Surfing Mars Dept.

Robo sez: "And don't trust the 'Ghosts of Mars' either. John Carpenter is back, more Carpenter than ever. If you want to see 'Assault on Precinct Thirteen' meets 'Dark Star' meets 'Species' meets 'The Thing' meets 'Road Warrior' meets 'Aliens' then dammit you will be glad you went."

OK. I'll take that as a challenge.

'The Thing' meets 'Road Warrior' meets 'Aliens' coming right up ...

* * *

EXT, MARS - NIGHT

Desolate Marscape. MAD MAX driving domed car on improbable asphalt road. Sitting next to him, ET.

MAD MAX wants to make time, natch. But the beloved little ET wants him to stop.

ET: ET pee-pee.

MAD MAX: Piss off.

ET: Yes. ET piss off.

MAD MAX: I meant that in the sense of don't piss off.

ET: (pointing to crotch with glowing finger) Ouch.

MAD MAX: Aw, crikey.

ET: ET...VD.

MAD MAX: Spare me the details, mate. Christ. We'll stop at this ice cream stand.

MAD MAX pulls into a convenient X-TRO KONE, stops.

ET puts on breathing mask, runs out of car. Hold a beat. MAD MAX drives away.

MAD MAX: Cheeky little bugger. (looking at seat) Aw CHRIST...he leaked all over the fucking seat!

ET runs to bathroom doors labeled HIS, HERS, ITS, with man, woman and antenna-ed alien silhouettes respectively. ET runs into "ITS" door. Weird liquid noises. ET runs out. Looks around for MAD MAX. Shrugs. Goes up to window to buy ice cream. Takes a second to decide.

Quick flash of menu --

ROCKY ROBOT
FETID ICHOR FUNBAR!
CHEW-Z CRUNCH
RIPLEY RIPPLE

ET makes selection. Tentacle presents him with cone. ET walks away contentedly licking cone. Stops.

Confronted by enormous ALIEN BEACHBALL holding wicked-looking gun.

ET: (offering cone) Friend!

The ALIEN BEACHBALL shoots him in the face. ET falls in a puddle of gore. The BEACHBALL retrieves ice cream cone -- then hands it to the CHICK FROM SPECIES. We know her by voice only, as only her legs and the bottom half of her pregant belly are visible in frame. She takes the cone...

CHICK FROM SPECIES: Fetid Ichor? FETID ICHOR??? (having a hormonal flash) I SAID ROCKY ROBOT, YOU FUCKER!

She kicks him out of the frame.

EXT, EARTH COLONY POLICE STATION.

We see flames, vague shapes of some horde. The POLICE STATION is under siege.

INT, POLICE STATION.

ICE CUBE: (looking out window) OK, motherfuckers. This shit's fucked up. This looks bad.

PAM GRIER: Honey, I can deal with bad...

ICE CUBE: This is bad raised to its own motherfucking power.

PAM GRIER: As bad as "Jackie Brown"...?

ICE CUBE: Worse than that.

PAM GRIER: Worse than "Jackie Brown"...!

ICE CUBE: Bitch, it's worse than that Steven Segal movie you did.

She gives him a dirty look.

Cut to MAD MAX at the wheel of his idling vehicle -- patiently stopped at a diamond-shaped yellow sign with silhouette indicating an alien-possessed HUSKY. The sign reads: CAUTION! ALIEN POSSESSED HUSKY CROSSING. An alien-possessed HUSKY crosses, SNAKE PLISSKEN's head in its jaws.

SNAKE'S HEAD: Max!

MAX: Snake!

SNAKE'S HEAD: I guess that pretty much kills it for a third sequel.

MAX: Aw, whatthefuck. Gotta know when to quit, right?

SNAKE'S HEAD: Right, man. Later!

INT, POLICE STATION --

PAM GRIER: You're one cold motherfucker, you know that? So what's the situation? What's so damn bad about it?

ICE CUBE: We surrounded by a gang of alien beachballs.

PAM GRIER: Alien beachballs?

ICE CUBE: Yeah. With sharp teeth. Looks like Marilyn Manson be charge of them motherfuckers.

MARILYN MANSON: (OS) There's no earthly way of knowing...

PAM GRIER: OK, that's bad.

ICE CUBE: And...

PAM GRIER: There's an "and"...?

ICE CUBE: 'Fraid so.

He looks out barred window. Hold a beat. ICE CUBE turns back to PAM GRIER.

ICE CUBE: They playing "El Deguello."

The BEACHBALLS burst through the door. ICE CUBE and PAM GRIER each grab a Big Fucking Gun (BFG for short) and start blasting away. Like the "Coms" on that old "Star Trek" episode, the BEACHBALLS just keep coming and coming. At the height of the carnage, DEAN MARTIN staggers into the room, a SHOWGIRL on either arm. He's holding a partially-consumed fifth of whiskey labelled "Best wishes, Michael Garibaldi"

DEAN: Got any ice?

