Friday, December 28, 2012

"Storm Clears" and "Guilt"

While I threatened it might happen, the day has finally come, to both your and my surprise....original songs:




I wrote these songs during my period of unemployment, solely for myself. But, when asked to do something for a friend's b-day variety show, having no stand-up comedy act, I decided to take the leap and perform two of my originals.

I'm not a great guitar player. I'm not a good singer. I'm not sure my guitar was in tune. But...I did it.

The first song is called "Storm Clears", and the second is "Guilt".

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Lover and Hater

One felt unrequited love. The other unrequited hate. They both had issues.

The Lover had admired her from afar, after meeting her briefly up close. A quick interaction to a chemical reaction which wormed its way into vivid, heartbreaking dreams. In pictures, she claimed the title of the Adorable Queen, a woman the Lover knew any man would desire.

The Lover was prone to grand gestures, and only the grandest would be fit for his Adorable Queen, his inner monologue convinced him. And no one could accuse the Lover of not being a man of action.

“Flowers and chocolates?” He thought. “No, not good enough for my Adorable Queen!”

The Queen left her small house on the edge of Culver City one morning, sipping the caffeinated Colombian coffee she prayed would flutter her eye lids up. Sadly, they still hung too low, with the upper and lower lids reaching for each other like a fallen child to their mother as the morning sun attempted to invade the fortress of her irises. And so thus, the Queen missed the rose bush which had been so neatly planted in her lawn behind the shades of midnight.

The Queen yelped as the roses’ green claws left their marks across her falling body. But, if she had not fallen and rolled onto the grass, she may also not have noticed the letter addressed to her, in an amateurish 8th grader’s cursive. As she tore open the envelope, the paper soaked in the red life seeping from the cuts in the Queen’s hands.

Inside the letter, the Queen discovered a certificate, certifying ten shares in Godiva under her name. Also enclosed was a note from the Lover:

“So you can have flowers every day, and chocolates never too far away.”

It should be noted that the Lover knew little of the rate rose bushes grew, nor much about the stock market. The Queen sensed this, but found the gesture mildly charming, minus the need for Neosporin. If only this would-be suitor had remembered to leave their name with the note.

It took a week before the Lover realized he had made this error. Feeling foolish, he could only make up for it with an even grander gesture! But what could beat eternal flowers and chocolate (dividends)?

The Adorable Queen had made it a point over the following week to not leave her home with any lingering fatigue. Her eyes were wide and shining as she stepped foot out her door to find a whimpering Pomeranian puppy staring up at her with hungry eyes. The Queen's heart almost melted...but quickly cooled as a bulldog walked up behind the Pomeranian. Followed by a middle-aged Doxen. And an old German Shepherd. As the Queen raised her head, she was introduced to the entire residency of the Give Pups a Chance adoption center, who had recently been given a home with an unknowing mother. The Lover stood at the back of the pack, holding the leash of a three legged Labradoodle with one hand, and waving with the other.

Good intentions cannot always make up for the failures of over compensation, as the Lover discovered following the notice of a restraining order from the stern but polite Office Lancaster that afternoon.


The Hater had never considered himself a hater, until Scrawk came into his life. To most, Scrawk was known as Scranton Hawk, a lanky lad of Norwegian decent. Scrawk’s beard ran redder than his hair, and his eyes screamed of an innocent cluelessness that was only truly innocent half the time, and clueless the other half.
What lead the Hater to his inarguably negative view of the Scrawk was a combination of pestilent interactions, warring views, and apocalyptic luck.

Their initial introduction came during a joyous holiday soiree at the mid-level production company where the Hater had worked thanklessly as an assistant for the last year and seven months. The Hater had set his eyes on the Creative Executive position soon to be created as the company prepared to expand. He had made his intentions clear to his superior that he desired the position. The Hater learned that night that Scrawk had also been aware of the Hater’s intentions. Upon meeting:
“Who do you know at the company?” asked Hater.

“I know myself. I got the C.E. gig. Sorry dude.” replied Scrawk.

So flippant was Scrawk’s apology, the Hater was tempted to throttle the skinny Norwegian’s naked throat, and he imagined pressing his thumbs against the Adams Apple which protruded towards him like a stick in the eye.

The Hater swallowed his desires for retribution, washing it down with his liquidating pride. Attempting to find a common ground with his foe, the Hater broached the subject which they both lived for: film. As Hater shared the works which inspired him; artful Italian films, quirky comedies, and breathtakingly original dramas, Scrawk’s interest vacillated between bemusement to apathy.

Scrawk liked horror films, or movies starring Jason Statham. Scrawk was a numbskull.

The final straw for the Hater broke during the premiere for the company’s latest release. The Hater left straight from work, having had to work late for the boss who had ignored his intentions for promotion but still expected A+ loyalty and service. The Hater often worked hours like these, leaving him little time for social interactions or meeting potential romantic partners. So he invited his sister, recently back from college, to be his plus one that night.

The Hater and his sister arrived on the red carpet at the same moment as Scrawk, who had on his arm the Adorable Queen. The Queen was an assistant at a management company who the Hater was familiar with, and had hoped to find an opportunity to become even more familiar with when the opportunity arose. Apparently, that opportunity arose for Scrawk before it had for the Hater.

The Hater learned to hate that night. Unencumbered, unapologetic hate. Whether Scrawk knew this didn’t matter. Whether Scrawk had any knowledge of this hostile energy emanating from the Hater was of no concern. The Hater needed to remove the Scrawk from his path. When Scrawk did cross Hater’s path at the premiere, it began with a step on the Hater’s new Marc Ecco’s.

“Whoops, didn’t see you there dude.”

Scrawk quickly scanned the Hater’s sister with judgmental eyes, comparing the Hater's mysterious date to his own. He then whispered to the Hater in an aside, “Man, you can do better than that!”

Perhaps in his mind, this was a backhanded compliment, but Scrawk failed to realize the line in the Hater’s mind he had crossed, turned back and spit on. The Hater was very loyal to his family, and took an affront to them as three to himself. Scrawk had to go.

In hindsight, the Hater later thought infiltrating an extremist jihadist website to declare a fatwa on Scrawk was a bad decision. Not so much that it was overkill, but because it put the Hater on the CIA’s very focused radar. CIA Agent Nelson had to admit he was boggled by the sudden appearance of this Bar Mitzvah-ed US citizen on a website frequented by people largely in favor of destroying Israel, and this man’s statements claiming Scranton Hawk’s involvement in anti-Muslim groups did not match what Nelson had in his files on the Norwegian, but he felt it was worth monitoring all the same.

Agent Nelson paid a visit to the Hater on a dreary Monday afternoon. The Hater's co-workers were baffled by his sudden ushering out by the man in black. While rumors spread as to the reasons, the Hater's boss saw this as a perfect opportunity to let his increasingly resentful assistant go.

After a long night of questioning, the Hater was released to his new world of funemployment.

The Hater had grown impatient with the jihadist’s reluctance to rush an attack on a single, low-profile individual anyways, and had moved on to less lengthy plans. The Hater purchased a scorpion from a local exotic pet store, and spent a rainy afternoon holding down the arachnid with a prong while using tweezers to squeeze venom out of the tail. The Hater knew very little about scorpion anatomy, and only managed to really piss off the scorpion in this process.

It did not take long for the perturbed scorpion to free its tail from the tweezers, and strike the Hater’s wrist.

When Office Lancaster arrived with his partner at the home of the Hater two days later, after apartment neighbors complained about an ill-fitting aroma loitering outside the Hater’s door, they were not shocked to find the pale, blank faced body of the Hater with his back on the floor, and legs still on the chair in which he had been sitting two days earlier.

At his funeral, there remained a sense of confusion as to what lead the Hater to purchase a scorpion, and to handle it with such carelessness. He had been a boy scout, claimed his grieving mother. Friends and co-workers mentioned his recent agitated state, arisen from an unknown cause. The priest prayed he was now at peace, and would go forth in beautiful unrest to the next world. The Adorable Queen shed a tear on Scrawk’s shoulder with these final words. She was a knock-out in her new black Versaci dress, the cost of which was supplemented by Godiva dividends. As she looked behind her at the saddened faces, she spotted a man quickly sinking behind a headstone.

The headstone was at least 200 feet away, so within the restraining order’s limits, but the Queen felt the Lover should not be here either way. It was in poor taste.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

My Art History pt. 6

The way I learned to draw and improve my skills was simply by copying (note: not tracing, but looking at a drawing and attempting to reproduce it) images I liked. I still do this today. Here are some of those:





My Art History pt. 5

These were likely done during "emo" moments:



My Art History pt. 4

I didn't do much color work. Sometimes I'd color my heroes...




