.

INT. SHREK HOUSEHOLD -LATER

Gwyneth sobs as she sits on the hearth.

Shrek is spread-eagle against the wall. Jerry pats him down.

Don fills out a police report.

The front door swings open and the Black Knight walks in with a dozen roses:

BLACK KNIGHT
Hope you got your party-britches on...

The Black Knight takes in the spectacle.

BLACK KNIGHT
This could’ve gone better.

SHREK
See. I told you she was a prostitute.

BLACK KNIGHT
I thought she was a masseuse?

DON
A masseuse with happy endings?

BLACK KNIGHT
We live in an enchanted forest -- of course there are happy endings.

SHREK
See.

GWYNETH
I’m not a prostitute. I’m an actress.

DON
I saw that movie -- Sliding whores -- good stuff.

JERRY
Jesus Don -- that’s my sister.

BLACK KNIGHT
She was everybody’s sister in that movie.
(to Don)
Too far?

Jerry holds up a pair of handcuffs.

INT. JAIL CELL -LATER

The Black Knight lights a cigarette for Shrek.

[sc111]

Okay - I'm in, too. Will have pages by end of day. :)

The accountant/end of world log - that sounds good.

I haven't read any of the other entries to stay as detached as possible.

:)

[Priya]

Cool! Be warned, there is some stiff competition! :)

Oz, there's still time to rewrite so that it's five pages! ;)

[Adam Isaac]

I like your writing style, sc111. I did the same topic...interested in seeing where you go with it.

I'll be posted up either late tonight or tomorrow morning. I'm trying to do two, but we'll see....my second one is comedy, but it's not very funny.:|

[magicghost2977]

2 RHYMING ADVERTISING EXECUTIVES COOK DINNER FOR THE HOMELESS

INT. OFFICE - DAY

RUN and DMC, two stuffed suits with $7 haircuts, sit before a video screen, anxiously awaiting some sign of a signal...

RUN
You ready?

DMC
Nah, I’m a little sweaty...

RUN
Last presentation you gave was pretty heady...

DMC
Not too heavy?

RUN
Not your fault they preferred Betty...

DMC
How could I compete with that set of boobs?

RUN
I still think she went behind the scenes and offered a lube...
A flicker... They adjust, turning their attention to the screen...

DMC
This is it...

RUN
Oh sh**...

ON SCREEN

BETTY, their recent new boss, appears before them... For a few moments their eyes hold on Betty’s breasts...

BETTY
Morning gentlemen...

Their faces snap up, their eyes meeting hers...

BETTY
The board wanted us to meet about projections for the next quarter... As you well know profits have been decreasing steadily over the past few months... We need a new strategy... Something fresh...

RUN
(on the sly)
Why come to us?

DMC
Yeah, that’s nuts...

BETTY
The board and I have agreed that we need to bolster our image with a positive effort in the community... We’ve arranged a deal with FOX to produce a reality TV show whereby our divisions will demonstrate how corporations can actually be of benefit to the community...

DMC
You want us to be on a reality show?

RUN
(on the sly)
House full of ***holes, fa**ots and ho’s...

BETTY
As representatives from Advertising your episode will be shot in the PLayboy Mansion. You’ll be serving dinner for 30 of LA’s homeless...

RUN
Now that’s more like it, Run, we’re in with Playboy bunnies...

DMC
It’s kinda shallow and pointless but I admit that it’s money...

RUN
Not to mention hypocritical but possibly funny...

DMC
Does it have to be soup? Cause I hate food that’s runny...
A beat... Run looks over to DMC...

RUN
Me too...

BETTY rolls her eyes...

BETTY
Fellas, this is a big time opportunity. I know you can handle it. There’s just one issue. You can’t do the whole rhyming thing.
She braces for their response... The execs look confused...

RUN
What’s she talking about DMC?

DMC
I don’t know, you got me...

RUN
Not exactly sure where you’re coming from boss...

DMC
But we’ll do what it takes to avoid a loss...

RUN
Last thing that we want is for you to be cross...
He takes the last sip from his water bottle, then throws the empty container in the trash...

DMC
Nice toss...

BETTY
Look, guys... I admit you can be very amusing, but let’s not play games here, OK? It’s not a crime... Just cut out the rhymes this time.
(realizing she rhymed)
Damn it...

The two execs shrug...

INT. PLAYBOY MANSION - NIGHT

LA’s homeless line up at a buffet table...

RYAN SEACREST approaches the first person in line, a man named HAROLD who looks like he just crawled out of the sewer, now holding two former centerfolds in his arms, smiling a toothless grin from ear to ear...

RYAN
This is just an amazing night, I gotta say. Let’s step over here... Tell me sir, what’s your name?

HAROLD
Harold...

RYAN
And who are these two lovely ladies at your side?

HAROLD
This one I call Sugar Puss. This one I call Tootsie Roll. Later they’ll be taking me to Candy Land.

The women shudder as he erupts in laughter...

SUGAR PUSS
(setting us straight)
My name is Catherine...

TOOTSIE ROLL
And I’m Elizabeth... We’d just like to say that we appreciate the opportunity to give back tonight...

SUGAR PUSS
As long as it’s just tonight...

TOOTSIE ROLL
Yeah... And from what we understand a janitorial service is coming in to pressure wash everything...

AT THE POOL
8 homeless men and women, all dressed in bikini thongs, hop into the deep end...

SUGAR PUSS
And the pool man comes tomorrow...

IN THE POOL
The homeless start swimming in synchronicity...

AT THE BUFFET TABLE

Run and DMC enter from the kitchen, dressed in swimsuits, aprons, and chef’s hats, carrying hot pans to the buffet... Seacrest approaches them as they set their pans down...

RYAN
So what’s the verdict, fellas?

RUN
Ryan, the room is alive. Everyone’s come together like bees in a hive..
Breasts come into view as a bunny serves an older man...

RUN (OVER)
The workers...

Cameras flash as Hugh Heffner descends the stairs...

RUN (OVER)
The queen...

Armed law enforcement hold Harold back from chasing a naked woman screaming as she runs for the door...

RUN (OVER)
The soldiers...

A pervert sticks his hand down his pants...

RUN (OVER)
The lurkers...

DMC raises his coffee mug...

DMC
It’s a pervert’s dream to be here, sharing the wealth, having Folgers.

RUN
We really just wanna say that we couldn’t be more excited our corporation stepped up for a night to remember.

DMC
We relish this day and thank all we invited - Even Harold, who got f**ed up and showed off his member.

END

[OzFade]

Nah my page and a bit is fine in my eyes. Enjoy the contest people.

[sc111]

Log: An accountant learns the world is going to end. (For some reason, five pages doesn't fit in one post. See second post).

EXT. NEW YORK CITY STREET – DAY

A rush of pedestrians scurry around a man standing in the middle of the sidewalk. This is –

JOSHUA MONTBLANC (late 50s, paunchy). His straggly white hair hangs over the collar of his open jacket, his tee-shirt reads: CHEMO-SABE. And his jeans are way beyond well worn.

Smiling like he doesn't have a mortal care in the world, Joshua gazes up at a TOWERING GREYSTONE OFFICE BUILDING.

JOSHUA
This should be good.

INT. GREYSTONE OFFICE BUILDING - 10th FLOOR OFFICE

Row after row of cubicles house busy paper-pushers. We stop at the one occupied by –
BEN BARTLETT (mid-30s), in the midst of a phone call. His desk is perfectly organized, his sharpened pencils, lined up beside a stack of new legal pads. This is one tidy guy.

BEN
Yes, Mr. Gorgola. Alicia Meadows was handling your
audit. But she’s out on maternity leave. If you’d just tell
me your concerns…. Of course I know what I’m doing.
… Not true, Mr. Gorgola, many excellent CPAs take
positions with the IRS. … Don’t get snippy with me –
Mr. Gorgola, hello?

He slams the phone down. A pencil rolls a quarter-inch from its place, he moves it back. Then he opens his desk drawer and takes out a Windex bottle, a cloth and spray-cleans his PC screen.

JOSHUA (O.C.)
Our tax dollars at work.

Joshua takes a seat beside Ben’s desk.