Still blasting, ICE CUBE silently gestures to a small fridge. While the SHOWGIRLS mug for the camera, DEAN MARTIN walks over, removes ice, finds a glass, puts ice in glass, pours whiskey, drinks. He then goes to the barred window and looks down.

DEANO: (wincing) "El Deguello," huh? (shouting down) You cats know how to stay on key?

EXT, MARS

MAD MAX, idling at another alien-crossing. He waits as more HUSKIES cross, followed by the BLOB, several GEIGER-ALIENS, the MARTIAN FLYING MACHINES from George Pal's "War of the Worlds," JOHN CARTER OF MARS, an ARMY OF ZOMBIES holding chainsaws labelled "PPTY GEO. ROMERO" and, lastly, ALICE COOPER and a hatless WILLY WONKA.

ALICE: Hey! You seen an army of Alien Beachballs?

MAD MAX: Yeah, I reckon I did, mate. I thought it was a bloody convention. You like the main attraction or something?

ALICE: No. I'm their leader, man. We're gonna find Marilyn Manson and kill him.

MAD MAX: Stole your act?

ALICE: No. He stole my fucking eyeliner.

WILLY WONKA: Don't forget my hat!

ALICE: Where is the fucker?

MAD MAX: Back past the giant head aways. Turn left at the Sea of Dreams. Can't miss him.

ALICE: Thanks.

ALICE runs. WILLY WONKA follows.

INT, POLICE STATION.

ICE CUBE and PAM (each with BFGs) holding off endless stream of ALIEN BEACHBALLS coming towards them in a narrow hallway.

ICE CUBE: Damn this gets old. This shit's why I dropped out of High School in the first place.

PAM: Tell me about it.

ICE CUBE: (shouting) Could I get some ammunition here?

WALTER BRENNAN: (off-camera) I'm coming, I'm coming.

DEANO: And more ice for me.

WALTER BRENNAN: Keep your shirt on.

More carnage to the distant sounds of "El Deguello." Then a sudden silence. The folks in the POLICE STATION react, listen. Far, far away we hear JOHN WAYNE saying "Now you listen to me you alien sons of..." -- abruptly cut off and followed by the sound of eating. It gets loud again. More carnage.

Back to MAD MAX, driving along alone. He speaks to the camera.

MAD MAX; You know what I still don't get? Where's the ghosts, eh? I mean this is supposed to be the "Ghost of Mars," right? Where's the sodding...

Next to him in car --

GHOST: Right here.

MAD MAX: Ahhhhhhhh! Who the bloody hell are you?

GHOST OF RAY BRADBURY: Ray Bradbury -- the noted science fiction writer of such...

MAD MAX: Yeah, yeah, I know who you are. What're you doing here, then?

BRADBURY'S GHOST: I'm doomed to wander the sands of Mars until a filmmaker makes an adaptation of one of my books... (long pause) that doesn't stink on ice.

Long silence.

MAD MAX: Good luck, mate.

INT, POLICE STATION.

ICE CUBE: It's quiet.

PAM GRIER: Too quiet.

ICE CUBE: No, bitch. It ain't "too quiet." Why everybody fucking say that?

PAM GRIER: Hey, you need to back down.

ICE CUBE: How quiet is too quiet? How can you get any more quiet than quiet?

PAM GRIER: You coming at this all wrong.

ICE CUBE: Just on edge, is all. It's too damn quiet.

PAM GRIER: Kiss my black ass.

ICE CUBE: Where'd they all go?

DEANO: (still looking out window) Wouldja believe it? This is starting to spook me...

ICE CUBE: What are they doing?

DEANO: They're... (turning to camera with great significance) They're playing show tunes.

Cut to BEACHBALLS doing the da-da-da-da-da "When You're a Jet" number from "West Side Story." Lotsa spidery finger-popping and unlikely choreography.

Pan up into a starry black sky. Hold on diminutive Martian moons.

Between Deimos and Phobos, a distant SURFER passes.

Long version below jump.

How to Keep an Angry Customer from Dumping You

If You Goof...

1. Listen
Let the customer talk and vent. Don’t respond.

2. Thank customer
Thank the customer for bringing the error to your attention and taking the time to call.

3. Show empathy
“Boy, I can understand how you feel. We promised to do X-Y-Z and didn’t do it. I can see how that messed you up.”

4. Turn the tables.
Insist that you’re the customer and it’s the caller who failed you. When the customer protests, remind them that they’re the ones who called you. When they say “No, I called you,” say “Are you calling me a liar?” then ask to speak to a supervisor and hang up.