My Art History pt. 3

I was never very good at drawing women. Below are two drawings I did based on images from comic books, and one attempt at an original.




My Art History pt. 2

My earlier post showed some of my hero/villain drawing, but I also drew a lot of creatures, monsters, and other crazy characters. Here are some old drawings of those I found:










My Art History

Growing up, I wanted to be a comic book artist. While I eventually parted ways with this dream and moved towards a career in screenwriting, I have a large collection of older work that, while not being at the professional level, had some good moments. Here are some of my older sketches of hero/villain type characters I found:






Sunday, September 23, 2012

Hipster Still Life


Not my best. First time I've tried painting from actual objects vs. photo images. Also working on a small canvas with small details, which was a challenge for me.

Monday, September 17, 2012

Forgive, Or - a short story


I’ve never been good at letting go. Of anything. When I moved from my childhood home to my tiny Hollywood apartment, I came to the realization that I was a natural pack rat…bordering on being a hoarder. Throwing away old posters, pogs, magazines, and worthless knick-knacks proved a strenuous affair that I’m still recovering from. If something had even the most miniscule value remaining in my eyes, I found some way to stuff it into my new place.

It’s not just material possessions that stay in close proximity to my being. It’s connections, friends, enemies, former flames, and every god-damn, torturous, bring-you-to-your-knees feeling that has gone with them. I am the classic example of a “forgive, but never forget” type person. I remain grateful for every good thing you’ve done for me, and will never hesitate to remind you of your past sins. I’d make a terrible priest.

Basil is not me. My friend of twenty years is the most perfect example of a human clean slate I’ve ever seen. He never holds a grudge, or bemoans a misfortune after the immediate incident. I’m sure he is what every Buddhist yearns to be, minus the fact that he’s not a Buddhist.

And being that life has the sense of humor of a fifty-year old who chuckles to middle of the road sitcoms, Basil and I have found our school years lead us into the working world together. Back to back cubicles in an office that acts as the perfect metaphor for every personal turmoil, political upheaval and philosophical thought I can come up with.

That girl I consider my true love who I am always off-again/on-again with? See: our office copy machine. I can’t live without it, and will do anything to make our relationship (ie: me putting paper in, it spewing out exact copies) work out, yet it seems determined to stall, sabotage, and destroy all my best efforts. Oh how I dread the paper jams.

The Arab Spring? See: the office staff meetings when we finally overwhelmed our supervisor and threw down the rule that ties are mandatory.
And the eternal question: Who are we? What defines us as people? The office began my journey towards those truths today.

I should explain what we do. You see those ads and commercials for companies that help you if you’re in over your head with debt, or struggling with your taxes? Most of those companies are bullshit scams that will put you into deeper debt. We’re legit. Hand over my heart.

A friendly, calm and confident demeanor is essential.

“Don’t worry, I will be happy to get you back on track Mrs. Wabner. Now, you said you owe three hundred thousand to Visa?”

“You know, Mr. Rickner, you can’t write-off those jet skis, but let’s find something you can so the government doesn’t take your house.”

“No Joey, I don’t recommend buying your mom’s medication on the black market, but let’s look at your current health care package and adjust it to bring down costs.”

I have to be ready and willing to help whoever comes in for a meeting with me. Old or young, conservative or liberal, stupid or gloriously idiotic. I look at the situation, assess it without bias, and honestly address the client with the various options they have.

I consistently applied this policy to everyone…except Raeleen Woods.

When I entered the lobby and saw those familiar strawberry blonde bangs hanging over eye-shadowed green eyes, my smile dropped faster than our supervisor’s protests when we threatened to hang him by his own tie.

“Raeleen. I think I should find you a different advisor.”

“No, Ryan. I requested you.” She looked hopefully at me, as if she could charm her way into my office. She could thank the presence of our receptionist and other clients for my self-control in not proving her wrong. I did swiftly thinkt of fifty ways to use my pen and clipboard as homicidal tools. I wonder if the edge on this board is sharp enough to decapitate a human…

“Right this way”.

As we walked back, Basil caught our entrance, and a conversation of facial expressions began.

Basil’s confused look: “What’s she doing here? Did you call her again?”
My exasperation: “No man, she’s here on her own. I cut her off!”
Basil’s half-frown: “Damn. Good luck buddy.”

Her fingers slid up and down the handle of her purse as she sat. Rigid and tense. This girl, who was so cool and loose she planned her best friend’s bachelorette party the night before throwing it. So relaxed and casual that she realized, two days after the party where she hooked up with a drunken stockbroker, that she forgot to send the email to me saying she didn’t feel as strongly about me as I did about her, and that we should just be friends. Classic, classic Rae.

Let the sputtering begin, “Look, I know that, like, I’m the last person you, probably the last person, you want to see. I know I really suck, and you probably wish I would get herpes or the clap.”

“I said as much in my response email.” I actually wished upon her AIDS and anal warts, but why mince words?

“Heh heh, yeah, that was a fun one to get. I deserved…most of it. Maybe not the part about growing old and dying alone?”

“Nope, that part took no second thoughts.” Should I get such a thrill from her downcast eyes and quivering lips?

“Okay. I won’t waste your time. I’m sure you remember the gallery I run…ran. We’re going under quickly, behind on rent, and since we’re not earning any money, I haven’t been earning any money. I’m nearly broke, and I’m terrified and need help. And yes, you’re the last person I should be asking for help, but you’re the only person I know who does this and I know you’re really good at it.”

Compliments are nice and accepted.

“I didn’t know who else to turn to,” She passes over a hefty file. “If you can please, please save my life here, and find some way the gallery, or at least I, can stay afloat…” Her tear-welling eyes and shaking head said the rest.

I opened the folder, filled with her earnings records, tax forms, financial history. Everything this beautiful woman was in dollar signs. I wrote down my assessment on the inside of the folder and passed it back to her. And she read:

“Go fuck yourself.” Her nod of resignation as she gave me one last look before shuffling out created an explosion of satisfied joy within me. I just didn’t realize that explosion would leave a hole where something more substantial should be. But I don’t let go, and I don’t forget. Perhaps I don’t even forgive.

I’d like to say the second half of this story began only later that day, but truthfully it was a week and a half. In real life, it takes longer than a day for the full moral arc to reach its denoument, and the days between halves gave me plenty of time to battle and obsess over my slightly harsh actions on that memorable Tuesday.

It was a quiet Friday. My favorite kind. While I racked my brain looking for the perfect place to put the word “foxy” in Words with Friends, Basil was tossing his plush mini-Lakers ball into his mini desk basket.

In between my space testing, I would engage Basil in conversation. “Any more clients today?”

“One more in fifteen minutes. Guy sounds like he’s struggling more than your lady was.”

“That’s struggling.” I spun around in my chair to face Basil, hoping an honest look in his eyes when I asked my follow-up question would give me some kind of piece-of-mind.

“Was I real asshole for that?”
“I think Ayn Rand would have been more sympathetic.”
“But it was so like her! She figured if she showed me how shitty things were for her, she could get my forgiveness and at least feel better about breaking my heart. It was pure selfishness.”

“Then why are you still worrying about it?”
“Because my attempts to wipe out my conscience have failed miserably?”
“If you feel like you were an asshole, than you probably were one. Maybe it was deserved, but you’re so oversensitive you can’t handle it. You didn’t live up to your stringent standards.”

Damn his wisdom. And damn my whole “not letting go of feelings”.

A light buzzed on Basil’s desk. “Three o’clock’s here.”
“Go get him.”

And get him he did. Five minutes later, Basil was walking back into the office, followed by Gordon Greneen. The pig-faced, freckled, hyperactive sociopath who made our youth hell whenever he came around.

Gordon took his inspiration from every one-dimensional bully character ever put in an Afterschool Specials, except with a little extra lust for violence. At the bus stop, he got a kick out of pushing other kids (ie: me) into the street as cars were approaching. If you ever “disrespected” him, he’d follow you off the bus and make sure your arm had a nice bruise for the next day.

Despite the fact that no one admitted to liking him, he still was deluded into believing he had more friends than you. Gordon, the scourge of the playground, from third grade until Sophomore year of high school, when his mom finally shipped him off to military school.

Basil is as even-tempered as they come. You could tease him for hours to no avail. You could break his things (such as the time I fell on his Super Nintendo after jumping off his couch) and he’d shrug it off. Minus the Lakers losing badly in a playoff, the only other thing I’ve seen get under Basil’s skin was Gordon. It must be said about our beloved bully that he would never back away from a challenge, and there was nothing more challenging than trying to piss off Basil. So he went above and beyond the call of duty when trying to anger, emotionally damage, or physically threaten my friend.