BEN
Excuse me, but you can’t just walk in –

JOSHUA
Joshua Montblanc. I have a two o’clock with a
Benjamin Bartlett, that’s you, right?
(cuts off Ben)
I know, I’m way early. Been looking forward to this all
week. May turn out to be one of the top ten highlights
of my existence on this crazy planet. Maybe even in the
top three. 099-42-0666. Go for it.

Joshua twiddles his fingers like he’s typing. Ben enters the number into his PC and reads.

BEN
No - this can’t be correct.

JOSHUA
Whoa - are you saying our government makes mistakes?

BEN
Mr. Montblanc. Your records indicate you owe a total
9.8 million dollars in taxes dating back to 1995.

JOSHUA
Right. That’s when it all started to feel – you know – pointless.
This mess has got to come to an end. I can’t take it anymore.

BEN
Your personal issues aside, Mr. Montblanc. Paying your taxes
is not a choice, it’s a given -

JOSHUA
A given – ha! The old death and taxes thing.

BEN
Exactly –

JOSHUA
You’re half right, Ben-ster. I’m dying. I’m dying and I’ve
decided to take you all with me. Today. At six o’clock.

Ben’s hand shoots out toward the phone, Joshua grabs his wrist and stops him cold.

BEN
What is it – a suicide vest? Anthrax?

JOSHUA
I’ve got gobs more imagination –

BEN
One of those suitcase bombs right?

JOSHUA
Geeze, we’ll be here all day – okay, I’ll tell you.
Meteorite - size of China. It’ll be amazing. Bing-Bam-
Boom. Real fast. Because I am merciful.

This guy is clearly a nut job, Ben eyes his open jacket.

JOSHUA
Come on, Ben-ja-lah. Use your logic. Metal detectors in
the lobby – no way I’m packing. Now, consider your options.
Door one: you call security, they ship me off to the loony ward.
And the planet’s annihilated before they hand me my paper
slippers. Or, door two: we go grab a bite to eat and you sell
me on reasons why Earth should be spared from the wrath
of the almighty. Um - that would be me.

BEN
Oh. God.

(Continued...)

[sc111]

JOSHUA
Now you’re catching on.
(releases Ben’s wrist)
It’s all up to you, Benjamin Bartlett, you are the man.
So what’ll it be?

A happy WOMAN (40s) jumps up from her desk in the next cubicle, phone to her ear –

WOMAN
Hey everybody - Alicia just had a baby boy!

Ben listens to his co-workers applaud.

INT. STEAKHOUSE RESTAURANT – LATER

In a corner booth, Joshua cuts into a massive sirloin with gusto while Ben pokes at a Cobb Salad.

JOSHUA
Think about it. Humans – the only sentient beings with
an awareness of their own mortality. What do they do with
this insight? Squander, pillage, destroy. Invent Viagra –

BEN
Can – can we back up a second to clarify? You are
God the almighty. Yet you live in Brooklyn –

JOSHUA
Brooklyn Heights – you have to grasp the subtleties, Ben.

BEN
Okay fine. Brooklyn Heights. And you made all your money
in the stock market.

JOSHUA
Yup - when you know all and see all, it’s the ultimate insider
trading so to speak.

BEN
Look – I can see you’re sincere, astute. Excellent conversationalist.
But – God? I’m sitting here looking at a man of flesh-and-bone.

JOSHUA
Tell me about it. Colon cancer – ironic isn’t it? But it’s the
price of incarnation.

BEN
In the interest of total disclosure you need to know I’m
agnostic. Then again if you are God you would know.

JOSHUA
That and the fact that you were a bed-wetter till age thirteen.

BEN
Okay. Okay. Maybe you have some sort of extra-sensory
perception. But I still have my doubts.

JOSHUA
I’m counting on it. Look, I could’ve picked some hosanna-
spouting religious nut for this but we’d never get past the
gnashing of teeth. No, I picked you. Because I’m a reasonable
God. And I need a reasonable man to hash this out with me.
I’m totally willing to consider that – in spite of my horrible
disappointment in the screw-ups perpetrated by humanity –
maybe I’m missing something. So, make your case.
(off Ben’s odd look)
Aw, geeze. You want a demonstration?

BEN
Look it from my point of view.

JOSHUA
Fine. But this isn’t a freaking Tupperware Party, we’re on deadline.

BEN
Just one inexplicable act of God.

Joshua spots a hot supermodel at a far table. He coughs. Her glazed eyes turn toward them, she rises and makes a beeline for Ben. She grasps his face, forces his mouth to pucker up, and kisses him, long, deep, with a lot of tongue action. Then she walks off. Ben takes a deep breath.

BEN
Think of the little children.

JOSHUA
You’re looking at the guy who gave his only begotten son.
Doesn’t even move the needle.

BEN
Puppy dogs, kittens –
(Joshua BURPS)
Giraffes –

JOSHUA
Oh I do like my giraffes. Good point.

BEN
See? They deserve to live don’t they?

JOSHUA
They’ll be extinct in a hundred years. What else you got?

BEN
Art. Music. Film –

JOSHUA
Pet Rocks. The Village People. Jackass, The Movie –

BEN
You know there are millions of good, well-meaning,
generous people in this world. And given time -

JOSHUA
Unfortunately none of these fine souls are running things.
Never have. Never will. Don’t take this personally, Ben-ster,
but when it comes to picking world leaders, you guys suck.

BEN
This is so depressing.

JOSHUA
Cheer up. In a millennium or two, after the dust storm
clears, I’ll give it a second shot. That’s a promise. Hey –
you up for dessert? They make a heavenly Tiramisu.

BEN
Quitter.
(off shocked look)
That’s right, you’re a quitter. You can’t hack the long haul.
And isn’t it really your fault? You created flawed beings.
In your own image I might add –

JOSHUA
You’ve got balls talking to me like that, Benny.

BEN
What are you going to do? Smite me? Sure – we’ve made
a ton of mistakes. Big, glaring, horrendous mistakes. But we
we persevere. We keep going. We have hope. Something
you clearly lack, Mr. Supreme Being. You destroy us, all
hope in the universe goes with us.

Joshua considers this and takes a sip of his wine. Then he reaches into his jacket, pulls out a checkbook and begins to write.

JOSHUA
I’m going to round it up to ten mill.

BEN
Fine. And lunch is on you.

FADE OUT.

[yeehi]

I'm so in I can't see a way out.

:rolling:

[Harbinger]

Okay guys, Adam's inspired me! I herefore set forth a challenge to all writers. Choosing one idea for the last challenge was interesting. No doubt. But, now's time for something a little different...

Below, you'll see that I've chosen ten random loglines. None are brilliant. But that's the idea.

Now, what I'm thinking here is you've got to imagine that a producer's gone around the bend. Sure, he loves your writing, but that may be his last sane thought. Last night, after some particularly suspect mushrooms, he's come up with some ideas that he wants YOU to write. He's got money, he's got cachet, so, you know, you really do want to work with him. But, he's also been hitting the wacky weed a little too much. BUT. If you do this, and pull it off, it might just make your career.*

The rules:

-- Five page max (must have beginning, middle, end -- no partial entries). No more, no less.

-- You must stick to the logline (please paste logline to the top of your short) you choose (from the ten listed below). If it says lazy dentist, you must show/have a lazy dentist.

-- Genre's up to you. A lot of these lend themselves to comedy -- it might be interesting to go another way. The producer doesn't mind what genre it is, as long as you realize his vision!

-- Have fun!

-- Deadline's midnight on the 23rd of January. You have one week!

-- There will only be one winner (only one prize**). Voting will take place starting January 24th. Ultimately, my vote trumps all. Just so you know.

Ten Random Loglines:

1. A radio announcer, a lazy dentist, and a feisty refugee from Alaska worry about their loved ones on a desert island.

2. The father-in-law of a prince runs out of gas and ends up in a fantasy world in a Mexican border town.

3. A quartet of game programmers witness a murder.

4. A plaintiff and four charming tap-dancers overcome immense obstacles.

5. A pair of rhyming advertising executives cooks dinner for homeless people in a mansion.

6. A mutant jewelry salesman and a conservative Marine are guests at a party.

7. An idealistic waiter, a thoughtful football coach, and a short housekeeper search for the Fountain of Youth.

8. Six assassins practice an act for a talent show.

9. A knight, a masseuse, and a bug-eyed monster give conflicting reports to the police in a forest.

10. An accountant learns the world is going to end. (For OzFade)





* It's not really going to make your career. Or will it?

