Slob Dressed Man

(to the tune of ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man")

Stained shirt, full of holes
My BVDs ain't dirty -- I don't wear none at all
Nose hairs, double chin
You smell me coming before I step in

The girls run screaming just as fast as they can
They're so damn disgusted 'bout a slob dressed man

Ass crack, stupid hat
Can't see my own feet cause I'm extremely fat
Stinky sneakers, don't match
My gut's exposed, makes it easy to scratch

The girls run screaming just as fast as they can
They're so damn disgusted 'bout a slob dressed man

Beanie Babies

EXT - BERLIN - DAY
We see the front of a toy shop. DER KINDERSPIEL or sumpin like that. Black-and-white footage.

INT - TOYSHOP

PETER LORRE is dusting the shelves. Ding. A bell rings. A child comes in. She looks around.

INGA: Hey! Ya gotta any Beanie Babies?

PETER: No. What are Beanie Babies?

INGA: They're cute little plush toys, stoopid! Their little bellies are stuffed with beans!

He considers the thought.

PETER: S-stuffed with beans?

He shudders

PETER: That's sickening. No. I don't carry Beanie Babies. I am not interested in fads. I carry only classic toys. Get out of my store!

INGA: Jerk.

The bell rings. PETER LORRE looks up as another little girl walks in.

HELGA: Ya got any Beanie Babies?

PETER: No! I don't have any Beanie Babies! I will never have any Beanie Babies! From now until the end of time!

INT - TOYSTORE - DAY

The store is now stuffed with a feeding frenzy of giggling children. It's also stuffed with Beanie Babies. The kids are buying them as fast as he can restock them. PETER LORRE is making tons of money -- but he's miserable. He looks at the clock on the wall.

PETER: OK, that's it! Closing time! Everyone get out of here!

An adorable little girl holds up a Beanie Baby.

EVA: But I just want to ...

PETER: No! It's too late! No more buying and selling! I'm tired of making money! It's closing time! My shop is officially closed!

Later ...

PETER LORRE is alone in the store. The shelves are, once again, filled with Beanie Babies. He's just finished restocking. Tomorrow, he'll do the same thing.

PETER: (muttering to himself) Stuffed with beans. Their little bellies are stuffed with beans.

He begins to sweat. His eyes dart around nervously.

From his POV, we see various Beanie Babies. They all seem sinister. All seem like they're looking at him.

PETER: Oh. I know what you're doing. You can't fool me. You pretend to be toys. But you're ALIVE! You're always watching me! You're always following me. You! You little skunk thing. You weren't on that shelf before! You've moved! I know!

His eyes dart back and forth. Faster and faster.

PETER: No. That's just crazy talk. Ha. My imagination is getting the best of me. They're only toys. Harmless toys. (laughs) They can't hurt me. They're not alive. Their little bellies are filled with beans!

His eyes dart back and forth. Faster and faster.

Back to LORRE's POV. More paranoid glimpses of Beanie Babies. The editing rhythm speeds up. Expressionist camera angles, weird diagonal shadows.

LORRE: Stop looking at me!

EXT - NIGHT

PETER LORRE is waiting on a bench at a tram stop. GERTA, a fat, kindly, old German woman, sits next to him.

GERTA: Your shop is doing quite well, I hear.

PETER: Yes. Financially.

GERTA: Ja. The little kinder do love those Beanie Babies.

He shudders.

PETER: Yes. (barely containing his hysteria) The darling little monsters with their parent's money clutched in their tiny little fists.

GERTA: Der kinder are so wonderful, ja. You are making them happy!

PETER: Yes. That's true. I am spreading happiness and joy. I am spreading Beanie Beanies. Like an infection. The Beanie Babies. They love them so much. That's all I sell now. I am making so much money!

GERTA: (chortles) Ja. Money talks.

PETER: Yes, it does. It's true. Money is talking to me! I can hear it! Right now! It's whispering in my ear!

She edges away from him.

PETER: Do you know what it's saying?

GERTA: No.

PETER: Money is commanding me: "Sell the Beanie Babies. Fill your store with Beanie Babies!" I obey, yes. Like the cringing slave I am. What else can I do? It's the capitalist system! The Invisible Hand, forcing me against my will. The children want those hideous things! They pay obscene amounts of money. I must obey! I must sell Beanie Babies!

GERTA: Ja. Well. I'll suppose you'll be selling them for the rest of your life.

PETER: Yes. There's no way out

He buries his face in his hands. Trapped.

Then looks up with a psychotic gleam in his eye.

PETER: Or is there?

