Scene 17
Mayfield Garda Station. Detective Fellatio Interlude, feisty female super-sleuth, is hard at work investigating the rape of one Evan Hennessy. She types on a computer. Enter her partner, Vulgate Milfield.
Vulgate: What's the good word Fellatio?
Fellatio: I'm investigating the Evan Hennessy rape case.
Vulgate: Oh?
Fellatio: Yes, it's quite a conondrum. Even claims it was Alec Baldwin but we need another witness to secure the case.
Vulgate: So, why are you here on the computer?
Fellatio: Are you familiar with facebook?
Vulgate: Yes.
Fellatio: Are you familiar with Queefu Nell?
Vulgate: No.
Fellatio: Queefu Nell is a facebook user who is legendary for the sheer quantity of status update that she produces.
Vulgate: How many status updates could she possibly produce?
Fellatio pulls out a massive hardback tome that she can barely lift.
Fellatio: This is the complete St. James bible, old and new testaments, plus apocrypha and several theological essays...large print edition.
Vulgate: Ok...
Fellatio pulls out an even larger book, the size of a large labrador
Fellatio: This is part 1 of the subject index for her status updates, from 'Aardvarks' to 'Bumblebees'
Vulgate: Ah, I see. Well, what's this got to do with the case?
Fellatio: Well, you know the way enough monkeys on enough typewriters would eventually write King Lear?
Vulgate: Yeah
Fellatio: Well, between the 5th and 18th of July she actually did write King Lear by accident. What I'm hoping is that there is such a massive quantity of information on her status updates that, by the law of averages, some of it will help our case.
Vulgate: Well what are you waiting for? Qwanza? You go girl!!!!!
Writer's note: Holla!
Fellatio searches Evan Hennessy, cross-referencing with Baldwin and assault.
Fellatio: Here we go, her facebook updates from the night of the assault:
5pm: Am sad :(
5.02pm: Am super-thrilled :)
5.03pm: Am nostalgic for the days of yore........
5.05pm: Only joking they sucked! But still, a little bit anxious
5.10pm: Had bowel movement (8 people like this)
Fellatio: Hmm, better scroll down a bit...
7pm: I fucking HATE butter (2 people like this)
7.25pm: Had bowel movement
8pm: The Wire is better than the Shield and most of human civilisation (567 people are aware that this is true)
8.45pm: OMFG. Just saw a nude Alec Baldwin running after a fair-haired man with the physique of a small child or an upright grehound. Lads, what is going on? :)
Fellatio: AHA!
END SCENE
Writer's Notes: Yes, you should have been patient shouldn't you?
Scene 18
Interior. Night. The secret tunnel beneath the pirate hideout. Our three heroes advance towards their goal.
Squire: Sh! Did you hear that?
Fannyweather: No, but the air suddenly went cold.
Salmonella: *Sniff* There is a stench of evil...
Enter Von Knutstrom, the embodiment of darkness
Von Knutstrom: Hi lads, heard ye were rescuing Evan. I thought I could lend a hand.
Squire: You? Von Cuntstorm? Embark on a noble mission for good?
Von Knutstrom: It's pronounced Knutstrom and yes, I'd be delighted to.
Fannyweather: What? You? The same Cuntstorm who bathes in the blood of children because you believe it increases your sexual prowess?
Salmonella: The same Cuntstorm who once threw a puppy into a volcano just for the fun of it?
Von Knutstrom: What? No I didn't.
Squire: Just like you didn't surrender France to the Nazis?
Von Knutstrom: Er, that was several decades before I was born.
Fannyweather: A likely story, just like you didn't colonise the Congo?
Von Knutstrom: That was Belgium!
Salmonella: As considerable as your Satanic powers are, we cannot trust you to join us on our quest in case you commit an atrocity. Return from whence you came, Cuntstorm, destroyer of worlds!
Von Knutstrom: It's pronounced Knutstrom.
Squire: Whatever, get thee behind me Satan!
Von Knutstrom: Well I'll leave ye to it.
Exit Knutstrom
Squire: Now, let us continue on our noble quest with no more of these ludicrous interruptions.
END SCENE
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Honourable Archive
THERE WILL BE A NEW SCENE BY THE END OF THE MONTH!
Until then, the honourable archive:
Until then, the honourable archive:
The Men of Honour aboard the Orient Express
In the east there is murder, mystery and...Men of Honour.
Fresh from the battle of Omdurman the Men of Honour (tm) return to Europe. Boarding the Orient Express, the daring pair hope for a quiet holiday in Constantinople. These hopes are quickly dashed as a passenger, the eccentric aristocrat Lord Devonshire Ali Khalifa St.George the third of Galloway, is murdered. Liam and Michael resolve to unravel the mystery.
At first short of funds for investigative material such as magnifying classes, hammers and Dr.Mandels Patented Clue-Finding Apparatus (tm) their progress is hampered. Luckily it emerges that immediately before his death Lord Devonshire left his entire estate to the Men of Honour (tm). Thanks to this bizarre and unexpected windfall the investigation proceeds at pace. One passenger, Dr.Maguire, makes the ludicrous claim that the Men of Honour were responsible for the death of the ageing aristocrat, before mysteriously hacking himself to pieces while taking a bath. The Men of Honour conclude that it was a suicide, resulting from the intense shame of lying about Men of Honour, which also explained why Dr.Maguire left his entire estate to them in an effort to assuage his guilt. Combining Liam's knowledge of early Soviet history and Michael's civil engineering expertise they discover that the murderer was none other than the Tsar, who disagreed with Lord Devonshire's wild theories on structural durability. Arresting Sister Assumpta, the nun-hitman who carried out the attack, the pair retire on their mysterious fortune, building a small villa on the Bosphorus where they played table-tennis and read the works of Anton Chekov for over a decade.
Fresh from the battle of Omdurman the Men of Honour (tm) return to Europe. Boarding the Orient Express, the daring pair hope for a quiet holiday in Constantinople. These hopes are quickly dashed as a passenger, the eccentric aristocrat Lord Devonshire Ali Khalifa St.George the third of Galloway, is murdered. Liam and Michael resolve to unravel the mystery.
At first short of funds for investigative material such as magnifying classes, hammers and Dr.Mandels Patented Clue-Finding Apparatus (tm) their progress is hampered. Luckily it emerges that immediately before his death Lord Devonshire left his entire estate to the Men of Honour (tm). Thanks to this bizarre and unexpected windfall the investigation proceeds at pace. One passenger, Dr.Maguire, makes the ludicrous claim that the Men of Honour were responsible for the death of the ageing aristocrat, before mysteriously hacking himself to pieces while taking a bath. The Men of Honour conclude that it was a suicide, resulting from the intense shame of lying about Men of Honour, which also explained why Dr.Maguire left his entire estate to them in an effort to assuage his guilt. Combining Liam's knowledge of early Soviet history and Michael's civil engineering expertise they discover that the murderer was none other than the Tsar, who disagreed with Lord Devonshire's wild theories on structural durability. Arresting Sister Assumpta, the nun-hitman who carried out the attack, the pair retire on their mysterious fortune, building a small villa on the Bosphorus where they played table-tennis and read the works of Anton Chekov for over a decade.
Men of Honour Vs. The Man
In a world of corruption. In a world where fine wine and vinaigrettes can buy you freedom, there are still Men of Honour.