** In the interest of giving back:

The winner will get the opportunity to send me a completed script -- if the winner doesn't have a completed script, the next runner-up can send me a completed script, and so on (runners-up will not get passed along, though) -- I will read said script and give you notes on it. IF I LOVE the script. LOVE it. If I absolutely adore it, I'll pass it along to my agent -- if you don't already have one and are looking for representation. If I don't LOVE it, or you have an agent already (or don't want one) I'll give you notes (hi, former reader here) and help you get it into shape for contest season. That's it. Good luck all!

A note:

No, I will not read your script if you don't win, or if you don't enter. No, I will not pass it along if you don't win or don't enter. Please don't PM me. Don't email me. Don't call me. I'm not interested.

Okay, This one sounds interesting.

Just a few clarifications. You have deadline as midnight 23rd January. I've assumed, although just wanted to clarify, that that's USA time. So I assume that gives us Brits around 7 hours extra....uhh I think.

It also doesn't mention how the judging is to be organised. You say that voting begins on 24th January, but that your vote trumps all. So does that mean that the vote by others is just for fun, but ultimately there's only one vote and you will decide the winner?

That's all really. Just wanted to clarify those two things.

[Fortean]

It also doesn't mention how the judging is to be organised. You say that voting begins on 24th January, but that your vote trumps all. So does that mean that the vote by others is just for fun, but ultimately there's only one vote and you will decide the winner?It's Priya's challenge, (and Priya's rules). We can meet that challenge and disagree with Priya's deciding vote. It's a bit of exercise, writing-wise, on a fool's errand with a few "randomly chosen loglines," (which aren't really loglines, but situations). Have some fun, and submit five pages, (if you wish). No one's forcing you to join the fun.

[Harbinger]

What a bizarre response.

The rules don't clarify, at least clearly, who has the deciding vote. It mentions that there will be votes, but that Priya's will trump them.

I simply wanted to know if it was his vote that decided the winner or if we still vote, but his vote, as the contest organiser, carried more weight.

So maybe the vote total was expressed as a percentage part of which was was our vote, as the individual poster's and then a hefty part of the percentage was in Priya's vote.

I was trying to find out who needs buttering up. Where to send the bribe money and who would sign for the delivery of the magnum of Champagne.

There will only be one winner (only one prize**). Voting will take place starting January 24th. Ultimately, my vote trumps all. Just so you know.

The above seemed a little strange since we were still voting, but Priya's vote would trump ours. I was just clarifying, did that mean that our individual votes were just for fun.

Nothing more.

But I feel you have interpretted it some other way. Epecially with lines like 'No one's forcing you to join the fun.'

What's that saying about assumption?

[yeehi]

Didn't Hitchcock say that suspense is the slow-burning anticipation that comes with the audience's knowing exactly what's about to happen next, while the characters don't know? And thriller relies on the audience's not knowing what will befall the characters in the next minute as they get deeper and deeper into trouble -- yet knowing full well that something must go horribly wrong?

-Derek

:cool:

[Adam Isaac]

What's that saying about assumption?

It means quit b*tching. Obviously Fortean thought your complaints came a page too late to be taken seriously. Those comments mean if you don't win, you don't get sh*t...UNLESS Priya reads your short and thought your's was better than the others despite the judges vote. Then, I suspect you would find a PM in your inbox mentioning this. So in other words: win the f*cking contest.

I'm nearly finished with my first, and have my second one outlined. I'm shooting for 3 or 4 AM...we'll see. Definitely not like any of these others. Some good writers here though, so we'll see.

Good luck to everyone else.

[magicghost2977]

A radio announcer, a lazy dentist, and a feisty refugee from Alaska worry about their loved ones on a desert island.

Don’t know which is on the desert island (the characters or their loved ones) but thought this would be more interesting

FADE IN

EXT. OCEAN - DAY

The swelling waves... The tumbling foam... The azure sky...

JACKSON (OVER)
The swelling waves... The tumbling foam... The azure sky...

A hand slips into the soft white sand... Raises... Sifts the contents through its fingers, carried away by the breeze...

JACKSON (OVER)
Like sand through the hour glass... These are the days of our lives...

Angle on JACKSON... Sixties... Tanned... A kind face with sharp features honed and shaped through many days without the fats and carbohydrates of civilization...

JACKSON
We meet a man... Sixties... Tanned... He has a kind face... With sharp features... Honed and sharpened... Through many days gone without the fats and carbohydrates of civilization...
(a beat)
But alone? Hardly...

Jackson looks over to a skinny young man, his clothes torn, his legs shaking like a wet chihuahua...

JACKSON
He has the company of men... One shakes like a wet chihuahua... The other hardly moves at all...

A third man wearing an open shirt and Oakley shades casts a sidelong glance... Manages to give him the bird...

JACKSON
In this time of the decline of the West we ironically find ourselves stranded in the far East, not knowing where the winds of change have taken us, or if they’ll ever return us home...
(a long beat)
Why - it reminds me of Stu Richardson... Quarterback for the Alabama Rolling Tide... His back against the wall - an All-American wide receiver and his starting running back, both lost to injuries in the penultimate contest that would lead to the national championship -

The shaking chihuahua springs at Jackson’s throat, his hands held fast around the asophygus, now turning blue...

Oakley sighs... Leans back on his comfortable palm...

CHIHUAHUA
(while strangling)
I’m so sick of your g****mn narrative I could kill you! Do you understand, I could kill you!

He lets go... Steps back... Collects himself...

CHIHUAHUA
I’m sorry... I’m sorry... I shouldn’t have done that... I should realize that my emotions get the best of me sometimes and -

OAKLEY
You know who you remind me of?
(a beat)
Kind of a cross between John Leguizamo and Dennis Leary...
(the chihuahua looks up)
You ever see Ice Age?
(a tense beat)
Maybe you should stop snorting lines of sand...

On a stump near Oakley’s palm lies a rolled up $1 and four fat lines of sparkling white sand...

CHIHUAHUA
You know what, Oakley, you got nothin’ to say... You know why? Because you’re a g****mn idiot... That’s why. You call yourself a doctor? You’re not a doctor, you’re a dentist. What are you gonna do to me? You’re nothin’ without your drill. There’s no nurse here to hold us down -

OAKLEY
I wish there were...

CHIHUAHUA
No light to keep us blinded while you probe with your... Your probes! You just sit there under your little palm tree with those smug little eyes under all that smug little sarcastic darkness. But you can’t make anyone floss out here...

OAKLEY
(after a beat)
I couldn’t make anyone floss... Ever... That’s up to them...
(a beat)
And I don’t even floss...
(another beat)
But I can’t understand why you don’t let the old man have his stories... He was a big time guy in college sports... It’s hard to let it go... And why should he?

CHIHUAHUA
Stories? Stories?? He doesn’t have any stories, he was g****mn play by play guy! You want stories? How about Jack London!

OAKLEY
Oh, here we go...

CHIHUAHUA
Ya, Jack London, a real hero! Stuck in the wilderness for years! On purpose mind you! He had to kill a wolf with his bare hands and crawl inside its belly just to keep warm! And here you sit with your suntan and your rancid coconut milk -

At this Oakley SPEWS HIS MILK for fear the chihuahua may be right...

CHIHUAHUA
I tell you this, dentist... And this isn’t just because of my Alaskan heritage -

OAKLEY
Oh come off it - you were born in Omaha...

CHIHUAHUA
Hey! My parents moved us to Fairbanks when I was three! I went to sleep by the Northern Lights while you were pluggin’ your night light into a suburban nightmare!

OAKLEY
Bah...

CHIHUAHUA
All I’m sayin’ is you better hope the Jack London in me never comes out...

JACKSON
I was just trying to savor the moment. We’ll remember this for the rest of our lives, gentlemen...

CHIHUAHUA
The rest of our lives? This is the rest of our lives. This... is the rest of our lives.

Chihuahua moves to the beach...