5. Enter a state of religious ecstacy.
In your best televangelist imitation start hooting and hollering. “Lord Jesus, this customer call center is not WORTHY in your sight! Lord Jesus, CLEANSE this place of our wickedness,” etc. Begin handling snakes and speaking in tongues.

6. Do your best Robert DiNiro in Taxi Driver imitation.
Rant psychotically. “You got a fucking complaint, you complaining to me?” etc. “Are you in pain? Am I causing you pain?” Offer to end their pain. Offer to go to the customer’s house and kill them.

7. Move from regret to sadomasochism, ultimately offering the customer kinky sexual favors.
“I’ve been a bad customer service representative. I’ll bet you want to punish me. I’ll bet you want to take me out in the street and spank me. Do you want to spank me?” Etc., etc....

8. Commit suicide.
Tell the customer “I am not worthy. I have failed you. I have dishonored myself -- and my house.” Then shoot or disembowel yourself.

9. Convince the customer that nothing exists.
Using the Socratic method, establish that conventional notions of separate “selves” existing in an objective physical “universe” are all illusions. “I am he as you are me and we are she and we are all together. Googoogajoob.” What could be clearer than that?

10. Escalate the conflict to the realm of espionage and geopolitical terror.
In a standard James Bond villain accent say “You’ve won this round. But the game is far from over.” Hang up. Then set fire to the customer’s house while nailing a set of political demands to a nearby tree. Change your identity and move to a foreign country, waiting in hiding for years, calling the customer at random every few years (“Remember me?”) or so to make them sweat....

Downsized!

(to the tune of Petula Clark’s “Downtown”)

When you are working for a corporate ant farm
You can always be
Downsized!
Your boss may be smiling while a scythe he is sharpening
And you’ll soon be . . .
Downsized

Just listen to the standard speech “it’s nothing personal” kissoff
Clean out your desk, get severance check, we’ll see you buddy
Piss off
Don’t let the door hit your ass

Your wife is much harsher now
When they cancelled the cable, your kids had a cow
Cause you’re downsized!
Cut up your credit cards
Downsized!
Move to a hippy farm
Downsized!
Collectors are waiting for you

Michael Moore used to bug you but he starting to make sense
Since since the day you were
Downsized!
You cancelled your subscription to the “National Review”
And stealing “Mother Jones”
Downsized!

Your credit debt is up there with the GNP of Benin
Wife and kids have left you like some squatting homeless tenant
Who’s too qualified

Nobody hires you — they see the fear in your eyes
Where’s that gear from the Army — your old 45?
You’ve been downsized!
Someone has got to die!
Downsized!
You’ve got a big surprise!
Downsized . . .
Your boss won't be expecting you ...

Chinese Olympics

Now that our pals, the Red Chinese, will be hosting the 2008 Olympics, it seems to me the current Olympic games just won't give them a chance to show off their special skills. Here are a few new events that will:

100 Meter Tank Run. Contestants in tanks compete to see how many dissidents they can crush in a 100-meter replica of Tiananmen Square. Extra points for crushing photographers taking historic photos.

Top Gun Spy Plane Intimidation Rally. Aces from all over China show how far they can go when it comes to scaring the shit out of some career American military slobs in a C140 spy plane. Death is an immediate disqualifier.

Spy Plane Disassembly. How fast can YOU take the plane apart? Furious competition will answer just that question. How fast can you put it back together? Who cares?

Tibetan Asskicking Contest. Nonviolent Buddhist monks are carefully handselected to get their asses kicked and do nothing about it. Top-seeded contestants are privileged to compete in Richard Gere Asskicking Contest later in the day.

Sweatshop Relay. Foremen from around the world compete in bullying their teams of shackled, abused women to see who can produce the most miniature American flags and Amnesty International bumper stickers.

Software and CD Piracy Competition. How many bootleg copies of Windows 2008 and Metallica's Load can you press while the clock is ticking? Lars Ulrich Asskicking Contest to follow.

The Hitler Channel ...

AKA the History Channel. Seems to me, 90% of the time, it's playing something about Hitler...when it ain't a buncha gangsters and ghosts. Fuck it. Why not be upfront about it? Why not just call it...

THE HITLER CHANNEL

Open INT, Hitler Channel set. ROGER DUMM sitting behind desk with assorted Hitler memorabilia* all around him.

DUMM: Hello, I’m Roger Dumm.

History is a paradoxical tapestry of achievement and atrocity, creation and destruction and more cultures than you could shake a stick at. But here at the Hitler Channel, we say to hell with the tapestry. We don’t care about the "big picture" any more than you do -- which as why you won’t hear word one about Ur of the Chaldees, the Cargo Cultists or the War of Jenkin’s Ear. We know what you want and we give it to you...