Even the strongest walls can crumble. It was a dreary Thursday bus ride home, and a continuous ear flicking, accompanied by Gordon’s taunts of “Gay-sil” finally infected Basil’s inner-Ghandi, who decided it was time for some violent resistance. Basil turned on Gordon with flying fists, and eyes that demanded blood. As Gordon cried for the assault’s end, I watched Basil shiver and shutter, holding back tears with clenched teeth and strength of will. I knew what hate looked like after that day, and I saw it in Basil’s eyes every time Gordon crossed his eye line the rest of those days.

Flash forward fifteen years to this moment, as Basil leads the entirely recognizable Gordon to his desk. I prick my ears up to capture the audio of this moment, anticipating the return of Angry Basil. Of Vengeful Basil. Of Hulk SMASH Basil. Will he tear Gordon down slowly, decimating any hopes he has of a better future, or will he simply pick up his office chair and smash that pig face into pork rinds?

Basil, wearing a smile obviously cloaking his evil machinations, finally spoke,

“Okay, let’s get started! Please, remind me of your name again?”
“Gordon.”
“Gordon, nice to meet you. Tell me how I can help you today.”

What the hell was that? Your one arch-nemesis is right in front of you in need of your dire aid, and you pretend to not even know him? What kind of mind-games are you playing, Basil?

These thoughts plagued me as the sun went down and I killed the two hours Basil took with his meeting by internet surfing stories of small villages in Africa that rose up to defend themselves from cruel warlords. Inspiring material.

The moment Basil was alone again, my curiosity could take no more.
“Dude, how could you stand that?!”
“Stand what?”
“You had Gordon Greneen in the palm of your hand, and you did nothing!”
“So?”

The frustrated spasms that took over my body almost induced a stroke. “The guy who used to beat us…well, me, up after school? Push us into the road? Flick your ears and call you Gaysil. The ultimate, supreme douche bag of the universe!”

Basil shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t remember him.”

And so the divine secret to Basil was revealed. It wasn’t simply an unbreakable serenity and enviable positivity that kept Basil living on a higher, brighter plain of existence than the rest of us.

It was selective memory. He truly could not remember those days of bitter anguish. That was what made Basil, Basil. Unlike me, he didn’t grow older carrying lingering rage with his mental scars. And so came my epiphany. We’re not only a sum of our collective memories and experiences.

We’re also what we choose to forget.

Every piece of information, every person we cross paths with, every interaction and experience that we let slip away shapes whom we will be as much as the memories we cling on to. This was some deep, heavy thinking for a quiet Friday afternoon, and lead to an exhaustive amount of self-reflection.

I’m horrible at letting things go. I can still remember the X-Men posters, the Terminator 2 pogs and soccer pins I threw away when I moved. I still will call and send emails to my oldest friend from growing up, even though I only hear from him once a year, with a simple “Happy Birthday” email. I still search for ways to get back with the girl I consider my one true love, even though I know she’s moved on and I need to as well.

Basil leaves it all behind without a second thought. Hell, without a single thought. He flows forward through time with all his baggage left back where he packed it. And he’s happier than I am. He always has been.

That’s his personality though. I’ll never be like that, and there’s no way I could forget that easily, aside from getting the same kind of brain damage as Guy Pearce in Memento. My actions follow my thoughts, and I can’t fake how I react or interact.

Then again, maybe if I act how I wish I could, then the rest of me will eventually fall in line? How hard is it really to forget?

I picked up my phone and dialed.

“Hi Rae, it’s Ryan. If you still really need help…give me a call. We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

I may not always forgive. I may never forget. But I don’t have to let the rest of the world know that.

THE END

Friday, September 14, 2012

Sketches

Haven't had much time (or materials) to paint lately, but found time to do some sketching from pics I've found.



Wednesday, August 29, 2012

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE THE END p.98 - 102

LARGE ROOM
The Aid leads Stan towards the outside lawn. On the left side of the room is Zallynack responding to a text. Waiting for him are Dan, Mitchell, Serena, and Dinke. As Stan passes...

DAN
Don’t sweat this buddy. Afterwards, beers are on me.

MITCHELL
Look them in the eyes, posture straight, and give ‘em hell.

Serena hugs Stan and kisses him.

SERENA
You get more of that when you’ve saved the world.

Dinke walks with Stan to the glass doors.

DINKE
Not to add extra pressure on you, but both the domestic and international news are out there.

Dinke points to a TV news report. Images of angry Hucklebee followers around the world waiting to hear Stan’s speech. They all look to be on the verge of a riot.

STAN
You don’t have any...inspiring messages or thoughts before I go out there?

Dinke pauses for a moment. His Aid brings him a glass of lemonade, which he swiftly drinks.

DINKE
Stan, a week ago you were an average man, who had incredible circumstances thrust upon you. Think of them as the sourest lemons you’ve ever seen. Take those lemons, and squirt the citric acid in all of their eyes.

Stan nods, not comprehending it at all. He swiftly drinks his water and grimaces.

STAN
Ugh, it’s chalky. You guys need water filters.

He grabs Dinke’s lemonade and finishes it. Dinke hesitates to stop him. Head down, Stan leaves the room, just as Omber enters, followed by Laura.

OUTSIDE STAGE
Stan takes his first steps onto the stage erected for him. He looks directly at the ground. The world is silent.

INSIDE
Laura spots Omber sneaking his head out and approaches.

LAURA
Mr. Grayson, Hucklebee’s assistant?

OMBER
I’m Reverend Grayson now!

LAURA
Oh? Reverend Grayson, I am Stan’s sister--

OMBER
--I’m terribly sorry to hear that.

LAURA
You shouldn’t be. Stan is...flawed, but he is a decent person. I know the Reverend only speaks the truth, but couldn’t he have been confused? Maybe his illness caused--

OMBER
--Ha ha, you must have the same curse as Hucklebee.

LAURA
What? Did Hucklebee say--

OMBER
--Nothing. You’re just...wrong. I’m right. Don’t argue. You could be lumped in with your bro.

Laura’s mouth hangs agape. She watches Stan sympathetically, and walks up close to the glass doors, next to Serena.

OUTSIDE
Dinke and his Agents are outside, standing behind Stan.

STAN’S POV: Stan’s feet take slow steps down the stage. The world is quiet. When the podium becomes visible, Stan stops. He looks up.

With the sight of people as far as the eyes can see comes a wave of calls, insults, and angry screams. Zealots shout at Stan, throwing garbage. Members of the Darwin Disciples push and taunt the zealots. In the back, Beezy, Jark and Fingo stand in a group of Goths and Metal Heads, cheering Stan on. They hold up all of the things Stan asked them to get.

The stage is surrounded by armed guards. Stan looks back to Dinke, who gives him a thumbs up. He sees Laura and Serena watching from inside. Stan smooths out the speech.

STAN
Hello. My name is Stan Bee Luther, and a week ago, I was living a peaceful life, providing valuable services to help mankind. Suddenly, a vile and corrupt liar named Hollis Hucklebee--

LOYAL HUCKLEBEE FOLLOWER
--Don’t mention his name, you monster!

STAN
--accused me of being the “Antichrist”, a ridiculous claim that only an ignorant simpleton would fall for, or so I thought.

RELIGIOUS ZEALOT 1
I have a PhD! You’re the idiot for being in league with evil!

STAN
Since then, my life and those of the people I care about have been threatened by these insane, dangerous fanatics--

Stan is hit in the head by a bottle.

RELIGIOUS ZEALOT 2
Don’t listen to his lies!

ALBERT
Let him speak, hypocrite!

LILLY
Your false messiah Hucklebee was always spewing vitriolic crap!

RELIGIOUS ZEALOT 2
Shut up bitch! Your ilk isn’t worthy of speaking his name!

Stan, woozy, watches the fighting crowds.

STAN’S POV: The people become horrific demonic creatures before his eyes, and back to humans. The sky turns colors, from blue to gray to purple to red.

Saturday, June 9, 2012

The Man Who Would Be the End p.89 - 98

EXT. WHITE HOUSE - DAY
Omber holds the bomb made by Happy. He stands at the center of a group of followers. He hands the bomb to an unseen follower, and pulls out a small remote.

OMBER
See that this gets placed in an appropriate area. Now, I must go take care of one last detail. Start rallying our troops!

Omber leaves. Some followers rush off. The bomb holder is revealed - it has been given to Zallynack’s spy.

INT. WHITE HOUSE - MEETING ROOM - DAY
Stan and Serena sit on a couch. The meeting room is cozy, with shades over the windows.

SERENA
You almost fucked that one up.

STAN
I came through in the end though.

SERENA
Ya you did.