Reaches into the crashing surf to bring up a FED EX package...

He kneels to open the package... Digs around... Pulls out a bunch of newspaper... Offers it to his island mates...

CHIHUAHUA
Here... More toilet paper...

Jackson tears off a headline... Oakley passes...

OAKLEY
No need...

CHIHUAHUA
You’re disgusting...

Chihuahua finally comes to the prize... He holds up a glass jar, allowing it to shine in the sunlight... A beat...

CHIHUAHUA
Great... What the f*** are we supposed to do with this?

A beat...

OAKLEY
We could fill it with water...

In the silence the waves crash onto the shore... After a moment their laughter begins... First Oakley... Then Jackson... Finally Chihuahua...

The jar falls to the beach as they can no longer contain their hysteria...

Finally their laughter subsides...

JACKSON
Hey fellas, come here... Take a look at this...

The islanders gather around the headline in his hands: “US SET TO SEND MORE TROOPS TO WAR IN IRAQ”

CHIHUAHUA
We’re at war?

As they try to make out wet print...

JACKSON
I have two nephews in the navy... Stationed in South Carolina...

OAKLEY
My son... He was sixteen when I crashed... He wanted to be a fighter pilot...

CHIHUAHUA
I have a sister in the Louisiana National Guard. Based out of New Orleans...

A lingering silence...

JACKSON
My God... How much life we’ve missed...

The waves continue rolling onto the shore...

END

[Harbinger]

Originally Posted by Harbinger
What's that saying about assumption?

It means quit b*tching. Obviously Fortean thought your complaints came a page too late to be taken seriously. Those comments mean if you don't win, you don't get sh*t...UNLESS Priya reads your short and thought your's was better than the others despite the judges vote. Then, I suspect you would find a PM in your inbox mentioning this. So in other words: win the f*cking contest.

I'm nearly finished with my first, and have my second one outlined. I'm shooting for 3 or 4 AM...we'll see. Definitely not like any of these others. Some good writers here though, so we'll see.

Good luck to everyone else.

The saying about asumption means 'Quit bitching' does it? Evidently I'm dealing with an intellectual powerhouse here.

I apologise if that seems a little inflamatory, but to be honest the disrespect never began on my part.

Lets get a few things clear.

I asked those questions of Priya, the organiser of the contest. I needed a few things clarified. why Fortean felt the compulsion to answer on his behalf is anyone's guess. So regardless of whether he viewed my comments as serious or not is really a moot point because they were never directed at him anyway. I asked a perfectly legitimate question to clarify something that wasn't quite clear.

Oh by the way it was indeed a question. So why you chose to use the word 'complaints' in relation to what I said is beyond me. Perhaps it's an attempt to potray my innocent question as something different than what it was. Cause maybe it backs up your unfounded 'B*tching' comment

As to the voting issue, you sound just as confused. So The votes by DD members counts unless Priya doesn't agree? Ah, the wonder of democracy!

That's not what I think Priya meant at all and that's what I wanted clarified. Does Priya choose or is it the voters or a combination of the two? A simple question, that I asked perfectly respectfully.

Oh and nice to see you punctuate your comment with abusive language.

Let me guess. Charm school was firebombed right?



My apologies to the other posters that a simple legitimate question has bizarrely derailed the thread and detracted from the good work posted here thus far.

[Adam Isaac]

There is a refined delivery in your 'gentleman's sarcasm,' but it reads like usual subtle English sarcasm to me(as it did the first time). What burnt my cookie was your sour reply to Fortean's. Nothing he said merited being called out, yet your gentlemanly nature found reason to.

So why you chose to use the word 'complaints' in relation to what I said is beyond me.

Seemed condescending to me. Perhaps my outlook has gone bleek in regards to English sarcasm.

Oh and nice to see you punctuate your comment with abusive language.


Thank you, my lord.


Let me guess. Charm school was firebombed right?

I'd hate to take a bite outta you. You're a cookie full of arsenic.

[Priya]

The contest ends at 12 midnight PST. I hadn't thought of the time differences, apologies on that and thanks for pointing it out!

The voters will vote for their favorites. If I disagree with the winner, I'll name a different winner. So, we'll get the popular vote (which may coincide with) and my vote. It's 100% NOT a democracy. Sorry.

OzFade, it's cool. Though, I do have to wonder what magical realism you'd bring to: The father-in-law of a prince runs out of gas and ends up in a fantasy world in a Mexican border town... ;)

[Fortean]

What a bizarre response....

The rules don't clarify, at least clearly, who has the deciding vote. It mentions that there will be votes, but that Priya's will trump them.

I simply wanted to know if it was his vote that decided the winner or if we still vote, but his vote, as the contest organiser, carried more weight....

The above seemed a little strange since we were still voting, but Priya's vote would trump ours. I was just clarifying, did that mean that our individual votes were just for fun.

Nothing more.

But I feel you have interpretted it some other way. Epecially with lines like 'No one's forcing you to join the fun.'

What's that saying about assumption?My ears were burning!

Priya couldn't have been much more direct than at post #24 in this thread: "If people don't enter, that's cool."

Show us the best five pages that you can manage, Harbinger. Take the plunge. Never mind the chunks of ice floating here and there. The water's nice and warm. Trust me. Join in the fun. The hypothetical producer has gone "round the bend," (so I'm just having a bit of fun); and, while you've done nothing more than quibble about the deadline and the voting process, magicghost has posted enough entries for a clean sweep.

Or, are you going to wait for the Valentine's Day (http://www.freewaresounds.com/wp-content/uploads/AutomaticFire.wav) challenge?

[OzFade]

Priya just to clarify there's no animosity from me towards you or the challange. Heck I had fun, got an idea which I could turn into a larger short and got to read some member's pages.

Tounge firmly planted in cheek though with me and my page and a bit.

Btw I just remember who you are :)

The father-in-law of a prince runs out of gas and ends up in a fantasy world in a Mexican border town...

And why wasn't that in the randomly chosen loglines??

Make the next challange a magical realism peice and I swear I'll do 5 pages no more no less.

[Priya]

Uh, that was in the randomly chosen loglines. You still have time!

;)

[OzFade]

I think I may just be back in...

[Mark Somers]

I ran into the same problem with log line #1 (the desert island) that magicghost did, but about half way through writing it. In the process though I think I created some funny characters. If I finish it, I'll post it. If not I've got a start, I think on a longer script.


I think magicghost as got this thing in the bag, just on quantity alone.

[J off course]

I've chosen, "An idealistic waiter, a thoughtful football coach and a
short housekeeper search for the Fountain of Youth."



EXT. THE HIGHLANDS OF BOLIVIA --DAY

A rusty deathtrap on bald tires; a passenger bus at a dusty stop.

The Bolivian DRIVER ties down luggage, a plastic water cooler
and a cardboard box with "Gatoraide" written on the side on
the bus's roof.

INT. BUS --DAY

The driver shifts a gear stick and the bus grinds to life.

EXT. THE HIGHLANDS OF BOLIVIA -- DAY

The bus pulls out of the stop mixing roosters and dust in it's
wake.

INT. BUS IN MOTION --DAY

Behind the driver, three passengers are seen in shadow, bobbing
along with the poor suspension.
A couple in the back and a lone man towards the front.

INT. BUS IN MOTION --DAY

Sunlight plays against a veil covering the face of a short Bolivian
WOMAN quietly looking out a window. Her MAN sits at her side
gently holding her hand.

INT. BUS IN MOTION -- DAY

A strong male hand plays with the band of his expensive watch.

EXT. THE HIGHLANDS OF BOLIVIA --DAY

The bus rattles along a gully etched road.
In the distance beyond papersack- brown foothills the crest
of snow covered mountains.

Lines of brightly colored laundry flap in the wind along the road.

INT. BUS IN MOTION --DAY

The MAN approaches the man with the watch, HENRY MARRERO,
and sits at his side.

Henry doesn't turn. His face mirrors years of tough,
emotionless struggle.

MAN
Doesn't matter if the road is
good or not,
your stomach like mine is
always jumping.
Here, chew this.

The man takes from his pocket a piece of root and hands it
to Henry.

Henry takes it and chews it. The man smiles.