It is the late 1960s. Flower Power has ended Canada's reliance on nuclear energy. The armies of the Caliphate have reached Galway and China boogies to the sound of a hip new groove called communism. But in the west, there is trouble brewing. Tired of being kept down by the white man, the oppressed African Americans turn to their only hope: Liam Cullinane and Michael Kelleher, the fragrant, notorious and dashing Men of Honour (tm).
Despite their admittedly pale complexions and ignorance of every culture, especially their own, the Men of Honour too feel a vigorous loathing for the Caucasian Fellow. After being refused membership by the black panthers, the pair found their own radical movement: the 'Green Armadillos'. Spreading hard-as-nails, tough as tarantula justice throughout the southern states, the Men of Honour send shockwaves through the corridors of power, causing over seventy thousand dollars worths of structural damage. The American president, Chairman Mao, attempts to win the pair over to his side with an offering of fine wine, beautiful vinaigrettes and tasty crepes. But the Men of Honour are beyond even such bountiful offers and call him a philistine, the shock of which kills him instantly, paving the way for Brian Wilson's eight-decade reign of terror. The new president, despite his talk of 'good vibrations', decides to take the men of honour out once and for all. Hounded by a fleet of police cars, the men of honour find themselves surrounded at the edge of the grand canyon. Rather than bow down to whitey, the pair throw themselves off the edges, dying in a mangled heap on the canyon floor. They later recover.
It is the late 1960s. Flower Power has ended Canada's reliance on nuclear energy. The armies of the Caliphate have reached Galway and China boogies to the sound of a hip new groove called communism. But in the west, there is trouble brewing. Tired of being kept down by the white man, the oppressed African Americans turn to their only hope: Liam Cullinane and Michael Kelleher, the fragrant, notorious and dashing Men of Honour (tm).
Despite their admittedly pale complexions and ignorance of every culture, especially their own, the Men of Honour too feel a vigorous loathing for the Caucasian Fellow. After being refused membership by the black panthers, the pair found their own radical movement: the 'Green Armadillos'. Spreading hard-as-nails, tough as tarantula justice throughout the southern states, the Men of Honour send shockwaves through the corridors of power, causing over seventy thousand dollars worths of structural damage. The American president, Chairman Mao, attempts to win the pair over to his side with an offering of fine wine, beautiful vinaigrettes and tasty crepes. But the Men of Honour are beyond even such bountiful offers and call him a philistine, the shock of which kills him instantly, paving the way for Brian Wilson's eight-decade reign of terror. The new president, despite his talk of 'good vibrations', decides to take the men of honour out once and for all. Hounded by a fleet of police cars, the men of honour find themselves surrounded at the edge of the grand canyon. Rather than bow down to whitey, the pair throw themselves off the edges, dying in a mangled heap on the canyon floor. They later recover.
Men Of Honour in da Hood. Summary
Film summary:
The late 1980s. America's inner city crack epidemic is at it's height. All over the nation solutions are sought for. All have failed. Until now..
Knowing the one solution to the epidemic lay in the capable hands of Liam Cullinane and Michael Kelleher, the titular Men of Honour (tm) Ronald Reagan sends for the notable duo with one mission. End the drug war. Returning from their crusades in the east, the pair enter Chicage, the most notoriously drug ridden city in the world.
Deciding to bring the crack trade down from the inside, the Men of Honour (tm) infiltrate the drug cartels by establishing covers for themselves as antique/crack dealers. Being incapable of dishonour, the pair soon establish themselves within the upper echolons of the city's drug dealers as to fail, even at drug-dealing, would be an act of gravest dishonour. Finally their efforts pay off and the Men of Honour (tm) discover the identity of the two biggest druglords in the city, who, because of their incredible and unexpected success, are the Men of Honour (tm). Undeterred, Liam and Michael prepare for a valiant showdown with themselves, taking down their own drug-empires and bringing themselves to justice. The film ends on a high note with the Men of Honour observing the desolate ruins of their own houses which they have just blown up. They lament the immorality of drug-dealers, even though they accidentaly became the largest suppliers of crack cocaine in the free world, and set off on their next mission: To restore Alf to the airwaves...
The late 1980s. America's inner city crack epidemic is at it's height. All over the nation solutions are sought for. All have failed. Until now..
Knowing the one solution to the epidemic lay in the capable hands of Liam Cullinane and Michael Kelleher, the titular Men of Honour (tm) Ronald Reagan sends for the notable duo with one mission. End the drug war. Returning from their crusades in the east, the pair enter Chicage, the most notoriously drug ridden city in the world.
Deciding to bring the crack trade down from the inside, the Men of Honour (tm) infiltrate the drug cartels by establishing covers for themselves as antique/crack dealers. Being incapable of dishonour, the pair soon establish themselves within the upper echolons of the city's drug dealers as to fail, even at drug-dealing, would be an act of gravest dishonour. Finally their efforts pay off and the Men of Honour (tm) discover the identity of the two biggest druglords in the city, who, because of their incredible and unexpected success, are the Men of Honour (tm). Undeterred, Liam and Michael prepare for a valiant showdown with themselves, taking down their own drug-empires and bringing themselves to justice. The film ends on a high note with the Men of Honour observing the desolate ruins of their own houses which they have just blown up. They lament the immorality of drug-dealers, even though they accidentaly became the largest suppliers of crack cocaine in the free world, and set off on their next mission: To restore Alf to the airwaves...
Friday, July 9, 2010
Villages that are worse than Lisgoold
I have, of late, come under some degree of pressure to write scene 17. Rest assured loyal readers (Sarah and Aoife) that it is on its way. In the meantime I have taken the time to compile a list of villages that are worse than Lisgoold. For, as someone once put it to me, Lisgoold may have produced Crystal Swing, but where is producing their audience? I will mention that these places are being judged mainly on aesthetics and my impressions of them don't reflect on their inhabitants, who should only receive sympathy and moral support.
1. Whtechurch
Whitechurch is a commuter village just east of Blarney. The first issue here is the fact of what it is: A commuter village. What a strange country where that type of thing actually exists. That adjective and that noun should not go together. Here is a list of things that co-exist quite happily with village:
Rustic village
Fishing village
Charming village
Commuter town? Grand. Commuter village? No. That belongs to a list like this:
Microsoft village
Industrial village
Scientologist village
Whitechurch's only charm is that its parish priest is a bona fide nutter: http://www.irishexaminer.com/ireland/kfauqlcwkfql/rss2/
To describe Whitechurch to the outsider. Imagine a few half-empty estates, an estate consisting solely of showhomes, an unfinished housing estate and one church and one petrol station, the latter's deli leaving much to be desired. Nevertheless, if you like aesthetic distress and negative equity, Whitechurch is the place for you.
2. Grenagh
Another fucking commuter village. To be fair to Grenagh, most of the estates are quite nice and are compacted into a single area, rather than sprawling all over the place. At first sight it might even seem like a nice place to live.
Wrong.
Once you have been in Grenagh for more than ten minutes you notice something hard to describe but utterly chilling. There are many, many houses, but no fucking people. You suddenly get the feeling that Cillian Murphy gets in 28 Days Later. Except that at least if you were in London after a zombie apocalypse you could at least seek comfort in the modern infrastructure and ease of access to the British library. Me and another person were there in the middle of summer after both the secondary and primary schools were out, but there were no young people. No teenagers chattering loudly about...whatever teenagers talk about (probably sex and amphetamines and that type of thing). No children's laughter. Nothing. Just one middle-aged man staring at me through a second floor window. To be fair to Grenagh, it is the only town in the world that seems to have been designed by Franz Kafka and Samuel Beckett, but even they wouldn't want to live there.