Serena kisses him as Dinke enters the room, flanked by Mahoud and a second agent.

DINKE
Let’s get down to business.

STAN
Mr. President, I need your help. I thought you could mobilize the army, maybe the Marines--

DINKE
(pleading)
--Use my help? Mr. Luther, I need your help! I’ve been getting calls on an hourly basis from leaders all around the world telling me to turn you over or else--

STAN
--Or else what?

DINKE
I have no idea! They just keep threatening me, and I really don’t like it! Probably something along the lines of shooting and bombing us. World War three. Something lame like that.

SERENA
You pussy! So what, you want us to chase the crazy people all away? Nuke ‘em?

DINKE
Have you tried speaking to them? Directly?

SERENA
Yeah, like those idiots will--

STAN
--I’ll do it.

SERENA
You will?

STAN
I...I’ll just talk to them.

SERENA
Come on, you know those fanatics won’t believe anything you say.

STAN
They’re people. And like Laura said, maybe they’re just scared.

Dinke walks to a window and raises a shade.

DINKE
Before you commit to anything, make sure you aren’t yourself.

OUTSIDE
The White House is surrounded. The mobs want Stan’s head.

INSIDE
Stan gulps.

STAN
I can do this. I’ll write up some notes and--

Chanting erupts outside.

OUTSIDE
A new large group pushes its way to the front of the White House. They carry signs: “God is Not the Way”, “Thought Before Faith”, “Stop Being Stupid”, etc.

INSIDE

STAN
Are those the--

ZALLYNACK (O.S.)
--The Darwin Disciples.

Everyone turns around to find Zallynack in the doorway.

DINKE
Ah, hello Professor.

STAN
Psycho!

ZALLYNACK
The Disciples have members all over the country. All over the world really. I’ve rallied them to support you, Mr. Luther.

STAN
He’s nuts! He wants to make it so none of them can have babies!

DINKE
Stan, what are you talking about? Zallynack is here to help us.

STAN
What?

DINKE
We hoped you’d offer to speak to the Huckle-Beings and calm the situation. Zallynack, being an expert on the religiously minded, wrote a speech for you.

STAN
But, he’s crazy! Why can’t I just speak to them as myself?

Zallynack and Dinke share a look of discomfort.

ZALLYNACK
We don’t think that would be a good idea, Stanley. Your heart’s in the right place, but you don’t exactly have the best track record.

DINKE
Between your news interview flub and the Priest who died--

STAN
--that was his faul--

ZALLYNACK
--and I read an old police report about the night your father died. You stood there, frozen or possibly...not wanting to help? It would be catastrophic either way if you fucked something up of this magnitude.

SERENA
He’s not a fuck up! What is it with you people? He--

STAN
--He’s right.

SERENA
Stan, you said this guy wanted to sterilize half the population!

DINKE
What?

ZALLYNACK
That was a misunderstanding.

SERENA
You can’t trust him!

STAN
I can’t trust myself! The only times I haven’t screwed up my life is when I’ve done nothing.

Zallynack holds up the speech.

ZALLYNACK
I’ve taken the liberty of--

Stan grabs the speech as he leaves the room. Serena follows.

HALLWAY

SERENA
Stan, talk to me.

STAN
There’s nothing to talk about. I’ll read this speech, which will be better than anything I could come up with, and the crazy people will leave. End of the story.

SERENA
What happened with your Dad?

STAN
Whatever they said in there.

SERENA
Stan!

Stan enters a room and slams the door before Serena can enter. Frustrated, Serena runs off.

INT. WHITE HOUSE - GUEST ROOM - DAY
Laura leaves a bathroom, cleaned up. Mahoud waits patiently.

MAHOUD
Feeling better, Miss?

LAURA
It will be a while until I feel “better”, but as is said in Job 18:1, “The righteous keep moving forward, and those with clean faces become stronger.”

MAHOUD
I believe you mean Job 17:9, “...and those with clean hands become stronger and stronger”.

LAURA
(impressed and interested)
That’s an obscure passage. You must have done well in Bible study.

MAHOUD
I’ve always been interested in understanding others’ beliefs.

Mahoud and Laura exit the room.

HALLWAY

LAURA
Others?

MAHOUD
I’m a Muslim.

LAURA
Oh...I see.

MAHOUD
I’ve found that conflicts can usually be avoided if one takes the time to understand those with opposing views, instead of dismissing them as wrong.

LAURA
Yes, obviously.

MAHOUD
You’d think. Yet, look outside. Thousands of people about to tear each other apart, because they don’t see eye to eye.

Laura slows down to think this over. Her thoughts are interrupted as Serena runs up to her.

SERENA
Laura, you need to talk to Stan.

LAURA
What’s wrong? Is he getting too exciting for you?

Off Serena’s disgust, Laura realizes her hubris.

LAURA
I’m...sorry. I--

SERENA
--Save it. I give a damn about your brother, not you, and he’s going to make a colossal mistake and I can’t get through to him. I thought maybe you could.

LAURA
I hope I can.

Laura follows Serena down the hall.

MAHOUD
Very good, grasshoppa.

DINING ROOM
Stan sits at the head of a dinner table. In front of Stan is a glass of water and the speech, but his eyes stare dead at the window in front of him. A sparrow lands on the windowsill. It looks right at Stan.

SPARROW
Fuck up!

Stan is jolted. He looks again at the sparrow, which is innocently chirping. Laura enters the room on Stan’s right. Stan drinks some water but doesn’t look at her.

STAN
I didn’t let Dad die.

Laura sits down next to him.

LAURA
I never said you did.

STAN
You’ve always thought it. I don’t blame you.

FLASHBACK: INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY
Young Stan, long metal-head hair and a Pantera T-shirt, sits with his arms crossed while ARTHUR LUTHER, 55, craggy and bitter, yells out his lungs.

STAN (O.S.)
He was chewing me out again, letting me know how useless I was.

Arthur suddenly grabs his chest and falls to the ground, in pain. Young Stan stands in shock. Arthur points to the phone. Stan grabs it and starts dialing numbers.

STAN (O.S.)
I couldn’t even see the numbers. Dad kept growling “9-1-1 you fuck up”. I dialed 9-9-1, 1-1-9, 1-9-1. I couldn’t dial a number correctly.

Arthur mouths one last “fuck up” before dying.

PRESENT: INT. WHITE HOUSE - DINING ROOM - DAY
It takes a few moments for Laura to absorb this.

LAURA
You...at least tried, Stan. You were young and scared, and...Dad was an asshole.

Stan can’t believe his ears.

LAURA
He was. Love of Jesus or not, he was a rotten man. If anyone was a fuck up, it was him for fucking up our lives. Since mom was too drunk to function most of the time, I tried my best to make up for them. Maybe I didn’t do a great job, but I can start fixing that now.

STAN
Are you going to go and tell off your God-loving brethren?

LAURA
No Stanley, you are, but in your words, not some prick professor’s.

STAN
No. There’s too much at stake.

LAURA
Why don’t you look at it like a video game, except you’re using words instead of death vehicles?

STAN
No!

LAURA
Stanley Bee Luther, stop acting like a child!

STAN
Maybe if you hadn’t babied me like one the last fifteen years I could!

Laura storms out of the room.

OMBER (O.S.)
Ooh, she was angry!

Omber has entered the room from the other door.

STAN
Please don’t kill me!

OMBER
Mr. Luther, I am a man of God, not a murderer. Unless you really are a demon, then I will destroy you!

STAN
Uhh--

OMBER
--I heard that you intend to clear this whole world-ending mess up?

STAN
Uh, yeah, yes.

OMBER
Splendid. Maybe, possibly, we were too quick to condemn you. Giving you a chance to explain yourself, it’s the Christian thing to do.

STAN
Certainly would be.

Omber puts out his hand for a shake. As Stan reciprocates cautiously, Omber secretly removes the pill container from his pocket, pops the cap, and drops four into Stan’s water. They quickly dissolve.

OMBER
Godspeed, Mr. Luther. I hope all of your problems disappear in a flash.

STAN
Thanks.

Dinke’s Aid opens the door on Stan’s right.

AID
Mr. Luther, it’s time.

Stan nods to Omber and leaves with his glass of water.

Sunday, May 13, 2012

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE THE END p.80 - 89

INT. WHITE HOUSE - DAY

SMALL EMPTY OFFICE
Mahoud kneels on a carpet, performing his Muslim prayers in silence. He finishes and leaves.

HALLWAY

Mahoud is joined by two other S.S. Agents as he walks.

MAHOUD
Did his clearance pass?

SECRET SERVICE AGENT
Yes sir.

Mahoud ENTERS...