MAN
The trip is good. Enjoy it, no?

Henry plays with his watch band.

MAN
I work long time to save.
So many "Good afternoons,
What can I get you?"
I don't see my son much. But this
I assure you was all for him.

Henry looks down at the man's worn but polished
shoes.

MAN
My wife works as housekeeper.
She's always tired but together
we make this trip.


Henry looks out the window.

From his POV

BOYS line up on a soccer field for a penalty kick.

Henry turns back. The man has returned to his seat by his wife.


EXT. THE HIGHLANDS OF BOLIVIA -- DAY

The bus rattles up a steep road past stands of gnarled fir trees.


INT. BUS IN MOTION -- DAY

Henry notices the things swinging from the drivers rearview.
A rosary, bright beads, a metal whistle at the end of a string.
The whistle sparkles as light from a window strikes it.

Henry is broken from the reverie by the man who holds
a piece of paper at him.

MAN
My wife would like to know
what this english word means.

Henry takes the paper.

On it is written in shaky script.
"Lombardi"

HENRY
It's not...it's a name.
Lombardi.

MAN
Lombardi? What does this mean?

HENRY
He..ah..tell her it means,
"Winning" Reaching the big
game.

The man takes the paper and folds it up and places it in his chest
pocket.
He nods.

MAN
The big game.
She was sure of it.

Henry looks back. The woman is still shielded by the veil and
looks out a window.


INT. BUS IN MOTION -- DAY

The driver looks in his rearview mirror and sees his passengers,
Henry and the couple behind him sitting quietly.

He flicks a button on an old radio and bright music starts to play.

Henry's foot taps along with the music.


EXT. THE HIGHLANDS OF BOLIVIA -- DAY

The bus continues to rattle up a road past boys running after it.

The bus stops in front of an old building.


INT. BUS -- DAY

The driver turns around to Henry.

DRIVER
Senor, this is where you get
off.

Henry gets up. He waves goodbye to the couple in the back.
The man smiles. The woman still stares out the window hidden
by the veil.
The man raises his hand before Henry turns.

MAN
The fountain of youth, they
call it, because you are
remembered as you were the
day you left them.

Henry stares for a moment at him, uncomprehending.
He turns and makes his way off the bus.


EXT. OLD BUILDING -- DAY

The driver retrieves a duffel bag from atop the bus for Henry and places
it in the dirt.
A football team's signature dons the duffel bag.

Henry approaches the old building, seemingly unaware of where
he is.

He peers through a dusty window of the building.

Inside , a little Bolivian BOY is being introduced to
a friendly american COUPLE by a NUN.

Henry stares, seemingly recognizing the boy.

Henry turns towards the bus. The driver is shifting the gear stick and
the bus's engine rattles open.

Henry quickly steps towards the bus towards the window where
the couple sit.

He can make out now the face of the woman.

She looks down at him with adoring love and pride.

He recognizes her, soaking in her spirit.

HENRY
Mama

He raises his hand for the bus to stop.

The bus chugs away and up a hill disappearing into a cloud of mist.

Henry turns to the building. A sign above the door reads,

"Rio Joven Orphanage"

The door of the orphanage opens.
The american couple comes out holding the hands of the little
boy.

Other boys crowd around a well pumping water into a bucket,
lamenting the loss of a friend but praising his luck.

AMERICAN MALE VOICE O.S
Who would have dreamed
we'd come this far?

The boys rush at the adopted boy erupting in loud cheers.

They take the bucket of water and tip it over the boy's head.

The little boy closes his eyes under the shock of cold water.

On the boy's eyes now which suddenly become Henry's eyes.

as a torrent of icy water from an overturned cooler by hefty
linebackers bathes him.

ANNOUNCER O.S
The kick is good! Henry Marerro leads the
franchise to their first Super Bowl victory!!

Tears fill Henry's eyes.

His face shudders with emotion finally spent.


A lineback at his side punches his arm.

LINEBACKER
Damn, coach. Never even seen
you crack a smile.

Handshakes all around but Henry can only break the emotion
by opening his mouth as a crowd behind him roars in victory.


FADE OUT

[magicghost2977]

The Father-in-law of a prince runs out of gas and enters a fantasy world in a Mexican border town...

FADE IN:

EXT. NEW MEXICO - HIGHWAY - LATE AFTERNOON

Purple clouds conquer the vast expanse, threatening to flood the land with booming voices... SUPER THE WORDS: NEW MEXICO

Tumbleweed rolls... Crosses the 2 lane pavement as the thundering roar of a V8 announces the king of the highway, a black Chevelle with tinted windows... Lightning flashes as Hell on Wheels disappears over the next hill...

EXT. BORDER PATROL - LATE AFTERNOON

Traffic... Heat... Humidity... A Border Patrol Agent named ARTURO moves toward a bus full of American women... College age... Spring Breakers...

ARTURO
La Primavera esta’ en el aire...
(Spring is in the air...)

Behind the bus about 4 cars back is a black stretch limo...

IN THE LIMO

HELEN CAVENAUGH... Late twenties, very well dressed, adorned with diamonds... Leans out to estimate her wait...

HELEN
I knew this would be Hell...

INT. COURTROOM - LATE AFTERNOON

A LEAD JUROR stands to announce the verdict...

LEAD JUROR
...In the case of Candilar Gonzales and Santos Ortez we the jury find the defendants guilty as charged...

A murmur from the crowded courtroom... The defense attorney immediately turns to his clients, motioning for them to be calm as the prosecution, DAVID CAVENAUGH (slim, fifties but looks 40) shakes the congratulatory hand of his assistant...

OUTSIDE

A REPORTER steps in front of a camera...

REPORTER
We’re just outside of the controversial trial of 2 border patrol agents who shot Juan Carerra, a drug trafficker who was illegally attempting to enter the US with 450lbs of cocaine... We’ve just received word that both men were found guilty, and may serve up to 12 years in prison...

A sudden commotion as Cavenaugh appears at the courthouse steps with an entourage of officers... He wades through the media frenzy, ignoring a barrage of questions, until...

REPORTER
Mr. Cavenaugh, is it likely the appeal process will be superceded by a presidential pardon?

CAVENAUGH
(stopping for this one)
What happens from here is, at this point, out of my control. If other powers choose to get involved then so be it. As far as I’m concerned I’ve done my job...

REPORTER
Any thoughts on how public reaction will affect your race for congress?

This comment garners an intense reaction... He decides to hold his tongue...

EXT. NEW MEXICO - HIGHWAY - EARLY EVENING

The black Chevelle screams through the desert...

EXT. BORDER PATROL - EARLY EVENING

Several agents go about their business... Suddenly Arturo catches sight of a convoy of black SUVs approaching the border from the Mexican side...

Instinctively he brings his weapon off his shoulder...

Something makes him turn back to the American side... Another convoy... Pick-ups... Sedans... SUV’s... Banners and signs reading ‘KEEP OUT CRIMINALS,” “SAVE THE BORDER, BUILD THE WALL,” “WE’VE EARNED THE RIGHT TO CALL THIS OUR AMERICA”

Arturo instinctively crosses himself...

INT. HOTEL - BAR - EARLY EVENING

PRINCE PASCAL (30’s, tall, regal) slowly separates from his entourage as a TV monitor above the bar catches his attention... He motions to the BARTENDER...

PRINCE PASCAL
Excuse me... Is there a way of turning up the volume?

ON SCREEN

The image of Cavenaugh before reporters is suddenly replaced by a shot of panic at the border... The parked SUV convoy with Mexicans in military uniform... Angry US protestors outside their vehicles... As the volume increases we hear:

VOICE (ON SCREEN OVER IMAGE)
-in what appears to be a looming standoff in response to the verdict-
Pascal’s eyes go wide as the camera angles on a black limousine... His wife Helen standing at her open door...

PRINCE PASCAL
Helen...

BARTENDER
You know that woman?

PRINCE PASCAL
She’s my wife...

EXT. NEW MEXICO - HIGHWAY - EVENING

The sun descends as another convoy makes its way toward the border... Carerra and Cavenaugh with a governmental escort...

IN CARERRA’S VEHICLE

Carerra is in the back seat... An AGENT next to him glares...