3. Dromahane
The pick of the litter. The most godawful place I've ever came across.
I think there are advantages to both living in the counryside and to living in the city. The former is generally nicer what with cows, fields, mountains and that type of thing. While the latter has better services and infrastructure, though usually a higher crime rate and a more stressful living situation. Dromohane combines the worst of both. It is as if someone took a few streets from between Harbour View Road and Mark Caroll drive and plopped them in the middle of nowhere. Dromohane is ugly. Very, very ugly. Here is the grey hopeless mass of stone they call a church:
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/7/70/DromahaneChurch.jpg
That, frankly, is one of the nicer parts of the place. Dromohane's other problem is very different from that of Grenagh. While Grenagh was weirdly empty and had an almost Silent Hill quality about it, Dromohane seems to be almost entirely populated by roving gangs of feral children. I know I said I wouldn't mention the inhabitants but in this case I feel I must.
To give an idea of the kind of people who live in Dromahane, look at this guy:
http://www.bebo.com/Profile.jsp?MemberId=1670275795
Yes people, they still use Bebo for some reason. I imagine they reject facebook as some sort of withchcraft.
According to Wikipedia: ' Thomas Russell is referred to as the “The man from God knows where” and, as it happens, he was born in the village on November 21, 1767.' I wonder why, when asked his hometown, he replied 'God knows where'. My theory is he blocked out all his memories of Dromahane to maintain his sanity. Russell was hanged in 1803 in Downpatrick. His last words were: 'Better the gallows than Dromahane'.
Oh also, being within an hour of the city, it has three ghost estates, because what would a commuter village be without fucking ghost estates.
Dromahane. Depressing, ugly and shit, it is the winner of this week's Golden Turd award.
L.C, the writer, is chief researcher for 'Drisceoil's Graveyard Tours of Ireland' and is currently working on his own travel guide 'Worse Than Lisgoold: A Bastard's Guide to shit villages'
1. Whtechurch
Whitechurch is a commuter village just east of Blarney. The first issue here is the fact of what it is: A commuter village. What a strange country where that type of thing actually exists. That adjective and that noun should not go together. Here is a list of things that co-exist quite happily with village:
Rustic village
Fishing village
Charming village
Commuter town? Grand. Commuter village? No. That belongs to a list like this:
Microsoft village
Industrial village
Scientologist village
Whitechurch's only charm is that its parish priest is a bona fide nutter: http://www.irishexaminer.com/ireland/kfauqlcwkfql/rss2/
To describe Whitechurch to the outsider. Imagine a few half-empty estates, an estate consisting solely of showhomes, an unfinished housing estate and one church and one petrol station, the latter's deli leaving much to be desired. Nevertheless, if you like aesthetic distress and negative equity, Whitechurch is the place for you.
2. Grenagh
Another fucking commuter village. To be fair to Grenagh, most of the estates are quite nice and are compacted into a single area, rather than sprawling all over the place. At first sight it might even seem like a nice place to live.
Wrong.
Once you have been in Grenagh for more than ten minutes you notice something hard to describe but utterly chilling. There are many, many houses, but no fucking people. You suddenly get the feeling that Cillian Murphy gets in 28 Days Later. Except that at least if you were in London after a zombie apocalypse you could at least seek comfort in the modern infrastructure and ease of access to the British library. Me and another person were there in the middle of summer after both the secondary and primary schools were out, but there were no young people. No teenagers chattering loudly about...whatever teenagers talk about (probably sex and amphetamines and that type of thing). No children's laughter. Nothing. Just one middle-aged man staring at me through a second floor window. To be fair to Grenagh, it is the only town in the world that seems to have been designed by Franz Kafka and Samuel Beckett, but even they wouldn't want to live there.
3. Dromahane
The pick of the litter. The most godawful place I've ever came across.
I think there are advantages to both living in the counryside and to living in the city. The former is generally nicer what with cows, fields, mountains and that type of thing. While the latter has better services and infrastructure, though usually a higher crime rate and a more stressful living situation. Dromohane combines the worst of both. It is as if someone took a few streets from between Harbour View Road and Mark Caroll drive and plopped them in the middle of nowhere. Dromohane is ugly. Very, very ugly. Here is the grey hopeless mass of stone they call a church:
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/7/70/DromahaneChurch.jpg
That, frankly, is one of the nicer parts of the place. Dromohane's other problem is very different from that of Grenagh. While Grenagh was weirdly empty and had an almost Silent Hill quality about it, Dromohane seems to be almost entirely populated by roving gangs of feral children. I know I said I wouldn't mention the inhabitants but in this case I feel I must.
To give an idea of the kind of people who live in Dromahane, look at this guy:
http://www.bebo.com/Profile.jsp?MemberId=1670275795
Yes people, they still use Bebo for some reason. I imagine they reject facebook as some sort of withchcraft.
According to Wikipedia: ' Thomas Russell is referred to as the “The man from God knows where” and, as it happens, he was born in the village on November 21, 1767.' I wonder why, when asked his hometown, he replied 'God knows where'. My theory is he blocked out all his memories of Dromahane to maintain his sanity. Russell was hanged in 1803 in Downpatrick. His last words were: 'Better the gallows than Dromahane'.
Oh also, being within an hour of the city, it has three ghost estates, because what would a commuter village be without fucking ghost estates.
Dromahane. Depressing, ugly and shit, it is the winner of this week's Golden Turd award.
L.C, the writer, is chief researcher for 'Drisceoil's Graveyard Tours of Ireland' and is currently working on his own travel guide 'Worse Than Lisgoold: A Bastard's Guide to shit villages'
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Scenes 15-16: The Thick Plottens!
Scene 15
Interior, night. The kitchen of Lord Fannyweather. Squire Moore and Salmonella wait anxiously for the Fannyweathers to finish their cake. This is a difficult and tiresome process. The cake is eaten slowly and with great affection.
Squire Moore: FOR THE LOVE OF ST. BERNARD HURRY UP! EVAN COULD BE DEAD ALREADY!
Lord Fannyweather: Back when I was a fireman, I left a maternity ward burn down so me and Herself could finish a raspberry sponge. What is Evan's life to an entire maternity ward?
Moore: (Angry mutterings)
3 Hours Later
Squire Moore and Salmonella have fallen asleep on the couch. Fannyweather loudly deposits his plate on the sink, waking them both.
Herself: What did you think of the cake dear?
Fannyweather: Bit shit actually
Herself: Yeah, I'd nearly have skipped it.
Moore: Can we go now?
Fannyweather:...................................................okay.
END SCENE
Scene 16
Exterior. Dawn. Salmonella, Squire and Fannyweather walk towards the pirate hideout to bring great justice. They carry a large arsenal of weapons in a burlap sack. They see the well-defended hideout at the end of the road.
Salmonella: At least eight men on sentry, probably a lot more inside.
Fannyweather: Do we have a plan?
Squire Moore: Yes. We charge wildly towards the hideout, firing bullets at the bad men.
Fannyweather: I see you have studied Napoleonic strategy.
Squire Moore: Yes. I just hope we don't get blownapart!
The trio laugh hysterically at the witty joke. The audience too are enthralled and titillated by the sophisticated witticism.