THE OVAL OFFICE
The office is in chaos. Advisors argue and speak on cell phones. A cork board has images of Stan, Omber, Hucklebee, and a map of Stan’s driving route.

DINKE
You’re sure they’re coming here?

JESSICA
Satellites picked up the same Motor Home that grabbed Stan from the Guard base on a direct route to DC.

ADVISOR
The mobs are following behind.

ADVISOR 2
They’ll be filling the city in hours.

MAHOUD
Sir, your three o’clock is here.

DINKE
Okay everyone, take this somewhere else. Out, out.

The room clears. The S.S. Agents bring in Zallynack.

ZALLYNACK
Mr. President.

DINKE
Professor Zallynack, your expertise could be useful in our current crisis.

ZALLYNACK
And I would be happy to make that expertise available to you. There’s an easy solution to--

Omber barges in. The S.S. Agents rush to grab him.

OMBER
President Dinke, I demand you see me this--

Omber and Zallynack lock eyes.

OMBER
(to Dinke)
I should have known you would resort to his kind!

ZALLYNACK
Oh my, how did a cockroach get in here?

OMBER
Like the roach, my kind will survive while your blasphemous existence will end in Hell!

ZALLYNACK
Your ignorant life of lies is destined for extinction!

A physical struggle ensues. Omber coughs on Zallynack.

OMBER
Still *cough* a germaphobe!

ZALLYNACK
Gah! Still a wimp!

Dinke is mesmerized by the childish fighting.

DINKE
Mahoud, get him out of here.

MAHOUD
Boys.

The S.S. Agents drag Omber out of the room.

DINKE
Professor, you also should control yourself. Spending time with leftist extremists looks just as bad for me on CNN.

ZALLYNACK
My apologies.

LOBBY
The S.S. Agents push Omber into the lobby and wait for him to leave. Omber is met by his Driver. The two hurry out of the White House.

DRIVER
How’d your meeting--

OMBER
--I need you to find out if any of our people can make a bomb.

INT. MOTOR HOME (DRIVING) - DAY
Dan drives. Stan reads a Bible in the passenger seat. Laura tries to sleep. Serena listens to her iPod. Mitchell is on his cell.

MITCHELL
Serena’s safe, Mom.
(beat)
Of course I’ll watch out for her. Haven’t I always?

Laura overhears this. She grimaces with guilt and wanders to the front.

LAURA
How far til we’re in DC?

Stan points forward: the DC landscape. The Washington Monument. The Lincoln Memorial. The White House. And thousands of religious people filling the streets with Anti-Stan signs. Serena comes up front.

SERENA
Whoa. It’s a Million Madman March.

LAURA
They’ll tear us apart if we go through.

SERENA
Plow through! It’s us or them!

MITCHELL
Sis, you’ve been saying that since you were five! Get over yourself.

SERENA
Maybe if I had felt like I had someone on my side growing up--

STAN
Fight each other later.

Stan points to a human roadblock in front of them. Hundreds of zealots scream at the Motor Home, throwing rocks and cans.

LAURA
Dan, turn us around!

SERENA
Run through them! If they don’t get out of the way, then Natural Selection has done its job.

LAURA
They’re not bad people, they’re scared! They think Stan is their worst nightmare come to life!

STAN
(eyes lighting up)
Dan, turn us around.

Laura breaths a sigh of relief. Serena is disappointed.

STAN
Dan, remember back in the day when we tried to turn David into the Human Torch?

DAN
Ha, yeah, we really shouldn’t have done that to someone that hairy.

STAN
Have lighter fluid on board?

DAN
Of course!

Stan grabs the wheel and turns sharply into a back alley.

EXT. WASHINGTON DC STREETS - DAY
The mob waits impatiently.

THUMP THUMP THUMP
The mob reacts as the ground shakes. A sound like thunder approaches. A smoke cloud appears in the distance.
Blasting out of the smoke like a bat out of Hell is a burning rocket, heading straight towards the mobs. The most horrific noises imaginable roar from the machine, and riding on top is a powerful creature of unimaginable evil. People disperse frantically, terrified, making room for the demonic vehicle.

On closer inspection: The Motor Home has been doused in lighter fluid and lit, turning it into a fireball. Standing on top is Stan, his face in black make-up, his hair spiked, and his clothes augmented with Serena’s black gloves, a black blanket as a cape, and streaks of lighter fluid on his arms and legs, making him appear on fire. Stan looks down at his feet, frightened. Holding on to his legs is Mitchell, standing in the roof hatch.

INSIDE MOTOR HOME
Mitchell stands on a chair. Serena and Laura burn magazines on the kitchen stove and let the smoke drift out the window. Laura is terrified. Serena’s having the time of her life.

LAURA
This is insane!

SERENA
I know, right?

Serena’s iPod is hooked up to the speaker system. A Slipknot song is blasting from the speakers.

OUTSIDE MOTOR HOME

STAN
Muaahahahha! Fear me, humans! Run from Stan the all-powerful! I am the Beast! I am the False Prophet! I am the Antichrist!
The zealots run away, terrified, clearing a path. Stan laughs, enjoying his newest victory.

INSIDE MOTOR HOME
The White House is coming closer into view.

DAN
White House dead ahead!

EXT. WHITE HOUSE - DAY
Two guards spot the oncoming Motor Home.

WHITE HOUSE GUARD
(into mic)
Sir, look outside and advise.

INSIDE WHITE HOUSE
Mahoud and two S.S. Agents look out a window.

MAHOUD
(into mic)
Let them in and close up right after.
(to Agents)
Let the President know Stan has an ETA of five minutes.

INT. HOTEL ROOM - DAY
Omber stands over a dirty little man, HAPPY, working on an intricate device.

OMBER
And how big will the--

HAPPY
--It’ll do the trick. No excess.

OMBER
And we can hide it easily?

HAPPY
Put it in a suit case, under a chair, wherever you want.

OMBER
And it won’t leave--

HAPPY
--No one will know it ever existed.

OMBER
Splendid.

Outside, Stan and the burning Motor Home pass by in a flash. The hotel windows are blown open by wind and death metal. Happy chuckles.

HAPPY
That was neat.

EXT. WHITE HOUSE GATES - DAY
The Motor Home approaches the White House gates.

STAN
Can this thing break through those gates?

MITCHELL
Not a chance!

STAN
Should we stop?

MITCHELL
Not if you want to live!

The gates open.

STAN
Yes!

The Motor Home goes through the gates and breaks. Stan goes flying out of Mitchell’s grip. Agents hold back the mobs while guards extinguish the flames on the Motor Home. Stan is ten feet away on the ground. A shadow looms over him.
STAN’S POV: Mahoud stands over him

MAHOUD
Mr. Luther. Welcome to the White House.

Serena, Dan, Mitchell, and Laura exit the Motor Home. The S.S. Agents help them out. Laura is unsteady.

LAURA
We’re...alive? We’re alive. We’re alive!

SERENA
Yeah. Thanks to your brother.

INT. WHITE HOUSE - DAY
Stan and his friends are led inside by Mahoud. Agents surround them. President Dinke enters the lobby.

DINKE
Made it in one piece?

STAN
Yes, Mr. President.

Stan is awed. Mitchell salutes. Dan salutes sloppily. Serena is unimpressed. Laura is nervous and sick.

DINKE
I see you brought your own entourage.

STAN
Yes sir. This is my best friend Dan Runty and Lieutenant Mitchell Sherman.

MITCHELL
Mr. President.

STAN
My gi--err, my friend--

Serena puts her hand around Stan’s waist.

SERENA
I’m Serena, his main squeeze.

STAN
And my sister Lau--

Laura throws up on Dinke.

DINKE
Oh my.

STAN
She was...nervous to meet you.

DINKE
Mahoud, can you take Ms. Luther somewhere to freshen up?

Mahoud puts his hand on Laura’s back and takes her hand.

MAHOUD
Right this way.

DINKE
Lieutenant Mitchell, please debrief the Secret Service about what happened at the base. Mr. Runty, please take you vehicle to an appropriate parking area.

STAN
What would you like us to do?

DINKE
You should get yourself out of that ridiculous outfit and wash your face. I will go change my clothes, and we can speak afterwards.

INT. WHITE HOUSE BATHROOM - DAY
Stan washes the last of the black make-up off his face. Serena sits on a counter behind him.

STAN
So...main squeeze?

SERENA
Didn’t want to embarrass you in front of the President.

STAN
Ah, I see.

Serena turns Stan around and kisses him.

SERENA
See, you didn’t fuck that up.

STAN
Hallelujah. Are you just into me because you think I am...this big, exciting deal or something?

Serena punches him in the arm. OW!