AGENT
What kind of a deal you make to get out of this, Carerra?

Carerra ignores the implication...

INSIDE CAVENAUGH’S VEHICLE

An officer drives... Cavenaugh nervously fidgets with his cell phone...

DRIVER
I hope you don’t mind me asking but why is your daughter in Mexico?

CAVENAUGH
Her husband Pascal... He’s a Belgian prince. Also an ambassador. He’s in Mexico for 3 days for some International conference. She wanted to visit her mother before -

He grows distant, not bothering to finish the thought...

DRIVER
You know, you don’t have to be out here, sir... We can protect her...

As darkness falls Cavenaugh looks to the sideview mirror, catching sight of the Chevelle’s headlights bearing down...

EXT. BORDER PATROL - EVENING

More law enforcement gather on both sides of the border...

HELEN CAVENAUGH stares at her door locks as tension and hysteria reign outside... Suddenly SHOTS ring out... She jumps as...

ON THE NEW MEXICO HIGHWAY - FROM THE CHEVELLE

The SHOTS echo into the frame... More firing... A handgun is held steady at the driver side mirror... More SHOTS... They hit their mark, shattering the back glass of Cavenaugh’s car, piercing the frame near the gas tank...

The LEAKING FUEL drains the vehicle of all its power...

Carerra’s car pulls to the shoulder as the agents inside realize something is wrong...

INSIDE CAVENAUGH’S VEHICLE

Cavenaugh unbuckles... Looks over to his driver slumped against the wheel, the back of his head covered in blood... Cavenaugh slinks from the passenger seat...

The agents emerge from Carerra’s vehicle, weapons raised... FIRE at will as the black Chevelle charges...

INSIDE THE CHEVELLE

A gloved hand slams the gear shaft and cuts the wheel hard...

As the car goes into a slide the driver side window turns to face the agents, LIT UP as the handgun FIRES... Three of the agents drop and a fourth bullet hits the puddle of fuel, suddenly engulfing Cavenaugh’s vehicle in flames...

CARERRA stumbles through the wreckage... He takes one of the deceased agents’ guns... SHOOTS the remaining live agent... Then closes on Cavenaugh...

Both look up to see a FIGURE approaching from the parked Chevelle... As the figure nears Cavenaugh enters delirium, struggling to breathe through the choking fumes... Carerra’s face takes on the likeness of a demon as the desert becomes a landscape from Hell...

The FIGURE’S SILHOUETTE breaches the firelight... Crouches only a few feet from a listless Cavenaugh... We catch the twitch of a tail at its boots, which every now and again look more like cloven hooves... The nightmare is interrupted as:

CAVENAUGH
This isn’t what we talked about...

The silhouette looks away to the desert, its movement casting a HORNED SHADOW that overtakes Cavenaugh and Carerra...

CARERRA
I don’t make the rules of the game, councilor. I just got you in...

AT THE BORDER PATROL

Helen’s limo is on fire, her body prostrate on the roof...

CARERRA (OVER)
Even now they’re clearing your daughter’s body from what’s become a bloody shoot out at the border.

CAVENAUGH breaks down...

CARERRA (OVER)
A conspiracy will unravel. I’ll be cleared of all former allegations. You’ll become a hero. The sympathy from America for your daughter’s death will propel you into office. Not just congress, Mr. Cavenaugh...

Carerra’s hand reaches out as the FIGURE’S GLOVED HAND reaches forward... Cavenaugh’s tears stream down his face... For a brief moment we see the devil before our eyes...

CARERRA
Welcome to power...

Their hands meet... SNAP TO BLACK

END

[Adam Isaac]

An Accountant learns that the World is ending.

ON THE LEVEL
by
Adam Parke


FADE IN:

INT. DARK OFFICE-NIGHT

Books abound the walls of the dimly lit office room. A television is on without any sound. There, a shadow slowly moves across the wall.

The roar of thunder and lightning compose a fitting score to the darkened dwellings of the office.

A young man sits opposite the television, behind a desk. He is writing a letter on a piece of yellow paper.

INSERT – YELLOW NOTE, which reads:

“Alert the media. Alert everyone you can. It’s on our money-our currency. That’s how easy it enters our systems: by touch. It will spread faster than any plague or virus the World has on record. My five-year old son, Ricky, was the first to be infected. He died tragically, along with many others. I am merely an accountant who must warn the World of the severe effects of this epidemic. For I also have been infected…” Joe C


Joe reaches for a small cardboard box in the drawer beside him. He removes a bullet from the box, and holds it up to a desk lamp to examine details on the bullet. Joe loads the bullet into a chrome revolver sitting on his desk.

Joe holds the gun to his temple. Then he jams it into his forehead, immediately shaking his head, as if the position of how he held the gun to his head really matters.

Joe grins wryly as he sees Edward G. Robinson and Humphrey Bogart together on his television screen. He turns the volume back up, and sits back in his chair.

JOE
Bullets Or Ballots!
(laughing)
Five seconds. Damn, I’m good.

A heavy cloud of smoke passes into Joe’s view.

VOICE(O.S.)
Yeah, you’re good kid, but as long as I’m around you’re always going to be second best. You mind as well learn to live with it.

Joe knows the voice and the little round man who it belongs to. Drowning in his own smoke clouds, it was the very same EDWARD G. ROBINSON that is on his television screen. Joe puts on his glasses and goes to greet his long since deceased visitor.

Edward G. Robinson looks like he has stepped straight off the screen. His cigars look just like the ones from Looney Tunes that blow up in your face when you light them.

JOE
It’s been a long time, Eddie.

EDDIE G.
Yeah. You’re uglier now than you were the last time.

JOE
Things have changed, pop. Mentally, I mean. I’m back in control.

EDDIE G
You’re still a schizophrenic, Joe. That’s something that hasn’t changed.

JOE
It’s different this time.

EDDIE G
(stern voice)
That’s what you said the last time! How about we skip the tap dancing, and get right down to the point?

JOE
My time is running out. I’m infected with this hellish plague, and it got…
(choking up)
Ricky, my son, he’s dead. So tonight, I'm going to unload a hand cannon into my brain, and I'm also going to have to ask you to stay out of way.

Eddie G. moves from the black leather couch to the chair opposite of Joe. Eddie lights up another cigar.

Joe dumps out the rest of the bullets on his desk. His nerves are shot all to Hell. He’s shaking like someone suffering from Parkinson’s disease. He tries loading the other five bullets, but he drops four out of the five back onto the desk.

Joe puts the gun into his mouth, laughs maniacally, and takes it right back out.

EDDIE G.
Look, kid, I’m sorry about Little Ricky. Nobody deserves breaks like that; especially a little mug like him. You said he caught this virus or something? How much do you know about this virus racket anyway?

JOE
Racket? I think they might have shut those down in the 1950's. Sit tight.

Joe hands Eddie the yellow note he wrote a few minutes earlier.

Eddie finishes it and lays it back down on the desk.

Joe hides his face with the palm of his hand, and begins to weep.

EDDIE G.
How did you find out about this?

Joe begins to fight back the tears, and regains his cool quickly like all men try to do when their emotions fall on the floor.

JOE
Um…I don’t remember the exact place. Ricky and I went for a walk. We didn’t speak to anyone, and no one spoke to us. Wait. There was a homeless man. He scared Ricky, so I gave him two dollars and told him to bug off.

EDDIE G.
What did he say to Ricky that scared him?

JOE
He said something to both of us; something about the Apocalypse being: “made by man’s own hands.” He kept repeating himself. Shortly after that, Ricky started feeling dizzy. I tried to help him. He kept saying he was hot and like there was something moving around in his stomach. So, naturally I…

[Adam Isaac]

(cont.)


Eddie G. is engulfed in cigar smoke at this point.

EDDIE G.
(coughing)
Excuse me, Joe. Go on, go on.

JOE
Well, I stayed with him until the end-gave him water at the moment he died. I tried, Eddie. Everything I love…dies. It was then that I began feeling the effects of the sickness.

EDDIE G.
Yeah? You never felt sick before then?

JOE
Not that I can remember. Ricky was dying in my arms. I wasn’t paying much attention to myself. He was the only thing I truly loved, and now he’s gone.