Fannyweather: Well, funny jokes aside. We'd better get to it.
Moore: Hold on, we'd better check ourselves for testicular cancer first. We don't want to come down with cancer in the middle of a firefight.
Salmonella: Good idea.
The trio grope themselves and ensure they have no lumps on their scrotum. Moore, being meticulous, asks a passing woman for a second opinion. She politely declines.
Moore: Well, I'm not entirely happy about this. Is there maybe a way we can sneak in unnoticed?
Mysterious Voice: Well, it just so happens there is.
Our heroes turn to find themselves face to face with Miguel Sanchez. Sanchez stands seven feet tall. He has an indefinable wildness in his eyes, that speak of wild moors and windswept islands. He is ludicrously drunk.
Squire Moore: Ah Miguel, what is you speak of?
Miguel: There is a secret entrance. See that nightclub over there? In the wine cellar there is a trap door that leads to the basement of the pirate hideout. Come on, we'll go in together.
The four men head into the nightclub, except for Miguel who is halted by the bouncer.
Bouncer: Sorry, you're too drunk and posessing of a certain wildness. I can't let you in.
Miguel: Awwwwwwwwwwwww. But why? I'm not drunk, leave me in. Why are you so mean? Stop being mean. I hate you.
Bouncer: Sorry bud.
Miguel: Well, we'll see what Fris Bafroth has to say about this!
Miguel makes a phone call.
2 hours later
Fris Bafroth, a young and dynamic heart surgeon, arrives at the scene, still wearing a medical gown and covered in blood.
Fris: Miguel, what's the emergency? I was in the middle of open heart surgery fifty kilometres away.
Miguel: He won't let me in. He says I'm drunk (hiccup).
Fris: Okay....What does this have to do with me?
Miguel: I thought you would have wanted to know.
Fris: .....you were wrong.
Miguel turns again to the bouncer: C'mon, let me in.
Bouncer: No.
Miguel starts turning bright red. His eyes turn yellow and strange bulges start appearing all over his body.
Bouncer: What now?
Fris: His whining is reaching critical mass and when that happens....
Miguel suddenly morphs into a moaning velociraptor.
Fris: He becomes Sulkosaurus!
Sulkosaurus lets out a might roar
Sulkosauras: C'mon...let me in.
Bouncer: I wouldn't let you in when you were slightly sloshed. Why would I let you in now that you're a bloody dinosaur?
Sulkosaurus wets himself in frustration.
END SCENE
Interior, night. The kitchen of Lord Fannyweather. Squire Moore and Salmonella wait anxiously for the Fannyweathers to finish their cake. This is a difficult and tiresome process. The cake is eaten slowly and with great affection.
Squire Moore: FOR THE LOVE OF ST. BERNARD HURRY UP! EVAN COULD BE DEAD ALREADY!
Lord Fannyweather: Back when I was a fireman, I left a maternity ward burn down so me and Herself could finish a raspberry sponge. What is Evan's life to an entire maternity ward?
Moore: (Angry mutterings)
3 Hours Later
Squire Moore and Salmonella have fallen asleep on the couch. Fannyweather loudly deposits his plate on the sink, waking them both.
Herself: What did you think of the cake dear?
Fannyweather: Bit shit actually
Herself: Yeah, I'd nearly have skipped it.
Moore: Can we go now?
Fannyweather:...................................................okay.
END SCENE
Scene 16
Exterior. Dawn. Salmonella, Squire and Fannyweather walk towards the pirate hideout to bring great justice. They carry a large arsenal of weapons in a burlap sack. They see the well-defended hideout at the end of the road.
Salmonella: At least eight men on sentry, probably a lot more inside.
Fannyweather: Do we have a plan?
Squire Moore: Yes. We charge wildly towards the hideout, firing bullets at the bad men.
Fannyweather: I see you have studied Napoleonic strategy.
Squire Moore: Yes. I just hope we don't get blownapart!
The trio laugh hysterically at the witty joke. The audience too are enthralled and titillated by the sophisticated witticism.
Fannyweather: Well, funny jokes aside. We'd better get to it.
Moore: Hold on, we'd better check ourselves for testicular cancer first. We don't want to come down with cancer in the middle of a firefight.
Salmonella: Good idea.
The trio grope themselves and ensure they have no lumps on their scrotum. Moore, being meticulous, asks a passing woman for a second opinion. She politely declines.
Moore: Well, I'm not entirely happy about this. Is there maybe a way we can sneak in unnoticed?
Mysterious Voice: Well, it just so happens there is.
Our heroes turn to find themselves face to face with Miguel Sanchez. Sanchez stands seven feet tall. He has an indefinable wildness in his eyes, that speak of wild moors and windswept islands. He is ludicrously drunk.
Squire Moore: Ah Miguel, what is you speak of?
Miguel: There is a secret entrance. See that nightclub over there? In the wine cellar there is a trap door that leads to the basement of the pirate hideout. Come on, we'll go in together.
The four men head into the nightclub, except for Miguel who is halted by the bouncer.
Bouncer: Sorry, you're too drunk and posessing of a certain wildness. I can't let you in.
Miguel: Awwwwwwwwwwwww. But why? I'm not drunk, leave me in. Why are you so mean? Stop being mean. I hate you.
Bouncer: Sorry bud.
Miguel: Well, we'll see what Fris Bafroth has to say about this!
Miguel makes a phone call.
2 hours later
Fris Bafroth, a young and dynamic heart surgeon, arrives at the scene, still wearing a medical gown and covered in blood.
Fris: Miguel, what's the emergency? I was in the middle of open heart surgery fifty kilometres away.
Miguel: He won't let me in. He says I'm drunk (hiccup).
Fris: Okay....What does this have to do with me?
Miguel: I thought you would have wanted to know.
Fris: .....you were wrong.
Miguel turns again to the bouncer: C'mon, let me in.
Bouncer: No.
Miguel starts turning bright red. His eyes turn yellow and strange bulges start appearing all over his body.
Bouncer: What now?
Fris: His whining is reaching critical mass and when that happens....
Miguel suddenly morphs into a moaning velociraptor.
Fris: He becomes Sulkosaurus!
Sulkosaurus lets out a might roar
Sulkosauras: C'mon...let me in.
Bouncer: I wouldn't let you in when you were slightly sloshed. Why would I let you in now that you're a bloody dinosaur?
Sulkosaurus wets himself in frustration.
END SCENE
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Scene 13 (continued) and Scene 14
Captain Hodgers circles the room
Captain: Yarg! Where be Evan methinks?
The crowd parts, revealing Evan
The captain's parrot, in reality a thirty-five year old accountant from Greenwich, points at our protagonist
Parrot: That's him there!
Captain: Yarg! So 'tis. Come with us Evan!
Evan: No! Never! I shall fight you til my bones are ground to dust! I cannot be brushed aside in the manner that Squire Moore brushes aside his various illegitimate children! I shall screw my courage to the sticking-place and do glorious battle! En garde!
Evan pulls a sabre from his trousers and there is a fight scene. It is very entertaining. The audience are thrilled. Evan lies semi-conscious on the floor
Captain Hodgers: Yarg! What a wonderful fight, complete with lasers and explosions. However, you are defeated and I shall kidnap you now!
Squire Moore: You'll have to get through me first!
Captain Hodgers gets through Squire Moore first.