SERENA
I’m into you cause when it comes down to it, you’re a decent guy whose not a complete puss! I like a man who can ride a flaming Motor Home with a cape.
(fixing Stan’s hair)
That, and dating the Antichrist would really piss off my parents!

Stan passionately kisses her. They fall to the floor.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE THE END p.72-80

INT. MOTOR HOME (DRIVING) - DAY
Stan looks out the window anxiously. Serena is reading through a Bible. Stan is surprised.

STAN
Why are you looking at that crap?

SERENA
Know thy enemy.

STAN
What’s there to know? They’re crazy and want to kill me.

SERENA
Do you even know why? What do you know about the Antichrist?

STAN
He’s...bad?

Serena tosses the Bible to Stan.

SERENA
You thought earlier you were the Antichrist. Take a look and see.

DAN
We’re here! Hurry up!

EXT. LAURA LUTHER’S HOUSE - DAY
The Motor Home pulls up to Laura’s home. Stan exits. He sneaks up to her door and knocks. No answer. Stan knocks harder. Impatient and worried, he runs at the door. After three times, he breaks it open.

INSIDE
Laura is in the kitchen, holding a hot tray of cookies.

LAURA
Stan?!

STAN
Sis, we have to go! Get what you need, Dan’s Motor Home is outside--

LAURA
--Stan, I’m not going anywhere! Wherever you’re going, I don’t--

STAN
--it’s not...I need your help! Come with us, please. You’re the smart one in the family.

LAURA
I want to stay here! You don’t need me, so please--

Stan picks up Laura, cookies and all.

STAN
--sorry Sis.

OUTSIDE
Stan carries Laura to the Motor Home. She yells and protests the entire time. Neighbors see. One gets on a phone.

INSIDE MOTOR HOME
Stan carries Laura in.

STAN
We can leave now.

DAN
Where are we going?

Stan looks at Laura, still in his arms.

STAN
Where are we going?

LAURA
I don’t know! Put me down!

Stan puts Laura down. Serena grabs a cookie from the tray, tries it and spits it out.

SERENA
Raisins? Uch!

STAN
Laura, this is Serena and Mitchell.

LAURA
What’s wrong with raisins?

EXT. NATIONAL GUARD BASE - DAY
Omber stands in the Humvee parking lot. His followers are getting in two Humvees, carrying mortar launchers.

OMBER
We have a sighting! They’re heading north.

The zealots drive off.


INT. MOTOR HOME (DRIVING) - DAY

Dan drives. Mitchell sits next to him, talking. Serena, Laura and Stan sit in the back awkwardly.

SERENA
The President sounded like he was on your side. Let’s go to DC.

LAURA
I’m sure the President will offer protection to a priest killer.

Stan is about to speak.

SERENA
He got off for that!

LAURA
Trust me, kiddo, it’s was Stan’s fault. It’s always his fault.

SERENA
What a kind and loving sister.

Stan is about to speak again, but shakes his head and turns away, spotting the Bible. He picks it up and starts reading.

LAURA
I have stood by my brother his whole life!
(to Stan)
I tried so hard to get you on the right path! But not my love, not Hucklebee, not even God could save you.

SERENA
Ever think that maybe God isn’t the solution to all of life’s, or any of life’s problems?

LAURA
Oh, I’m sorry, is putting on black make-up and hating the world a better solution?

STAN
Enough, enough, enough! Laura, you’re right. You tried everything you knew to make me a good, mature adult like you, and I rejected it every time.

Stan drops the Bible and opens an ice chest for a beer.

STAN
But maybe I shouldn’t have to be like you! I’m not perfect, but I was usually happy, until all of this. And for once, this isn’t all my fault!

Serena looks proud of Stan. Laura is silenced. Stan drinks and looks out his window. The view is peaceful. Blue skies, green hills, and a few trees. Two squirrels playfully run along the raised embankment with the Motor Home.

BOOM!
The squirrels and most of the hillside disappears in an explosion of dust and debris.

STAN
What the--?

Another explosion rocks the Motor Home. Laura screams. Dan looks in the side mirror. Two Humvees are tailing them and launching mortars.

DAN
We got well-armed psychos at six o’clock.

MITCHELL
Take evasive measures.

Dan swerves the Motor Home wildly, barely dodging another explosion.

DAN
I don’t know any evasive measures!

Mitchell pushes Dan out of the seat and takes control of the vehicle. Laura hides underneath a bunk.

LAURA
Stan, take cover. Dan, call the highway patrol. Serena--

Serena, opens the ice chest and pulls out three beers.

SERENA
Stan, give me a boost.

She points towards the roof hatch. Stan looks from her to Laura, deciding. He lifts Serena through the roof.

OUTSIDE
Serena lobs the beers like bombs at the Humvees. One hits the windshield. The Humvee swerves. The zealots prepare to fire another mortar, until one is hit in the head by a beer.

SERENA
Ha! Don’t fuck with--

The other zealot pulls out a gun. Serena ducks back into the Motor Home as a bullet whizzes by.

INSIDE

SERENA
They shot at me!

Stan is angry. Another mortar hits near the driver’s seat. Mitchell screams, his arm cut up by the window glass.

STAN
Dan, get Mitchell out of there!

Dan gets Mitchell out of the seat. Stan takes the wheel.

LAURA
Stan, what are you doing? You don’t know how to drive this thing!

STAN
No, but I know how to drive like a bad ass!

Stan turns the Motor Home around, skidding and picking up dust on the narrow road. Stan punches the gas, heading right towards the Humvees.

STAN’S POV: The outdoor scene turns into the video game he was playing at the beginning, and back to reality.

STAN
Oh, I know this game!

The drivers of the Humvees, surprised, prepare to launch more mortars. Stan dodges one mortar. A game of chicken is afoot. Stan picks up speed. The Humvees chicken out and split to each side of the road.

Stan drives the Motor Home into the Humvee on the right, knocking it off a steep embankment. The zealots abandon ship as the vehicle flips and crashes. Stan sticks his head out the window to taunt the zealots.

STAN
Another one for Stan the Antichrist!

LAURA
Stan!

STAN
I’m kidding. It’s too bad that Jesus doesn’t teach you how to kick ass.

Serena moves up front and puts her hand on Stan’s shoulders and points to the other Humvee.

SERENA
Run ‘em off the road!

Stan speeds up, but seeing Laura’s worried face, slows. Serena is disappointed, but Laura is relieved. The zealots prepare to fire another mortar while approaching a tight turn. Stan hits the horn. The zealots turn around too late, and go flying off the cliff. Serena hugs Stan.

SERENA
That was still pretty hot.

DAN
Saving our lives or not, you’re helping me repaint Bertha.

Stan looks back and sees Laura quietly straightening up the Motor Home. She doesn’t look at him. Stan is proud either way. Serena takes the passenger seat.

SERENA
To DC, Dark Lord Luther.

INT. GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL - DAY
Omber, flanked by two followers, walks down a corridor.

OMBER
You’re sure this is the best hospital in DC?

FOLLOWER 2
The very best, sir. Nothing but for the Reverend.

Omber ENTERS a room. The Followers remain outside.

HUCKLEBEE’S ROOM
Surrounded by flowers and get-well cards is Hucklebee, in a coma. Omber goes to his side.

OMBER
Oh Reverend...Hollis...I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to visit, but I’ve been very busy avenging you. I have taken your place, and started an epic crusade of holy men to bring down the vile Stan Luther! You would be so proud of me! The power I have garnered is great. Maybe greater than yours...

Hucklebee’s eyes open.

HOLLIS HUCKLEBEE
What?

OMBER
Sir? Reverend!

HOLLIS HUCKLEBEE
What...are you talking about? Who’s Stan Luther?

OMBER
Stan Bee Luther! The man you claimed was the Antichrist. The bringer of the Apocalypse. The end of the world.

HOLLIS HUCKLEBEE
No no, I didn’t say that, moron. I said Satan. Beezlebub. Lucifer. The old shtick.

OMBER
But...I thought--

Shocked and terrified, Omber scans the room. On a table is a collection of pills. Omber opens the vials and puts pills into his hands.

HOLLIS HUCKLEBEE
--What kind of idiot would think I said--

Omber forces the pills into Hucklebee’s mouth, and waits till they’re swallowed. Hucklebee is back to sleep. Omber grabs one pill bottle. The label warns: May Cause Hallucinations. Omber pockets it and EXITS the room.

OUTSIDE
Omber heads back down the corridor, flanked by the followers.

FOLLOWER 1
Sir, did we hear the Reverend speaking?

OMBER
Stan has deeply cursed the Reverend. He woke briefly, but spoke only nonsense and lies. I need you two to stay and guard his room. Let no one in. The agents of Stan are everywhere!