Eddie G. stands up. He picks up a newspaper that was sitting on top of the television.

EDDIE G.
(walking back slowly)
You’re not going to like this, Joe, but I think Pappa has it all figured out.

Eddie G. shows Joe the column the newspaper was folded to.

INSERT-NEWSPAPER COLUMN HEADING, which reads:

“New film, The Last Virus, trumps
weekend Box Office totals.”

EDDIE G.
My last question is just this, Joe: What did your wife have to say about all of this? When did she find out about Little Ricky? Huh, wiseguy? Did you even tell her?

There’s a loud noise in another room. It sounds like someone dropped something. Eddie G. and Joe look at each other, and walk to the door of the office.

JOE
Oh sh*t, there really is someone in there.
(turning around)
Eddie. Eddie! Where'd you go, shorty?

Eddie G. was gone. Of course he only existed inside of Joe’s head anyway, but you can’t summon delusional episodes to come back after they’ve gone.

Joe decides to investigate that crashing sound. He walks into the:

LIVING ROOM

Now Joe sees what Eddie G. was getting at.

EDDIE G.(O.S.)
Gets down to what it's all about, doesn't it? Making all the wrong moves at the right times. The truth shouldn't scare anybody, man or boy.
(leaving)
You may have been better off with suicide after all, kid. Haha.

Joe’s wife(Vanessa) walks in from the kitchen. She is holding a shotgun in her left hand. Joe’s eyes are glued to something that’s on the floor in front of him.

Vanessa shows incredibly calm nerves as she loads the shot gun with two rounds.

Joe looks down at his t-shirt, and sees it half-drenched in blood. He looks up in a confused state of shock, and again witnesses the horrifying truth about the virus that would wipe out the World.

Little Ricky’s corpse lies bludgeoned on the floor of the Living Room. Joe’s eyes are beating back and forth. Look at his eyes again: he's officially nuts!

Vanessa aims the shot gun directly at Joe.

VANESSA
You killed our son, you crazy son of a b*tch!
(crying hysterically)


JOE
I…

VANESSA
You killed my baby.

The shot flies through the air like an epic poem.

Momma’s shot takes all the pain away. Joe’s headless body falls to the floor.

Vanessa drops the gun. She sits entranced on the couch, staring at her husband's own worst enemy splattered all over the walls like brand new wallpaper.

FADE OUT:

[Breaker]

A plaintif and four tap dancers overcome obstacles.

EXT. FLAT BARREN LAND - DAY

Far in the distance, mountains.

TWENTY COP CARS -- side by side -- race forward,
undulating like a desert mirage on the horizon, whipping
up dust in their wake.

A HIGH CLIFF

Oliver Hellenbeck, sixties, messy hair, in need of a
shave, and four extremely made up women of ample top side
endowment stand near the cliffs edge-- they are:

GEORGIA; an old pro, weather worn, world weary. ROXY;
blond, bubbly, heart of gold. ANASTASIA; tough,
intelligent, Asian. MARIA; passionate, creative, Latin,
mute.

They stand side by side. Highly styled hair blows every
which way in the wind.

OLIVER
I don't care what happens to me. I'll
take the fall.

GEORGIA
I can't let you do that sweetie. You
helped this old dancing girl believe
again.

ROXY
I just wanted to put myself through
nursing school.

Roxy begins to cry.

ANASTASIA
They're getting closer.

Maria looks down the sheer cliff face, the ocean roars
below.

GEORGIA
Girls, you remember Key West back in
eighty nine?

ANASTASIA
Georgie! That was seventeen years ago.

GEORGIA
Do it!



INT. STRIPCLUB - NIGHT - ONE WEEK BEFORE

Oliver, looking much cleaner, finds his face on the
business end of Georgia's five thousand dollar breast
augmentation surgery.

GEORGIA
No better way to celebrate your courtroom
victory than with a lap dance.
(beat)
What do you do honey?

A man walks by, stares down Oliver, he seems angry-- like
he's in charge. This is ARTHUR.

OLIVER
I'm a pilot babe.

GEORGIA
And a sweetheart.

OLIVER
That's how us pilots are. We take care of
people. It's an unspoken thing.

GEORGIA
You got any kids?

OLIVER
No kids. Nam made sure of that. What
about you?

GEORGIA
I've got three daughters-- all performers
like their mother.

THE STAGE

Anastasia, Roxy and Maria climb on stage, 80's rock
plays.

ANNOUNCER (O.S.)
Give em' your love, give em' your hearts
but most importantly, give em' your
dollars.

GEORGIA
There's my girls now.

Oliver looks up from his private show.

STAGE

Anastasia and Roxy dance. Maria hasn't started yet. Roxy
motions with her finger for Maria to "get rolling." She
does, off the beat though.

GEORGIA/OLIVER

OLIVER
Cute girls.

GEORGIA
They're all adopted. Maria, She's
special.

OLIVER
I can tell.

GEORGIA
Not in that way. The girl is deaf. She's
real creative. Only problem is she's from
Mexico and only speaks Spanish sign
language. We've never really been able to
communicate with her other than through
her drawings.

OLIVER
She's deaf?

GEORGIA
What-- are you deaf too?

Oliver produces a business card.

OLIVER
No, but in addition to being a pilot I
also just happen to be the foremost
expert on sign language south of the
Mason Dixon line. I'd love to help her.

Georgia smiles.

GEORGIA
Honey, this dance is free!

Georgia grinds away.

MONTAGE

Oliver forms Maria's hands into the American sign
language alphabet. Maria gives Oliver a lap dance. Oliver
points to a picture of a dancing pole, then forms a sign
on Maria's hand, she smiles. Georgia stands over them
smiling. Oliver holds a stop watch, Maria struggles
through a series of signs. Oliver clicks his stopwatch.



INT. GEORGIA'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - NIGHT

Oliver and the girls are seated around the dinner table.
Oliver produces a small wrapped gift, hands it to Maria.
She opens it. Oliver speaks and signs simultaneously.

OLIVER
This little thing here can be hooked up
to the house sound system. And this
little piece here goes in your ear. It's
got a sensor that reads and processes
sonic vibrations-- those are transmitted
to the earpiece which vibrates-- she will
be able to feel the beat you see!

The girls -- "awww" "how sweet", "oh Oliver" ect.. Maria
signs.

MARIA
(subtitle: sign language)
Thank you.

[Breaker]

A KNOCK AT THE DOOR -- A CRASH

Oliver stands, heads toward the sound. ARTHUR appears in
the kitchen, he holds a twelve gauge shot gun. Arthur
BELTS Oliver over the head with the gun, knocking him
unconscious.

ARTHUR
A week. . . Where you broads been?

GEORGIA
You ape bastard.

ARTHUR
Shut up old whore.

Anastasia charges Arthur, he belts her with the shot gun,
she's unconscious. Roxy cries.

LATER

Oliver and the girls are tied up, arms, legs bound.
Arthur stands over them.

ARTHUR (CONT'D)
When you sign a contract with me. You
stick to it goddam it.

Arthur walks out. A beat.

GEORGIA
Everybody ok?

Oliver and Anastasia remain unconscious.

ROXY
I'm okay.

Maria just stares.



INT. GEORGIA'S HOUSE - THIRTY MINUTES LATER

VOICE (O.S.)
Georgia? Girls? You here?

The sound of an electric motor.

PORSHA, fifties, former dancing girl, bound to a wheel
chair rolls in.

PORSHA
What the hell happened here?

ROXY
It was Arthur.



INT. KITCHEN - LATER

Everyone is untied, with Porsha they sit at a table.

PORSHA
It was only a matter of time-- I pushed
those inverted pole slides to their
absolute limits.

GEORGIA
Back to the subject girls.

PORSHA
Okay, okay. So the lien is going to be
placed tomorrow. Now, he has the cash.
It's in his safe.

ANASTASIA
The money's dirty isn't it. He's got no
way of using it without raising red
flags.

PORSHA
That's it sugar. All you've got to do is
get the cash, and go downtown-- the
place'll be yours.

ANASTASIA
One of my clients is a lawyer. He'll help
us with the LLP.



EXT. FLAT BARREN LAND - DAY

They stand side by side. Highly styled hair blows every
which way in the wind.