EXT - TOY STORE -- NIGHT

PETER LORRE Watches with feral joy on his face as a raging fire consumes the store.

PETER: Now I am free! Free!

Police and fireman appear.

POLICEMAN: Sorry about your store, sir.

PETER: I'm not sorry. I did it!

POLICEMAN: We never said you ...

PETER: No, it's true! I did it! I started the fire! Don't you see? Now I'm free!

He dances insanely.

EXT - TOY STORE -- NIGHT
Time has obviously passed. The store is now a burned-out, smoking shell. PETER LORRE is still standing there.

More police appear. Along with the men in the white coats.

PETER: Take me away! Yes, I did it!

POLICEMAN: Of course you, did.

PETER: No. I admit it! I started the fire! Lock me up. Lock me up where I'm safe! I don't care! I'm free! Don't you see?

The MEN IN WHITE COATS grab him. Drag him over to an ambulance.

PETER: The Beanie Babies can't hurt me anymore, no. For I have killed them!

He laughs insanely as they stuff him into the ambulance.

It turns on its old school European siren and drives away.

INT, INSANE ASYLUM - NIGHT
The nuthouse resembles the one in "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari." More weird, expressionist shadows and camera angles. Orderlies march PETER LORRE down the hall. Take him into an office.

INT, PSYCHIATRIST'S OFFICE - NIGHT

Lorre sits on a couch. A PSYCHIATRIST sits in a leather chair with a notebook and pen.

PETER: Your coat is so white and clean and scientific! Your beard is so pointy! I'm filled with a sense of confidence already. Are you going to examine my mind? Are you going to get your fingers dirty?

PSYCHIATRIST: We're going to talk.

PETER: Oh. That's wonderful! I love talking!

PSYCHIATRIST: Yes, Mister Lorre. Well. Let us talk about the Beanie Babies.

PETER: No.

He curls up in a fetal position.

PETER: I don't want to talk about the beanie babies.

PSYCHIATRIST: Are you afraid of them?

PETER: No, of course not. I'm not afraid of them. I'm not a child!

PSYCHIATRIST: Mmm-hmm.

PETER: I hate them.

PSYCHIATRIST: I see.

PETER: The Beanie Babies. Yes. I hate them! I hate them so much!

PSYCHIATRIST: Why do you hate them?

PETER: Because I hate them!

PSYCHIATRIST: Why?

PETER: Why, why. Why do they they hate me?

PSYCHITRIST: They hate you?

PETER: Yes, you idiot. I know! They're always following me! Spying on me! They want to kill me! Their little bellies are filled with beans!

PSYCHIATRIST: I see.

PETER: I'm only joking, of course. Ha-ha. Of course they can't spy on me. That's irrational! I know that, don't you see? They're only toys. They don't have brains or nervous systems. Their little bellies are filled with beans. Their little bellies are filled with beans!

PSYCHIATRIST: Do you wish to be cured of this obsession?

PETER: Please, Doctor. That's hardly scientific of you. Obsession is the wrong word.

PSYCHIATRIST: What is the right word?

PETER: I don't know. I don't belong here. It's A GREAT MISUNDERSTANDING, YOU SEE? One day, we will look back and laugh. Ha-ha. See? I'm laughing now. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

PSYCHIATRIST: Mmmm-hmmm.

PETER: The fire was an accident.

PSYCHIATRIST: Yes, well. Returning to my original question. Do you wish to be cured of your obsession?

PETER: Yes, yes, of course. But it's impossible. You can't help me. No one can help me! Not God! Not you! Some stupid scientist in a stupid white coat! What you can you possibly do?

PSYCHIATRIST: Hear me out, please. What do you have to lose?

PETER: Nothing. I have nothing to lose. Say what's on your mind.

PSYCHIATRIST: There's a new experimental procedure. Desensitization therapy. Ever heard of it?

PETER: No! I'm a toymaker, not a psychiatrist! That's your job!

PSYCHIATRIST: Yes, it is. Please allow me to do my job.

PETER: I'm sorry. I'm very sorry. I don't wish to be rude. I'm not myself these days. I don't know who I ... This therapy. What is it?

PSYCHIATRIST: We introduce the aversive stimuli to the patient. In gradual doses, you see. Eventually the aversive reaction is diminished.

PETER: Oh, that's wonderful. You pompous idiot! These words mean nothing to me. I have no idea what you're talking about!

PSYCHIATRIST: I'm talking about this.

The PSYCHIATRIST brings out a Beanie Baby and puts it on his desk. PETER LORRE screams and hits him with a paper weight.