FOLLOWER 2
Yes sir.

OMBER
Good.

FOLLOWER 1
Sir? We received word that your special...task force failed.

FOLLOWER 2
It seems that Stan is heading to the Capital.

OMBER
Alert all loyalists in DC. I’m going to see if the President is ready to redeem himself. Don’t let Stan reach the White House!

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Existential Gangsta Snuffleupagus

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE THE END p.63-72

INT. NATIONAL GUARD BASE - OFFICE - DAY
Mitchell’s office is a gun collector’s paradise. All types of guns align the wall. Stan admires them.

STAN
If I really do bring about the Apocalypse, you’ll certainly be ready.

Stan feels one of the guns. Mitchell grabs it off the wall immediately and starts cleaning it.

SERENA
He’s NOT going to bring the Apocalypse. It’s all a huge misunderstanding.

MITCHELL
Just like it was a misunderstanding when your last boyfriend was caught with twenty-three kilos of cocaine at the border?

STAN
Boyfriend?

SERENA
He’s not my boyfriend! Mitch, these people are going to kill him if he goes home or anywhere else.

MITCHELL
Sis, Stan, I can’t mobilize the Guard until a state of emergency is called. Unless these mobs get violent, they’re not a big enough threat. Go to the police.

STAN
They’re not fond of me.

MITCHELL
Well maybe you shouldn’t have run over your neighbor back in ninety-two!

SERENA
(turned on)
You ran over your neighbor?

STAN
That’s public knowledge? Why didn’t someone tell me my past would bite me in the ass someday!

Mitchell sees Stan’s pleading, hopeless face, and gives in.

MITCHELL
Okay, you can stay here for a while. I’ll keep an eye on you--

SERENA
--Thanks Mitch.

MITCHELL
I can’t promise much, but you should be safe--
(looking out window)
Shit.

STAN/SERENA
What?

EXT. NATIONAL GUARD BASE - DAY
The mob marches on the base, weapons and torches in hand. Omber leads. The base guards stand ready.

GUARD
Please stay one hundred feet away, or we will be forced to bring you into custody.

OMBER
Forward, soldiers of God!

GUARD
Umm, no, stay BACK. Do not go forward. Forward is the wrong way.

The Guard looks nervously to BASE GUARD 2, who holds his gun at the ever-nearing mob.

BASE GUARD 2
We aren’t joking. You can not come in to the--OW!

A zealot knocks the gun out of the guard’s hand with a large wooden cross. Inside the base, a large truck comes hurtling at the closed gate. The Huckle-Cross-Wearing Guard is driving. He sends the inside guards scattering and breaks the gate open.

HUCKLE-CROSS-WEARING GUARD
Get Stan!

OMBER
Make Hucklebee proud!

The mob descends on the Guards, using crosses, bats, and whatever else they have as weapons. The base guards regroup too slowly and the mobs overwhelm them.

INSIDE MITCHELL’S OFFICE

MITCHELL
Run!

OUTSIDE OFFICE

Stan, Serena, and Mitchell run out of the office.

STAN
Where do we go?

MITCHELL
Uhh...

SERENA
Mitchell?

MITCHELL
The back. Go to the back

FEMALE ZEALOT
There he is! Destroy the destroyer!

A Japanese zealot misses Stan with a shuriken. A bible then hits him in the back.

STAN
Not cool! Not cool!

Two French zealots fall over each other trying to grab Serena. Mitchell cold-cocks a bearded zealot, who falls to the ground. Stan is outpacing a heavy-set red neck.

FAT ZEALOT
Run slower, Demon!

Stan stops.

STAN
Hey, how do you make a dead baby float?

FAT ZEALOT
What?

STAN
You take your foot off his head!

The Fat Zealot is horrified. Stan kicks him in the head and runs.

SERENA
Where’s the exit?

They reach a barbed wire fence surrounding the base.

MITCHELL
There is none. We’re climbing!

STAN
There’s barbed wire on it!

Mitchell jumps onto the fence and climbs. Serena follows.

SERENA
Just climb!

STAN
Climbing!
(looking up her skirt)
Bewitched underwear?

Serena looks at Stan offended, and turns away to hide a grin. Mitchell reaches the top and takes out a knife. He cuts the barbed wire and tears it away. On the other side, a large Motor Home swerves up along side the fence. Dan drives.

DAN
Stan!

STAN
Dan!

Stan reaches the top of the fence.

STAN
You got Bertha running?

DAN
Like a doll. Get on top!

Stan hops over the fence and on to the top of the Motor Home. Mitchell and Serena follow suit.

SERENA
This your friend, Stan?

DAN
No, I just spend my free time rescuing pariahs.

STAN
Dan, less sarcasm, more driving.

DAN
Hold on! This baby does zero to thirty in only four minutes!

Mitchell pops open the roof hatch and motions everyone to jump in. The Motor Home leaves as zealots throw rocks and bibles from behind the fence.

INT. MOTOR HOME - DAY
Everyone catches their breath.

DAN
You guys are lucky I occasionally watch the news.

MITCHELL
Where are we going?

Dan, Stan and Serena share a look of cluelessness.

SERENA
You’re not safe around here.

STAN
Dan, go to Laura’s house!

DAN
Stan, they’re--

STAN
--everywhere, I know. But if they find out she’s my sister, they might go after her.

SERENA
Let ‘em have her. She didn’t care when you asked her for help.

STAN
She always cares! Always has.

MITCHELL
Stan, this mob is only going to get bigger and more violent. We need to get out of the state now!

STAN
We will. As soon as we pick up Laura.

INT. WHITE HOUSE - HALLWAY - DAY
Dinke is on a cell, Mahoud at his side. JESSICA ZETZLE, 45, Dinke’s Chief of Staff, walks with him.

DINKE
President Sarkozy, I’m sorry they’re giving you a hard time. The Hucklebee followers can be overly vocal with their feelings.
(beat)
We will not feed an American citizen to a mob, French or American.
(beat)
Mange merte back at you!

Dinke hangs up.

DINKE
What’s gotten into these people?!

JESSICA
They’ve gone rabid. When they learned Luther was there, they didn’t hesitate to take out the Guard base. They have at least twenty guards as hostages. Luther escaped in a Motor Home.

DINKE
Do they know something about Luther that we don’t?

Jessica hands him a folder labeled STAN BEE LUTHER.

JESSICA
I’ve looked over his file. While far from an upstanding citizen, there’s no reason to believe he has ties to terrorists.

Dinke reads through the file.

DINKE
Born in Alabama...four DUIs...sells insurance with waffle makers. He made it through high school with a C average. He’s not the Antichrist, he’s a bum!

JESSICA
A bum they’re convinced is going to bring the Apocalypse.

DINKE
All thanks to Hucklebee. What’s his status?

MAHOUD
Recently transferred to Georgetown University Hospital. Comatose.

DINKE
We need to handle this situation delicately, or every religious person on this planet is going to put a fatwa on America. Get me Hucklebee’s assistant. Amber?

MAHOUD
Omber. Grayson.

Mahoud whispers into a microphone. They enter a room.

INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY
Dinke, Jessica, and other staff members look at a screen. Omber comes on. He has an army green background.

OMBER
Hello? Hello Mr. President?

DINKE
Mr. Grayson. Reports say you are tied to the mob which invaded the base--

OMBER
--Whoa whoa, don’t know what you’re talking about. I am a man of God, and taking over a National Guard base would be an act of terrorism.

Behind Omber, his followers pass carrying boxes with “ARMY NATIONAL GUARD” printed on them. One wears an army hat. Dinke looks annoyed.

DINKE
I am being very serious Mr. Grayson. There are dangerous chemical and biological weapons stored on that base that could hurt many innocent people.

In the background, a zealot walks by carrying a tank shell.

OMBER
Oh, that is terrible. If these misguided souls have done this in Hucklebee’s name, I will go to the base myself to negotiate a surrender.

DINKE
Good. I also ask that you end this insane crusade against Stan Luther!

OMBER
The Antichrist.

DINKE
Stan Luther!

OMBER
Sir, would sacrificing one man for the good of the world really be that big of a deal? It would look so good in the history books to be the President who stopped the Apocalypse.

DINKE
There will be no Apocalypse! And human sacrifice is not acceptable, even for reelection.

The PRESS SECRETARY whispers to Dinke.

PRESS SECRETARY
Sir, maybe it would be good--

DINKE
--no! We are a society built on logic and reason!

OMBER
Mr. President, since when have logic and reason gotten us anywhere? Really?

Dinke exits the room, slowly followed by his advisors.

INT. PRESS ROOM - DAY
The President speaks to the news from a podium.