GEORGIA
Do it!

Cop cars scream closer. Oliver, the girls look to Georgia
with concerned faces. A HELICOPTER LANDS next to them.

GEORGIA (CONT'D)
Go!

They reluctantly head to the helicopter. Maria turns to
Georgia, signs with her hands:

MARIA
(subtitle:sign language)
I love you.

She hops into the helicopter, it flies off.

[Harbinger]

10. An accountant learns the world is going to end

THE LEAP YEAR THEOREM By Harbinger

INT. OFFICE - NIGHT

A network of drab booths in a dark, sterile open-plan office.
Flimsy partitions section off the desks. All of them empty.
The inhabitants long since packed up and left for the night.

Apart from one. A solitary lamp light still shines in one
booth. The walls of the booth are plastered with scrawled
notes. Numbers. Fractions. Mathematical equations.

WILFRED BECKETT, 42, pale and thin, sits at his desk. He
stares through thick horn-rimmed glasses, down at his note pad
as he frantically scribbles number patterns across the page.

A book lies open on the desk. Heading reads; NOSTRADAMUS, LES
PROPHETIES. A passage halfway down the dog-eared page reads;

THE YEAR 1999, SEVENTH MONTH
FROM THE SKY WILL COME A GREAT KING OF TERROR

He copies the passage to his pad. Plays with the numbers.
Divide by 19. Multiply by 7. Divide again by 12. Carry the...

DING. The lift doors open on the other side of the office,
shattering his concentration. He looks up to see--

--His BOSS and COLLEAGUE, suited and booted professionals,
step out of the lift. The Boss impatiently taps the digital
clock above him. 15:55. The date below reads; 4TH JULY 2060.

BOSS
Wilfred, those of us with lives
would like to get out of here some
time tonight.

Wilfred barely acknowledges him. He continues his work.

COLLEAGUE
Should have fired him years ago.

BOSS
He's good with the numbers.

COLLEAGUE
Yeah, matched only by a staggering
lack of personality.

BOSS
This is accountancy. Here they list
that in the strengths column.

COLLEAGUE
I'm telling you there's a loose
wire there somewhere.

A crash from the direction of the booth. Wilfred jumps up
clutching handfuls of notepaper. A eureka moment.

WILFRED
Lunisolar. It's Lunisolar!

The Boss and Colleague exchange wide-eyed glances. Wilfred
grabs his book and papers and bolts from his booth. He barges
past them, through the door to the stairwell.

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

Torrential rain pelts the city scape of future New York. Not
much has changed. Just as dark and forboding at night.

Wilfred still clutches his papers as he barges the reception
doors open and stumbles blindly off the sidewalk. He stops
dead in his tracks, halfway across the street.

Horns blare. Tires screech. A yellow taxi skids to a halt.
The bumper presses lightly against Wilfred's leg. The driver
leans out of the window. A thick middle-eastern accent.

DRIVER
Hey, crazy man, you want to get
yourself killed, there's plenty of
places I can take you.

Wilfred doesn't reply. He's not even shaken. He casually walks
around to the side of the taxi, opens the door, throws his
papers across the back seat and gets in. He stares down at his
paperwork for a moment, as the reality slowly sinks in.

WILFRED
It's too late. I can't stop this.

The driver looks over his shoulder. He's a middle aged man,
dark skin and jet black hair. Wilfred glances at his ID card.
He focuses on the name; MABUS ZAHEDI.

MABUS
Ok, crazy man, Where you wanna go?

Wilfred holds up a thick wad of bills.

WILFRED
Where would you go if it were to be
the last place you'd ever visit?

Mabus turns back to the wheel. He starts the engine.

MABUS
Red Light district it is.

[Harbinger]

THE LEAP YEAR THEOREM cont.


INT. TAXI IN MOTION - NIGHT

Wilfred rummages in his pocket. Takes out a handful of pills.
He swallows them one at a time, shuddering as he forces them
down. He catches Mabus watching him in the rearview mirror.

WILFRED
I... see things. Most of the time
they're not really there.

MABUS
Bright lights in the sky? Little
green men?

WILFRED
Cities burning. Buildings consumed
by fire, tumbling like dominoes,
until there's nothing left.

His eyes meet Mabus' in the rearview mirror.

WILFRED
What are you? Pakistani? Indian?

MABUS
I come from Iran.

WILFRED
Then don't look at me like you
don't know what I'm talking about.

The taxi stops at a set of traffic lights. An electronic
billboard, on the far side of the street, catches Wilfred's
eye. Headline reads; PAKISTAN SEIZE KASHMIR. INDIA RETALIATE.

WILFRED
You wage wars of territory, fought in
the name of god. Bombing each other
all to hell for a cause as palpable as
a dream.

MABUS
Not me, crazy man.

He flicks a cross and rosary beads hanging from the rearview.

MABUS
Jesus is my salvation.

WILFRED
And there are no bloodstains on the
pages of Catholicism, right?

Wilfred notes the miniature American flag, suction cupped to
the dashboard. He points it out with a forced smile.

WILFRED
How's the American Dream working
out for you? Ready to wake up yet?
Jump ship and head for home?

MABUS
This is home. I turned my back on
Islam. They don't take kindly to
that where I come from.

Mabus holds up his right hand. His pinky finger missing.

WILFRED
And their answer was violence.
That's the problem with the world.

Outside another billboard catches Wilfred's eye; PAKISTANI AND
IRANIAN ALLIANCE THREATEN CONSEQUENCES TO U.S. INTERFERENCE.

WILFRED
In fifty years the only progress
we've made is our efficiency to
kill each other. To amass weapons
and gather our armies. Nothing else
has changed. Art. Music. Life. It's
like we've hit an impasse.
Everything's so... derivative.

Wilfred looks out of the window, as fireworks explode above.

WILFRED
It's like we're just waiting for
destruction.
(pops another pill)
But don't worry. We won't have to
wait long.

MABUS
You know something the rest of us
don't?

Wilfred holds up his book. On the front cover, the sky burns
with fire. The title; NOSTRADAMUS; THE GREAT KING OF TERROR.

WILFRED
Nostradamus' prophecy foretold that
in 1999 a great terror would strike
from the skies. Nothing ever did.

Wilfred wags his finger, as if lecturing a child.

WILFRED
But Nostradamus was Jewish. What if
his prophecy were based on the
Hebrew calendar? It's Lunisolar.
Determined by the sun and the moon.

Wilfred presses a sheet of paper, covered in mathematical
equations, to the taxi's glass partition.

WILFRED
The Hebrew year is different.
Within every 19 years there are 7
leap years. Each leap year contains
a whole extra month. 736 months in
total. Or 61 years. Brings things a
little closer to home.

Mabus rolls his eyes as he steers the taxi around the corner.
Brooklyn bridge hones into view through the windscreen.

MABUS
So what do we have? Months? Weeks?

Wilfred ducks the question. He stares out of the window at
the city scape, visible on the far side of the bridge.
Fireworks burst over the silhouette peaks of the skyscrapers.

In his minds eye, the city burns. Buildings consumed by fire,
crumble and fall. The night sky lit up by explosions.

EXT. BRIDGE - NIGHT

Wilfred bolts from the taxi. He staggers across the bridge,
retching violently. Trembling hands clasp the rails of the
bridge as he steadies himself. Panicked and breathless.

WILFRED
It's happening! I can't stop it.

MABUS
Look, crazy man, I don't have time
for your games. And I've heard
enough madness for one night.

Mabus gets out. He leans into the back and grabs Wilfred's
paperwork. A calculation on the top page catches his eye. He
tilts the paper to read the total scrawled in the margin.

MABUS
You forgot to carry the two.

He turns. Wilfred has gone. Beneath the bridge, a distant
splash is almost drowned out by fireworks exploding overhead.




Oh and don't bother looking up Wilfred's Leap year theory. It's utter Gibberish I made up. It's just supposed to illustrate his screwed up mind. If Nostradamus had used the Hebrew Calendar (which is true about the 'around 7 leap years in every 19 years) he would also have used Jewish year system. Which puts us at 5740-something. so 1999 would in fact have been around 3700 years ago.