EXT, ASYLUM - NIGHT

PETER LORRE crashes out of a window and runs down a street.

Montage (as in "M") of police and men in white coats tracking a desperate PETER LORRE through a maze of streets.

INT, HOTEL LOBBY - NIGHT
Footsteps and police whistles outside. PETER LORRE enters. He has a Tyrolean hat pulled down over his head.

PETER: I need a room. Any room. I will pay you in cash.

The clerk grunts, takes a wad of bills. Dirty, perhaps blood-spattered.

INT, HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT
Peter Lorre enters. exhausted. He collapses on the bed.

PETER: Free. At last I am free of the cursed Beanie Babies!

He turns off the light.

Hold a beat.

He turns the light back on.

The Beanie Babies have completely surrounded him in concentric circles like the rats at the end of Willard.

EXT, HOTEL, NIGHT

We hear PETER LORRE scream.

The Time Vampire

INT OFFICE, NIGHT

A woman, working at her computer. A caped figure enters. A classic, shlocky Dracula-type character. None of that "Interview with a Vampire" shit.

WOMAN: Who are you?

TIME VAMPIRE: I am the Time Vampire, ha-ha-ha.

WOMAN: OK. Look, I'm really very busy.

TIME VAMPIRE: Yes. I can see that.

WOMAN: Can you come back tomorrow?

TIME VAMPIRE: No.

WOMAN: What do you want?

TIME VAMPIRE: Only your time. Just a little. At first.

WOMAN: Yeah. I've got stuff to do, OK?

The TIME VAMPIRE looks wounded and starts to go.

WOMAN: I'm sorry. That was rude of me. How can I help you?

TIME VAMPIRE: Look into my eyes.

WOMAN: Excuse me?

He walks up to her and leans over her desk.

TIME VAMPIRE: Look. Look!

She looks into his eyes.

TIME VAMPIRE: What do I want? Your time, my dear. I will feed upon your time. I will suck your time!

WOMAN: No.

TIME VAMPIRE: Yes! Look into my eyes! I will tell you stories ...

WOMAN: ... that have no point.

TIME VAMPIRE: Yes! Stories that have no point! You think you can stop me by finishing my sentences? Ah-ha-ha! That only makes me talk more!

Lightning flashes.

WOMAN: OK. You tell stories that have no point. And?

TIME VAMPIRE: And I will tell you stories that have no point! And more stories that have no point! You cannot speed me up! It is not enough to say: I went to New York City. I will describe my trip to the airport in excruciating detail. I will tell you about the cab driver's hat!

WOMAN: You're a lousy storyteller.

TIME VAMPIRE: (hisses) Foolish woman! Do not try to summarize or make my point for me. My anecdote is like a record! It must play from beginning to end! But there is no end, ha-ha-ha!

Lightning flashes.

WOMAN: No.

TIME VAMPIRE: Yes! I will feed upon your time! I will suck your time dry! You are helpless to prevent it! As I was saying, I will tell you about the cab driver's hat. It was a porkpie hat. Black. It was the hat the cab-driver was wearing. You know? The one on top of his head! Why do I say this? The detail has no significance! Are you expecting a punch line! Abandon such foolish hope! I am not Spalding Gray -- I am simply long-winded!

WOMAN: Wow, look at the time.

TIME VAMPIRE: Look at the time? The time is now my time. Your time belongs to me!

Lightning flashes.

TIME VAMPIRE: I will ignore your pitiful hints! You can look at the clock all you like! You can say "It was really great talking to you," "I'll have to get back to you," "Wow, I better get back to work" -- it will do you no good! Your glazed eyes and stifled yawns mean nothing to me! I will keep talking and talking! If I reach the end of a story, it will remind me of another story! You cannot get me out of here! There is nothing you can do!

VAN HELSING:(OS) Don't bet on it.

TIME VAMPIRE: (not breaking eye contact) Van Helsing! (hissing) You have no business here!

VAN HELSING: I'm making it my business.

TIME VAMPIRE: I'm in the middle of a story!

VAN HELSING: You're always in the middle of a fucking story.

TIME VAMPIRE: Stop interrupting! (to the WOMAN) Now look into my eyes ...

VAN HELSING: He has one weakness! It's your only hope.

WOMAN: Oh, yeah.

She whips out a cross.

TIME VAMPIRE: Ah, the cross. It reminds me of my trip to Spain ...

VAN HELSING: Not the cross, dumbass! Rudeness!

TIME VAMPIRE: No. Shut up!

VAN HELSING: Tell him he's a fucking bore.

WOMAN: It'll hurt his feelings.