DINKE
I ask all American citizens currently engaged in this witch hunt to cease and desist! It is inappropriate behavior for a modern nation...

INT. MOTOR HOME (DRIVING) - DAY
Stan and his friends listen to Dinke’s speech on the radio.

DINKE (O.S.)
...there is no reliable evidence to prove that Stan Luther is a danger to society...

STAN
Thank God people voted for him!

Serena looks at Stan curiously.

STAN
Didn’t make it to the poles. Hung over.

INT. NATIONAL GUARD BASE - OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
Omber and Hucklebee’s entourage watch the speech on TV.

DINKE
...so this madness must end.

OMBER
It’s official. The President is in league with the Antichrist, and must be considered an enemy of God!

FOLLOWER 1
Reverend Grayson...you wish us to expand the Crusade to include the leader of our country?

OMBER
He is corrupted! The man speaks in riddles, playing with the minds of the weak. He mocked Hucklebee to the man’s face! He’s evil!

Omber leaves the office, followed by all the followers but one. The man quickly takes out a phone and texts a message.

INT. DARWIN’S DISCIPLES HEADQUARTERS - CONTINUOUS
Disciples pack up boxes and run around furiously. Zallynack drinks espresso and reads a text on his phone in a breakfast nook. Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water” plays on an old record player.

ZALLYNACK
Lilly! Prepare my private plane. I’m going to DC.

Monday, March 12, 2012

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Painting status

So with having a new job, I haven't had as much time to paint lately...but I will again! Have a couple ideas brewing...just waiting for the time to work on them. In the meantime, I'll try to find some old art to put up here on the site.

Thanks for continuing to read.

Bo

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE THE END p.55-63

INT. SERENA’S CAR (DRIVING) - NIGHT

STAN
I think I am the Antichrist.

SERENA
No you’re not.

STAN
Everything I do turns out for the worst. I’m only good at fucking things up.

Serena slaps him.

SERENA
I hate self pity. Keep that in mind.

STAN
Sorry, but growing up, that’s all I heard. I would get in trouble, and my old man would scream at me for hours. The guy thought that if you didn’t love the Lord, you weren’t worth shit.

SERENA
At least you got out to get into trouble. My parents had me under house arrest most of my life thinking it would keep me safe.

STAN/SERENA
(shaking heads)
Fucking family.

INT. SERENA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Stan ENTERS the apartment, out of breath.

SERENA
Elevator’s been out since May, but stairs are great for the glutes.

Stan lays on her couch. He checks out the apartment: Extreme Sports DVDs. Posters of nu-metal bands. A skate board. A pair of handcuffs. Fireworks. A care bear in a noose.

STAN
Your place is...cool.

Serena enters the kitchen and opens the fridge.

SERENA
Thanks. You want any water before--

Stan has fallen asleep on the couch. His belly protrudes from under his shirt. Serena grabs a beer.

SERENA
If the world could see him now. Antichrist my ass.

MORNING
Stan sleeps on the edge of the sofa. Serena shakes him, holding a pair of binoculars.

SERENA
Stan, wake up.

STAN
No.

SERENA
Come on, you need to see this.

STAN
Naaa I don’t.

Serena punches Stan in the gut.

STAN
I’m up!

Serena grabs Stan’s hand and drags him out the door.

ROOFTOP
Stan and Serena stand at the roof’s edge. The view shows people for miles around marching towards one location.

STAN
I can see my house from here.

SERENA
Oh, you mean the one surrounded by a torch-wielding mob?

Serena hands Stan the binoculars.

OUTSIDE STAN’S HOUSE
The old protestors are still there. New Huckle-beings from all over the world have joined them. Omber stands between Stan’s door and the mob. He yells at the house.

OMBER
Show yourself, vile demon. Surrender yourself, or prepare for destruction!

INDIAN ZEALOT
You sure he’s there?

OMBER
He got out of jail, where else would he be?
(to the house)
If you come out, we promise you a fair trial before burning you at the stake. How does that sound?

JAPANESE ZEALOT
Maybe we should knock?

ROOFTOP

STAN
The United Nations of crazy are after me now. Great.

SERENA
(excited)
Man, you have to be someone dangerous to get so many different people wanting you dead.

STAN
Fuck! I can’t even go home!
(to the Heavens)
You win. I give up! I’ll just jump off this roof now!

SERENA
Stop it. We need to get you somewhere safe.

STAN
(re: mob)
Please, do tell me where I can go where that won’t get me.

Serena runs to the stairs.

SERENA
Follow!

INT. SERENA’S CAR (DRIVING) - DAY
Serena slowly drives against the grain of people. She honks to get people to move. Some zealots yell and hit her car. Stan peaks his head up from under a blanket in the back.

STAN
Where are we going?

SERENA
Get down and stay still!

STAN
It’s dirty down here.

SERENA
Better than out there.

Stan peaks over the window, and sees the mobs carrying effigies of himself. Stan ducks back down and grabs Serena’s cell phone from the passenger seat. He dials.

STAN
I need to call Laura.

SERENA
Who’s Laura?!

STAN
My sister.

INT. SOUP KITCHEN - DAY
INTERCUT PHONE CONVERSATION
Laura dolls out soup to the homeless. She picks up her cell phone on the second ring.

LAURA
Hello?

STAN
Laura, they’re all trying to kill me!

LAURA
Stan, I can’t--

Stan peaks out the window again, seeing different religious groups carrying nooses and clubs.

STAN
They have machetes and pitchforks! Please sis!

Laura drops her ladel and motions a young woman to replace her as she walks back into the kitchen.

LAURA
Stan...when Hucklebee collapsed, you showed no signs of concerns.

STAN
So? He wasn’t my life guru!

LAURA
When the priest died, you didn’t mutter a word of sympathy.

STAN
It’s not my fault he was a lecherous old--

LAURA
--He was a person, Stan! When someone suffers or dies, it’s human to show compassion! You have none! How am I supposed to believe you’re not the Antichrist when the only person you ever show any concern for is yourself?

Stan is stopped cold. He slumps back down behind the seat.

STAN
(sincerely)
I’m...sorry Laura...for bothering you.

LAURA
Stan--

Stan hangs up and throws the phone onto Serena’s seat.

SERENA
Not getting along with the sibling?

STAN
Not really.

SERENA
Been there, about to do that.

EXT. ALABAMA NATIONAL GUARD BASE - DAY
Serena’s car drives up to the gated entrance. A young, studious GUARD addresses her.

SERENA
Here to see Lieutenant Mitchell Sherman.

GUARD
Do you have an appointment?

SERENA
I’m his sister. It’s an emergency.

GUARD
Do you have any ident--

SERENA
Damn it, soldier! People will die if I don’t get in to see my brother in the next two minutes! Do you want that on your conscience?

GUARD
Identification...please.

Serena gets out her license and shows the Guard. He opens the gate and Serena plows in.

INSIDE BASE
Serena parks her car next to a building.

SERENA
Just stay in the car til I talk to my brother. He’s never been a big fan of the guys I’ve hung out with.

MITCHELL SHERMAN, 36, strong and stern, exits the building.

MITCHELL
Sis? What are you doing here?

SERENA
Hey bro, kinda needed to talk to you about something.

MITCHELL
What, you and your punk friends vandalize the postal workers this time? You in some kind of trouble?

SERENA
No, no, but a friend of mine is.

MITCHELL
Friend? What friend?

Stan peaks his head out the car window and waves.

STAN
Hi.

MITCHELL
Shit.

STAN
I’m--

MITCHELL
--all over the news. Evil incarnate. Shit! Sis, you and your god-damn friends!

Mitchell angrily enters the building. Serena waves Stan to follow. Stan and Serena enter the building. Behind a building, a HUCKLE-CROSS-WEARING GUARD spots them. He takes out a phone.

HUCKLE-CROSS-WEARING GUARD
Send word to Reverend Grayson. The Antichrist is here. I repeat, the Antichrist is in the base!

EXT. STAN LUTHER’S HOUSE - DAY
A zealot whispers in Omber’s ear.

OMBER
He’s at the National Guard base! Let’s go!

The mobs get into their cars. All the cars putter and choke. Beezy runs through the background, laughing victoriously.

OMBER
On foot! We’ll march!

EXT. SOUP KITCHEN - DAY
Laura leaves the Kitchen as the mob marches past. A hyper-vigilante fanatic sees Laura with the cross around her neck.

VIGILANTE FANATIC
Hey good Christian, we’ve found where the Stan Luther is! Going to help us burn him?

LAURA
No! That’s not what Jesus would do.

VIGILANTE FANATIC
He’s the Antichrist! Jesus would lead the charge!

The fanatic returns to the mob. Laura watches, distressed.