All Hitler, all the time.

With that thought in mind, we now return you to part 7 of “The Recipes of Adolph Hitler.”

Scratched, crappy old B+W footage. Standard issue BBC announcer’s voice, the kind of self-important delivery “Monty Python” made fun of. Throughout, the ANNOUNCER’s words are illustrated with the appropriate choppy film clips and badly-drawn maps and graphics.)

ANNOUNCER: An ardent vegetarian, Hitler was self-taught in various means of vegetarian food preparation and had instructed his kitchen staff accordingly. Since Hitler was as competent in this area as he was in the fields of watercolor painting, architecture and military strategy, by the winter of 1943 he began showing signs of malnutrition and protein deficiency and had also become subject to random attacks of explosive diarrhea. Aware of his weakening condition, Hitler’s generals were increasingly concerned -- knowing that Hitler, in his deteriorating state, was clearly not up to the task of leading the Axis powers for whom, by now, the war was going badly on several fronts.

Hitler’s generals began openly urging him to compromise his vegetarianism -- to at least consider soups and stews based on a modified beef stock. Hitler responded by chewing the carpet. The generals responded by basting the carpet in beef stew. This worked for a time until, on the night of October 14th, 1943, Hitler experienced a particularly intense attack of diarrhea. The carpet was subsequently thrown out.

By November of 1943, Hitler was at last willing to agree that a light vegetable stock was insufficient for his nutritional needs. But he was still unwilling to compromise his vegetarian principles.

Instead, Hitler responded by launching an intensive research program.

Here, for the first time, is the recently declassified footage of Hitler’s secret "Uber-VegetableForschungsinstitut" in the Harz Mountains.

Black and white footage of underground, concrete-block lab in which a Nazi version of the Galloping Gourmet chops vegetables and maintains running commentary in gutteral pseudo-German.

STORMTROOPING GOURMET: (sniffing the air) Ja -- nothin’ sez luvin' like something from der oven, ja? (rubbing hands) Here come der veggies! Ja!

A tiny model choochoo train chugs in front of him loaded with vegetables.

STORMTROOPING GOURMET: (instinctively doing a vegetable “selektion”) Das es ein goot carrot! Das es ein INFERIOR carrot! Das es ein UNTERCARROT!! (stomping on carrot, then shooting it)

ANNOUNCER: But Hitler's quest for the "Ubercarrot" would remain a fruitless one. Which is to say, vegetableless...

In January of 1944, the Allies began the initial phase of “Operation Herbox” -- a plan to drop thousands of beef bullion cubes on Hitler’s mountain redoubt and drive him insane with guilt over the irresistable lapse from strict vegetanarianism that was sure to follow. According to this plan, Major Donovan of the OSS would subsequently parachute into Hitler's retreat disguised as a large radish. If the Allies....

Etc....

....all Hitler, all the time.

*including a dung-stained carpet, natch.

Anime territory dept.

Well, the otakus over in Japan voted for their all-time favorite anime programs for this year. And they never seem to get enough, well anyways, here's the list:

According to “Newtype, the moving pictures magazine,” the 20 most popular anime TV shows in Japan are...

1. Angelic Layer

2. Inu Yasha

3. Cowboy Bebop

4. Gundam

5. Cardcaptor Sakura

6. Noir

7. Martian Successor Nadesico

8. Sister Princess

9. You're Under Arrest

10. Comic Party

11. Louie the Rune Soldier

13. Ah! My Goddess

14. Detective Conan

15. Gene-Shaft

16. VANDREAD

17. Argento Soma

18. Junguru ha itsumo haru no chiguu

19. ZOIDS New Generation/Liger Zero

20. Di Gi Charat

Following that....

21. Giant Choad Robot

22. Inu Assho

23. Dragon Warrior Transvestite Junior Accountant Boy

24. GoddamMofo

25. GoddamMofo: the Next Generation

26. Rapidly Multiplying Market-Spinoff Cute Mutant Animals

27. Gaijin Otaku Wannabe Hour of Shameless Crap

28. Fearless Richard Gere Flying Gerbil Attack Squadron

29. Large Breasted Schoolgirls in Short Skirts Planetary Defense Squad

30. Bondage Planet 9

31. Methamphetamine Racer

32. Ah! Moist Sex with Underage Supernatural Being!

33. Philip Marlowe the Barbarian

34. Gene-Sprice

35. Evangelion: Teenage Suicide Counseling Hotline

36. Evangelion: Destroy all Pokemon!

37. Fukyu! Yogoura sukka beeg dogdikku!

38. ROIDS: Generation H

38. Hello Kitty: the Revenge

39. Yeast Infection Princess Mung

40. Hentai Christ: the Resurrection

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