Weakened by venereal disease, Moore collapses onto the floor. Captain Hodgers places Evan in a paper bag and he and his crew flee the scene.
Squire Moore: Shittywankbullocks!
Squire passes out
End Scene 13
Scene 14
Interior. Night-time. Griswell Food Emporium. Lord Bourbon Fannyweather and his mysterious fiancé, known only as 'Herself', are hard at work stocktaking. Lord Fannyweather's eyes are wattery with the softer emotions of the human heart, feelings which led him to give up the hallowed throne of Lichtenstein in order to marry an ordinary fishmonger's daughter.
Lord Fannyweather: How fair these air-born shapes! and yet I feel Most vain all hope but love; and thou art far, Herself! who, when my being overflowed, Wert like a golden chalice to bright wine Which else had sunk into the thirsty dust. All things are still. Alas! how heavily This quiet morning weighs upon my heart
Herself: Uhm. I'm just over here by the beans
Fannyweather: Ah right. How foolish of me. How feelsth thou mine sweet?
Herself: Grand. You?
Fannyweather: I feel that Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark
Herself: That's nice. Where did you put the relish?
Fannyweather: Top Shelf. Oh look, here comes Squire Moore and Salmonella O'Sullivan
Enter Squire and Salmonella. Squire is panting and is carrying a recently purchased stockpile of weapons
Lord Fannyweather: Ah Salmonella! Squire! How pleasant to see you!
Squire Moore: As you can see from my big bag of crossbows and revolvers this is not a social call Lord Fannyweather
Fannyweather: I see. What's the trouble?
Squire: Evan, our good friend who once helped you with that bat infestation in your attic, has beenn captured by Captain Hodgers and his urban pirates. We need to find them and rescue him as Evan has still not recovered from being graphically raped in the bum by Alec Baldwin. A terrible experience like pirate torture could impede his emotional and spiritual recovery even further as, to add to his troubles, his stalwart companion handbag has left him alone in this world. For this reason, you need to join me and Salmonella here on a daring raid on the pirate H.Q before the situation deteriorates further.
Fannyweather: I understand completely. I'll join you as soon as I've finished my shift.
Squire:.......How long will that be?
Fannyweather: An hour or two
Squire: Ok....but then it's straight to the rescue.
Fannyweather: Oh my, no! After my shift, me and herself are having some cake.
Squire: Can't that wait?
Fannyweather: If your soul was filled with tender passion and not the spirit of ceaseless sexual conquest, you would understand that the cake must be eaten.
Squire (in loud, angry capital letters): WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR CAKE!
Enter Marie Antoinette
Marie: Go on. Let them eat cake.
Squire: Fine. But as soon as they've finished, we mount our daring rescue
Fannyweather: Grand job.
End Scene 14
Writers Note:
And they said I couldn't write romance!
Captain: Yarg! Where be Evan methinks?
The crowd parts, revealing Evan
The captain's parrot, in reality a thirty-five year old accountant from Greenwich, points at our protagonist
Parrot: That's him there!
Captain: Yarg! So 'tis. Come with us Evan!
Evan: No! Never! I shall fight you til my bones are ground to dust! I cannot be brushed aside in the manner that Squire Moore brushes aside his various illegitimate children! I shall screw my courage to the sticking-place and do glorious battle! En garde!
Evan pulls a sabre from his trousers and there is a fight scene. It is very entertaining. The audience are thrilled. Evan lies semi-conscious on the floor
Captain Hodgers: Yarg! What a wonderful fight, complete with lasers and explosions. However, you are defeated and I shall kidnap you now!
Squire Moore: You'll have to get through me first!
Captain Hodgers gets through Squire Moore first.
Weakened by venereal disease, Moore collapses onto the floor. Captain Hodgers places Evan in a paper bag and he and his crew flee the scene.
Squire Moore: Shittywankbullocks!
Squire passes out
End Scene 13
Scene 14
Interior. Night-time. Griswell Food Emporium. Lord Bourbon Fannyweather and his mysterious fiancé, known only as 'Herself', are hard at work stocktaking. Lord Fannyweather's eyes are wattery with the softer emotions of the human heart, feelings which led him to give up the hallowed throne of Lichtenstein in order to marry an ordinary fishmonger's daughter.
Lord Fannyweather: How fair these air-born shapes! and yet I feel Most vain all hope but love; and thou art far, Herself! who, when my being overflowed, Wert like a golden chalice to bright wine Which else had sunk into the thirsty dust. All things are still. Alas! how heavily This quiet morning weighs upon my heart
Herself: Uhm. I'm just over here by the beans
Fannyweather: Ah right. How foolish of me. How feelsth thou mine sweet?
Herself: Grand. You?
Fannyweather: I feel that Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark
Herself: That's nice. Where did you put the relish?
Fannyweather: Top Shelf. Oh look, here comes Squire Moore and Salmonella O'Sullivan
Enter Squire and Salmonella. Squire is panting and is carrying a recently purchased stockpile of weapons
Lord Fannyweather: Ah Salmonella! Squire! How pleasant to see you!
Squire Moore: As you can see from my big bag of crossbows and revolvers this is not a social call Lord Fannyweather
Fannyweather: I see. What's the trouble?
Squire: Evan, our good friend who once helped you with that bat infestation in your attic, has beenn captured by Captain Hodgers and his urban pirates. We need to find them and rescue him as Evan has still not recovered from being graphically raped in the bum by Alec Baldwin. A terrible experience like pirate torture could impede his emotional and spiritual recovery even further as, to add to his troubles, his stalwart companion handbag has left him alone in this world. For this reason, you need to join me and Salmonella here on a daring raid on the pirate H.Q before the situation deteriorates further.
Fannyweather: I understand completely. I'll join you as soon as I've finished my shift.
Squire:.......How long will that be?
Fannyweather: An hour or two
Squire: Ok....but then it's straight to the rescue.
Fannyweather: Oh my, no! After my shift, me and herself are having some cake.
Squire: Can't that wait?
Fannyweather: If your soul was filled with tender passion and not the spirit of ceaseless sexual conquest, you would understand that the cake must be eaten.
Squire (in loud, angry capital letters): WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR CAKE!
Enter Marie Antoinette
Marie: Go on. Let them eat cake.
Squire: Fine. But as soon as they've finished, we mount our daring rescue
Fannyweather: Grand job.
End Scene 14
Writers Note:
And they said I couldn't write romance!
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Intermission
7 Steps to Save the Catholic Church
We interrupt this movie to discuss an important contemporary social issue. We all know the Catholic Church to be an organisation of jolly, affable old men wearing silly hats, a bit like Santa Claus and his elves. However, recently it turns out that, for decades, they’ve been molesting children and covering it up, much like Santa Claus’ evil twin brother Rodrigo Derrida and his crew of paedo-badgers. Understandably, this has had an impact on people, who now realise that some of the stuff they were saying, in between the bits about the magic carpenter and nudist garden thingy, may have not been strictly true. To many it seems that they may not be the jolly crew we once imagined them to be. How is the Catholic Church to save itself? This is not an easy question, but, following a papal request, I will outline a few ideas that have occurred to me and which could easily be implemented within a few months:
1. Moving Statues
In 1985, people travelled from all over the country to Ballinspittle Co.Cork to watch some moving statues of the Virgin Mary. This was in the days before Ipods and popular American sitcom ‘Friends’, so it was understandable that so many should travel down to experience this unique event. Of course, we know now this to be a classic case of ‘mass hysteria’ brought on by the stress of economic decline, emigration and constant repetition of the rosary, but it was good PR for the silly hat brigade. So, if people’s minds can move statues, why can we not simply use technology to do the same thing? Imagine: Finding every statue of the Virgin Mary in the country and attaching an electric motor and a micro-chip, before sending them off, zipping along the N25, circling the country as an attached speaker plays ‘Ave Maria’. Not only would this work wonders for the faithful, being reminded of the death of our Lord as his mammy whizzes by at 70 km/ per hour, but it would improve the moral standards of the nation. Would you mug someone, break the speed limit or have a cheeky joint, if there was a small chance of the Blessed Virgin hurtling over the horizon? Didn’t think so.