VAN HELSING: It's you're only hope. Do it!

TIME VAMPIRE: Catalonia, really. The culture is truly unique. As well as the food!

WOMAN: You're a fucking bore.

TIME VAMPIRE: No!

VAN HELSING: Tell him to get the fuck out.

WOMAN: Get the fuck out.

The TIME VAMPIRE screams and bursts into flame.

They study the burned-out hole in the carpet.

VAN HELSING: You want to grab a coffee?

WOMAN: Yeah.

They leave.

Vegetable House

INT, DEAN'S OFFICE, FABER COLLEGE - DAY
DEAN WORMER sits at his desk. There's a look of pain on his face. GREG MARMALARD stands next to him. A choir is singing outside his window.(OS)

SMEGMA HOUSE CHOIR (OS)
Have you heard about the animals?
Man, we're worse than cannibals
We eat baby cows, and carve meat from sows
It's a speciest nightmare play!
Vegetable House
Duh-duh
Vegetable House
Duh-duh

DEAN WORMER: Tau Beta Smegma?

GREG MARMALARD: (nods) Yes, sir.

DEAN WORMER: Well, I suppose it's poetic justice.

GREG MARMALARD: I don't know what that means, sir.

DEAN WORMER: Of course you don't, you little shit. You're poli-sci. You don't have to read real books. Let me paint a fucking picture for you.

GREG MARMALARD: Yes, sir.

DEAN WORMER: We kicked the Deltas off campus. Bully for me, bully for you. We replaced them with ... what? With them that's what.

GREG MARMALARD: Tau Beta Smegma.

DEAN WORMER: That's right. They don't drink. They don't smoke. They don't screw. They're vegans!

GREG MARMALARD: What's a vegan?

DEAN WORMER: Like a vegetarian, only worse. Their shit doesn't stink. Literally! They don't eat meat. They don't eat eggs, cheese or honey. If the fucking vegetable truck frightened a fucking flatworm on the way to the market, they don't eat vegetables.

GREG MARMALARD: I see, sir.

DEAN WORMER: No you don't, goddamnit. They're androgynous angels without genitalia. Unlike the fucking Deltas, they're morally superior.

GREG MARMALARD: They're not ...

DEAN WORMER: Of course they're not superior! In their minds, dumbass. They think they're superior.

GREG MARMALARD: I see.

DEAN WORMER: Sure you do.

GREG MARMALARD: Can't we shoot them, sir?

DEAN WORMER: No. Not officially. Please don't shoot them.

GREG MARMALARD: Yes, sir.

SMEGMA HOUSE CHOIR(OS)
Dean Wormer tried to kill a cow.
We said that's bad. Don't do it now.

DEAN WORMER: God, I hate those vegan fuckers. At least the Deltas had balls. You can't grab a fucking eunuch by the balls, can you?

GREG MARMALARD: No, sir.

DEAN WORMER: No. (holding up pencil) I could, on the other hand, jab this delightful Faber Mongol #2 Pencil in my ear and drive it into my brain. But I won't.

GREG MARMALARD: I think that's a wise decision, sir.

DEAN WORMER: I'm glad you do, son. Go fuck yourself.

GREG MARMALARD: Yes, sir.

Die Hard Symphony

(to the tune of Beethoven's Ode to Joy)

It's another Die Hard remake
Even though they changed the name
A pumped-up, stressed-out, out-gunned good guy
Fights the thugs who kill and maim

Bombs exploding, bodies flying
Pieces spinning in the air
Oh, dear God, won't someone stop them?
Awful bad guys just don't care

The guns, the knives
The bombs, the moms
The shlock, the rock
The ticking clock
It's all been planned

Car chase! It's a car chase
And the gun in the face
Right guy, wrong place
The DA's bad pate
And the villain you hate
The children at risk
Is it too late?

The Wo Fat Diet

INT, CARGO CONTAINER 

Detective McGarrett wakes up. The protagonist of “Hawaii 5-0” is in a bad place. His hands are cuffed to the container's metal walls. He struggles valiantly, but it’s useless. Wo Fat, his ancient enemy from the People's Republic of China, is behind it all. And he appears.

WO FAT: (O.S.) Hello, Mr. McGarrett.

McGARRETT: Wo Fat?

WO FAT: The very same.

McGARRETT: Wo Fat. I should've known it was you!

WO FAT: Yes. You should have. Please accept my apologies, Mr. McGarrett. I am sorry to interrupt your retirement on the pitiful fixed income of a Hawaiian police officer's pension.

McGARRETT: Save it.