2. Hat Innovation
Most informed people will tell you that faith is the core of any religion. This is untrue. Silly hats are far more essential. How many religions do you know that DON’T involve silly hats? That’s right, zero. Indeed Catholicism’s historical success was based on particularly ostentatious headwear, which dwarfed the far more mundane headgear of Protestants and others. Therefore, what is needed is even more ludicrous items to be placed on the heads of clergymen. For example, priests should wear twelve-foot conical hats, covered with green polka dots, with a little bell attached to the top. I’d like to see Islam or Judaism top that. Also, constant research should be undertaken to push the limits of silly hat technology, with eccentric fashion gurus roped in to advise the Church hierarchy on what to wear. This would make for great television as every episode of ‘Off the Rails’ would include a five minute segment called ‘Off the Aisles’ where chirpy young presenters would dress the Bishop of Killaloe in the latest trends, draping his 20 foot tower-shaped hat with glitter and rosary beads to the delight of rapt audiences.
3. Sexier Priests
Johnny Depp or Cheryl Cole in a confession box. Enough said.
4. Re-decoration
As many of my 4 and a ½ regular readers will know, I myself have avoided mass for the past several years. This was not due to a crisis of faith, but a crisis of comfort. Simply put, there is no logical need for Church pews to be so ridiculously uncomfortable. Padding and a couple of hundred footstools and I may even have considered running for pope. Call DFS and I assure you that you will see the flocks returning en masse.
5. Deny Everything
The Nixon Defence. Simply refute any and every accusation as the evidence mounts. Insist that your flock must have faith that confessions, leaked letters and DNA evidence are all tools of the devil. If asked ‘Is it true that you swore victims of child abuse to silence?’, the correct response is: ‘No. Those children swore me to silence. They are working for the North Koreans and are trying to bring down society by taking down the church. Besides, I wasn’t even in Ireland that week. In fact I wasn’t on earth. I had spent a week in an alternative dimension where nothing was what is seemed. Then I bought a lolly’. If further probed, simply curl up into a ball until the journalist leaves.
6. Shift the Blame
We are lucky in Ireland that racism is not so prevalent as it is elsewhere. In Irish society racism is just not socially acceptable, except when directed at travellers or the English. Therefore, the Church publicity bureau should begin an immediate policy of shifting the blame for clerical child abuse onto itinerants or the crown, perhaps suggesting a conspiracy of both. For example, a headline in Alive! could read: ‘Queen Elizabeth Visits Halting Site to Spread Lies about Innocent Priests: The Scandal Uncovered’ or ‘Did Prince Charles Travel Back in Time to Abuse Children in Convincing Priest Costume?’. The opportunities for journalistic endeavour here are limitless.
7. Lasers
Can’t really think of how to implement these in an ecclesiastical context, but c’mon people, everyone loves Lasers.
Follow these simple steps and the nation will soon forget what a bunch of hypocritical, lying, child-abusing, preachy, shit-brained, arrogant tit-a-ma-boobs the clergy are.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Scene 13
Scene 13
Interior. Night. The Post-Daisy Ball. Many are milling round the punch-bowl. Others are quietly mingling. The rest stare in amazement at Bobby Brisco, the break-dancing cardinal, as he struts his stuff on the dancefloor. Enter Squire Moore and Evan. Squire Moore is carrying a blackboard under his arm.
Squire Moore: Lotta poontang here tonight.
Evan: Er, yes I suppose
Squire Moore: Fancy some...(raises eyebrows mischievously)...fun and games?
Evan: What do you mean?
Squire Moore places the blackboard on the floor, pulls out a piece of chalk and draws two columns on the blackboard. One is headed 'Evan', the other 'Squire'
Squire Moore: For each fine young thing we canoodle with, we get a point
Evan: I don't really want to. I'm still reeling from losing Handbag. Also, since I was raped by Alec Baldwin, the thought of being physically intimate with anyone fills me with dread and revulsion.
Squire Moore: Sounds like fightin' talk to me! Away I go!
Squire Moore sets off on his rounds, a smile on his face and a lump in his trousers. Evan rolls his eyes and notices his old associate, Salmonella O'Sullivan
Evan: Ah Salmonella, how goes it?
Salmonella: Evan old boy! So good to see you. Terrible to hear about this Alec Baldwin business. How are you holding up?
Evan: I'm alright I guess.
Salmonella: Splendid, splendid. Surprised by this year's winner?
Evan: Yes, the first transvestite Daisy of Dungarvan I believe.
Suddenly, both are interrupted by the return of Squire Moore. Moore wipes the lipstick off his face and draws '24' under his name on the blackboard.
Squire Moore: Falling behind I see Evan?
Evan: I'm not participating in this weird competition. Please stop.
Moore: What's that? You don't think I can make it to 40 in the next fifteen minutes? Well, we'll see about that!
Cue music: The Vinyls - I Touch Myself.
Montage of Squire Moore mauling onto various women
Evan: I must apologise for my friend. He appears to have the jockstrap jitters.
Salmonella: Evidently.
Suddenly there is a loud rumbling outside. Evan and Salmonella look around. Squire Moore, like Alexander the great dining at Persepolis, takes a break from his conquests to cower behind a chair. The noise grows louder and louder. Suddenly, a fire engine, two ford fiestas and a bicycle plough through the wall, circle around the room and pull up. All the vehicles bear jolly rogers.
Salmonella: Oh no!
Evan: What is it? Who are they!?
Salmonella: I'd know that flag anywhere! This is the dread fleet of Captain Hodgers and his crew of urban pirates!
Suddenly the door of the fire engine opens and a skinny, effete pirate emerges. On his left shoulder stands a tall bearded man, dressed in a colourful ensemble.
Captain Hodgers: Yarr! Listen up mateys. Things about to get interesting!
End Scene
Writers Notes:
I realise that I have introduced yet another character and gone off on another tangent without any hint of real plot development, but if Lost can get away with it then so can I.
Interior. Night. The Post-Daisy Ball. Many are milling round the punch-bowl. Others are quietly mingling. The rest stare in amazement at Bobby Brisco, the break-dancing cardinal, as he struts his stuff on the dancefloor. Enter Squire Moore and Evan. Squire Moore is carrying a blackboard under his arm.
Squire Moore: Lotta poontang here tonight.
Evan: Er, yes I suppose
Squire Moore: Fancy some...(raises eyebrows mischievously)...fun and games?
Evan: What do you mean?
Squire Moore places the blackboard on the floor, pulls out a piece of chalk and draws two columns on the blackboard. One is headed 'Evan', the other 'Squire'
Squire Moore: For each fine young thing we canoodle with, we get a point
Evan: I don't really want to. I'm still reeling from losing Handbag. Also, since I was raped by Alec Baldwin, the thought of being physically intimate with anyone fills me with dread and revulsion.
Squire Moore: Sounds like fightin' talk to me! Away I go!
Squire Moore sets off on his rounds, a smile on his face and a lump in his trousers. Evan rolls his eyes and notices his old associate, Salmonella O'Sullivan
Evan: Ah Salmonella, how goes it?
Salmonella: Evan old boy! So good to see you. Terrible to hear about this Alec Baldwin business. How are you holding up?
Evan: I'm alright I guess.
Salmonella: Splendid, splendid. Surprised by this year's winner?
Evan: Yes, the first transvestite Daisy of Dungarvan I believe.
Suddenly, both are interrupted by the return of Squire Moore. Moore wipes the lipstick off his face and draws '24' under his name on the blackboard.
Squire Moore: Falling behind I see Evan?
Evan: I'm not participating in this weird competition. Please stop.
Moore: What's that? You don't think I can make it to 40 in the next fifteen minutes? Well, we'll see about that!
Cue music: The Vinyls - I Touch Myself.
Montage of Squire Moore mauling onto various women
Evan: I must apologise for my friend. He appears to have the jockstrap jitters.
Salmonella: Evidently.
Suddenly there is a loud rumbling outside. Evan and Salmonella look around. Squire Moore, like Alexander the great dining at Persepolis, takes a break from his conquests to cower behind a chair. The noise grows louder and louder. Suddenly, a fire engine, two ford fiestas and a bicycle plough through the wall, circle around the room and pull up. All the vehicles bear jolly rogers.
Salmonella: Oh no!
Evan: What is it? Who are they!?
Salmonella: I'd know that flag anywhere! This is the dread fleet of Captain Hodgers and his crew of urban pirates!
Suddenly the door of the fire engine opens and a skinny, effete pirate emerges. On his left shoulder stands a tall bearded man, dressed in a colourful ensemble.
Captain Hodgers: Yarr! Listen up mateys. Things about to get interesting!
End Scene
Writers Notes:
I realise that I have introduced yet another character and gone off on another tangent without any hint of real plot development, but if Lost can get away with it then so can I.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Scenes 10-12
Scene 10
Exterior. Daytime. An innocent inner city playground. A large number of young children and several teachers are gathered around a truly fearful sight. Enter Backpack, a popular item of luggage, associated mainly with young travellers.
Backpack: I say, what has everyone so entranced?
Teacher: See for yourself.
The crowd parts, revealing drunken scallywags 1 and 2 canoodling in the middle of the circle.
Backpack: Why has nobody stopped those ne'er do wells?
Teacher: They smell awful and have been here for hours. Nobody wants to get too close...
Backpack: I'll handle this...
Backpack walks to the middle of the circle
Backpack: Ahem!
Scallywags 1 and 2 are jolted from their drink-soaked revelry. They stand up, revealing themselves. Both are bollock-naked and have a thick lining of blue fur all over their bodies.
Scallywag 2: Humbo..gru...bleuh?
Scallywag 1: Gurk?
Backpack slaps both of them
Backpack: Do you have any idea where you are?
Scallywags look around at the scarred, tearful eyes of the children.
Scallywag 1: Pub?
Backpack slaps them again, more violently this time. One of Scallywag 1's eyeballs becomes dislodged.
Backpack (angrily): NO! NOT PUB! PLAYGROUND!
Scallywags slowly realise the reality of their situation and blush slightly. Scallywag 2 takes a swig of 'Musket Gunning's Old-Time Country Liquor'.
Backpack: Yes, you understand now?
Scallywags grunt in the affirmative
Backpack: Good! Now off to the Bawdyhouse with you, where you belong.
Exit Scallywags
Backpack turns to leave. Suddenly he sees Evan exiting the brothel from across the road.
Backpack: Oh my...
END SCENE
Scene 11
Interior. Night. Backpack's apartment, where Handbag has been staying since she left Evan the night before. Handbag is looking at a picture of Evan and has been visibly sobbing. Enter Backpack
Backpack: Still upset I see?
Handbag:...
Backpack: You know he was never right for you...There are other guys....and sentient containers..
Handbag: Stop. I know where you're going with this. You're a good friend Backpack, but there's only one man for me. Evan is kind, considerate and can ride me like a Mayo donkey. I shouldn't have left. Me and Evan can get through this together.
Backpack: (Sigh) There's something you should know.....
End Scene
Scene 12
Interior. Night. The annual Daisy of Dungarvan competition. Evan and Squire Moore, a dashing young aristocrat, take their place in the audience.
Evan: Thanks for this Squire but I'm not sure I'm really in the mood...
Squire Moore: Oh nonsense old boy! It'll lift your spirits! By the way, you're welcome to stay at my place as long as you need
Evan: Thanks. Oh, it's starting...
The curtains part, revealing host Pat Kenny. Pat Kenny is dressed in a grey suit and tie. Unknown to the audience, Pat is wearing leather bondage gear underneath...
Pat: Welcome to the Daisy of Dungarvan competition!
Pat's thoughts: Hello minions!
Pat: Tonight we shall have lovely girls from Donegal to Dingle all vying for the judge's vote
Pat's thoughts: Yeah! We gonna have sexy bitches from Tullamore to Imloughmore trynna get in with the Patman! Oh yeah, things are gonna get hot up in here!
Pat, overwhelmed by desire, suddenly grabs his crotch
Evan: Did Pat Kenny just grab his crotch?
Squire Moore: I believe so.
Evan: Should be an interesting evening...
END SCENE
Writer's Notes to Scene 12
Casual observers may make the mistake of thinking that the 'Daisy of Dungarvan' is being used to avoid sparking a law suit with the 'Rose of Tralee' people. This could not be further from the truth. I would consider the whole project a failure if it didn't result in several lawsuits. Rather, the 'Daisy of Dungarvan' competition is an event being launched later this year by myself and a collaborator as a hip-hop alternative to the 'Rose of Tralee'. The film will not likely be released until at least 2012, by which time the 'Daisy of Dungarvan' will have replaced the now irrelevant Rose of Tralee competition. As such I am simply planning ahead. Also, while the idea of Pat Kenny suddenly grabbing his crotch may seem farfetched, the incident is based on an actual encounter between myself and Pat early last year, when, in addition to grabbing his crotch, he also began masturbating. Needless to say, I found the whole thing offensive and left soon afterwards.
Exterior. Daytime. An innocent inner city playground. A large number of young children and several teachers are gathered around a truly fearful sight. Enter Backpack, a popular item of luggage, associated mainly with young travellers.
Backpack: I say, what has everyone so entranced?
Teacher: See for yourself.
The crowd parts, revealing drunken scallywags 1 and 2 canoodling in the middle of the circle.
Backpack: Why has nobody stopped those ne'er do wells?
Teacher: They smell awful and have been here for hours. Nobody wants to get too close...
Backpack: I'll handle this...
Backpack walks to the middle of the circle
Backpack: Ahem!
Scallywags 1 and 2 are jolted from their drink-soaked revelry. They stand up, revealing themselves. Both are bollock-naked and have a thick lining of blue fur all over their bodies.
Scallywag 2: Humbo..gru...bleuh?
Scallywag 1: Gurk?
Backpack slaps both of them
Backpack: Do you have any idea where you are?