WO FAT: I am quite sincere, Mr. McGarrett. I take this action with regret.

McGARRETT: What action? What the hell are you talking about? It’s over, Wo Fat!

WO FAT: For you, yes.

McGARRETT: You have the right to remain silent …

WO FAT: You are such a cop!

McGARRETT: You have the right to …

WO FAT: There is a picture of you next to the word “cop” in the dictionary.

McGARRETT: … an attorney.

WO FAT: Yes, of course. If I can’t afford one, your glorious country will provide it. I have memorized this speech, Mr. McGarrett. As Joe Strummer advises me, I know my rights!

McGARRETT: I don’t think so, Wo Fat. “Freedom” isn’t in your dictionary, you commie bastard.

WO FAT: Commie? Please, Mr. McGarrett. You are speaking to the CEO of Wo Fat Imports! I am an entrepreneur, you see? I walk the capitalist road!

McGARRETT: A commie rat by any name is still a rat!

WO FAT: (laughs) Your hair is still amazing, Mr. McGarrett. A frozen wave, trapped in Brylcreem. Exuberant, but dead. A metaphor for America, I think.

McGARRETT: Surf’s up, Wo Fat! America’s still tubular.

WO FAT: I think not.

McGARRETT: Communism is a dead system!

WO FAT: True. As is capitalism. After destroying the communist menace, America destroyed the capitalist menace as well!

McGARRETT: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

WO FAT: Really? (laughs) Today, the People’s Republic of China has become America’s sweatshop. For you we make Beanie Babies, barbecue grills, tiny American flags, and plastic flower pots. Slaves at work, Mr. MrGarrett. Chinese slaves, creating consumer crap as fast as you lazy Americans can buy it. This is not, as you say, “free enterprise.”

McGARRETT: You’re raving, Wo Fat!

WO FAT: Perhaps. As Lenin said, “The capitalists would sell us the noose to hang them with” …? Sadly, he was wrong. Today, American capitalists buy the noose from us and hang themselves!

McGARRETT: What noose?

WO FAT: Why, the crap I speak of. All of this consumer crap! Look above you, Mr. McGarret. It is all there, suspended above your head!

McGARRETT: Yeah?

McGarrett looks up. There is, indeed, a vast assortment of consumer crap, suspended by a net above his head.

McGARRETT: I’ve never bought that crap. Any of it! I buy American, Wo Fat. I check the label, every time.

WO FAT: I’m sure you do. Goodbye, Mr. McGarrett. You have been a worthy enemy.

Wo Fat pushes a button. The vast heap of consumer crap falls down on McGarrett’s head, crushing him.

Holy Moly

Why, exactly, do fundamentalist preachers read passages from the Bible and ask their flocks to turn to their Bibles and read the same freaking passage they're saying? Did some huckster preacher pull a fast one once?

PREACHER: Yeah, uh, in the Book of Second Evasions it says ... "Give all your money to me, the guy with the bad haircut." Yeah. Chapter 11 verse whatever. That's exactly what it says. "Thou shalt givest all your money to me." Something like that. Come on. Cough up, you stupid rubes.

So, the rubes get cheated out of all their stuff. Then, one day, one of the few yokels who could actually read looked the passage up. Lo and behold, there AIN'T no such passage. The Book of Second Evasions doesn't exist! Sadly, the PREACHER has already left town with all their money. They rubes vowed ...

RUBES: Goldang it, next preacher reads something, we's gonna look it up! We ain't fallin' for that shit again!

Hence, the read-what-I'm-saying-in-the Bible tradition in the fundamentalist community. OK, fine, the preacher isn't bullshitting you, like Lucy telling Linus that the music in the radio comes from a tiny little orchestra trapped inside. The stuff he's saying is actually in there. But that's a pretty low standard.

Preacher need to try harder. Why don't they?

It seems to me having a captive audience shouting "Amen" is a bad relationship to begin with. Imagine comedians playing to audiences that never stopped laughing, no matter how crappy the joke was. Comedians would get lazy. Standards would go down. What fundamentalist Christianity really needs is sacred hecklers.

PREACHER: What does God want for us?

HECKLER: He wants you to shut up.

PREACHER: He wants us to be happy.

HECKLER: It'd make God happy if you'd FUCKING SHUT UP.

PREACHER: Hey -- you wanna get up here and do this? You think this is easy.

HECKLER: Yeah, I do. But that's OK. I've got a real job.

Congregation laughs. HECKLER gets up, bows, blows kisses, leaves.

The sermons would get better. Real fast.

Popcorn would also be nice.