Scallywags look around at the scarred, tearful eyes of the children.
Scallywag 1: Pub?
Backpack slaps them again, more violently this time. One of Scallywag 1's eyeballs becomes dislodged.
Backpack (angrily): NO! NOT PUB! PLAYGROUND!
Scallywags slowly realise the reality of their situation and blush slightly. Scallywag 2 takes a swig of 'Musket Gunning's Old-Time Country Liquor'.
Backpack: Yes, you understand now?
Scallywags grunt in the affirmative
Backpack: Good! Now off to the Bawdyhouse with you, where you belong.
Exit Scallywags
Backpack turns to leave. Suddenly he sees Evan exiting the brothel from across the road.
Backpack: Oh my...
END SCENE
Scene 11
Interior. Night. Backpack's apartment, where Handbag has been staying since she left Evan the night before. Handbag is looking at a picture of Evan and has been visibly sobbing. Enter Backpack
Backpack: Still upset I see?
Handbag:...
Backpack: You know he was never right for you...There are other guys....and sentient containers..
Handbag: Stop. I know where you're going with this. You're a good friend Backpack, but there's only one man for me. Evan is kind, considerate and can ride me like a Mayo donkey. I shouldn't have left. Me and Evan can get through this together.
Backpack: (Sigh) There's something you should know.....
End Scene
Scene 12
Interior. Night. The annual Daisy of Dungarvan competition. Evan and Squire Moore, a dashing young aristocrat, take their place in the audience.
Evan: Thanks for this Squire but I'm not sure I'm really in the mood...
Squire Moore: Oh nonsense old boy! It'll lift your spirits! By the way, you're welcome to stay at my place as long as you need
Evan: Thanks. Oh, it's starting...
The curtains part, revealing host Pat Kenny. Pat Kenny is dressed in a grey suit and tie. Unknown to the audience, Pat is wearing leather bondage gear underneath...
Pat: Welcome to the Daisy of Dungarvan competition!
Pat's thoughts: Hello minions!
Pat: Tonight we shall have lovely girls from Donegal to Dingle all vying for the judge's vote
Pat's thoughts: Yeah! We gonna have sexy bitches from Tullamore to Imloughmore trynna get in with the Patman! Oh yeah, things are gonna get hot up in here!
Pat, overwhelmed by desire, suddenly grabs his crotch
Evan: Did Pat Kenny just grab his crotch?
Squire Moore: I believe so.
Evan: Should be an interesting evening...
END SCENE
Writer's Notes to Scene 12
Casual observers may make the mistake of thinking that the 'Daisy of Dungarvan' is being used to avoid sparking a law suit with the 'Rose of Tralee' people. This could not be further from the truth. I would consider the whole project a failure if it didn't result in several lawsuits. Rather, the 'Daisy of Dungarvan' competition is an event being launched later this year by myself and a collaborator as a hip-hop alternative to the 'Rose of Tralee'. The film will not likely be released until at least 2012, by which time the 'Daisy of Dungarvan' will have replaced the now irrelevant Rose of Tralee competition. As such I am simply planning ahead. Also, while the idea of Pat Kenny suddenly grabbing his crotch may seem farfetched, the incident is based on an actual encounter between myself and Pat early last year, when, in addition to grabbing his crotch, he also began masturbating. Needless to say, I found the whole thing offensive and left soon afterwards.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Scenes 8-9
Scene 8
An uncouth brothel. Interior. day. Evan is guilty for placing Jason into orbit. He seeks to drown his sorrow in the bosom of a lady.
Enter Laeticia Jones.
Laeticia: So young Evan you require gratification?
Evan: Yes. Handbag has left me and I have placed a fellow human being into orbit. Sex please!
Laeticia: Here you go.
Laeticia and Evan have various sex. First blowjob, then bum-style.
Cue music: Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin.
Sex happens.
END SCENE
Scene 9
Sex scene. There is lots of sex, including doggy style.
END SCENE
An uncouth brothel. Interior. day. Evan is guilty for placing Jason into orbit. He seeks to drown his sorrow in the bosom of a lady.
Enter Laeticia Jones.
Laeticia: So young Evan you require gratification?
Evan: Yes. Handbag has left me and I have placed a fellow human being into orbit. Sex please!
Laeticia: Here you go.
Laeticia and Evan have various sex. First blowjob, then bum-style.
Cue music: Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin.
Sex happens.
END SCENE
Scene 9
Sex scene. There is lots of sex, including doggy style.
END SCENE
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Scenes 5-7
Scene 5.
Interior. Night-time. Evan's Room. Evan sits in a wicker chair, brooding like a young Winston Churchill. Enter Handbag, a popular female accessory.
Handbag: So. I heard you challenged Jason to fisticuffs.
Evan (angrily): What of it?
Handbag: I heard what he did. It hardly seems worth fighting over...
Evan: He tarnished my honour Handbag! I cannot let this go unanswered.
Handbag: Why not? Is it any different from the time he suggested that Stephen Spielberg do a film about the holocaust and then demanded 80% of the D.V.D royalties for Schindler's List? Or when he phoned the fire brigade over that orphanage blaze and then sued the firefighters for intellectual property theft because he claimed putting out the fire was his idea?
Evan: Damn it Handbag I don't know. I just know I need to do this!
Handbag: I know why...
Evan (Sarcastically, like a middle-aged Winston Churchill) : Oh then please, enlighten me!
Handbag: Ever since Alec Baldwin raped you, you been trying to recover your confidence and masculinity. The fights, the drinking, the sudden unexplained trips to the Isle of Man. You're trying to heal yourself, but I worry that you might die in the process.
Evan rises to his feet and throws a cup at the wall.
Evan: NO! That's faeces! You-You just don't understand me!
Handbag stands up to leave.
Handbag (Calmly, with an air of resignation): No Evan. I guess I don't....I don't think I even know you anymore...
Exit Handbag.
Evan returns to his chair and sulks like a blonde Wiston Churchill.
End Scene
Scene 6
Exterior. Dawn. The hill of muscles.
Evan, Jason and a crowd of onlookers ascend the hill. At the summit, the ring of endeavour where the fight will take place has been prepared. Only one flaw is evident. Two drunken scallywags are canoodling in the ring. They have clearly been there since midnight.
Evan: I say! What's all this then?
Scallywag 1 rolls to one side and looks at the crowd. Dazed, confused and from Castlemartyr, he does not know how to respond. However, he does make a pitiful attempt.
Scallywag 1: Urg...buh..turnip?
Jason: We will have none of your foul turnips my good man. Explain why you have have no callously violated the ring of endeavour!
Scallywag 1: Glurb?
Evan: Oh what cruel threads the gods do spin, that nature should produce two such as you! Leave at once so that fisticuffs may occur!
The drunken scallywags are rolled off the ring of endeavour and placed in a brown paper bag. The trumpet is sounded.
Jason: Ah! Battle begins. Throw them up Evan!
Jason and Evan circle each other menacingly. The tension is such that half the crowd faint. Jason and Evan fight like cats, scratching and biting, and removing each other's fur. After some time it becomes clear that Evan has the upper hand. Jason attempts to surrender, but Evan, like a teenage Winston Churchill, has become overcome by rage and is pushing Jason towards the edge of the cliff. Suddenly, a voice from behind stays his hand.
Enter Handbag
Handbag: Evan! Stop! You've gone too far!
Evan calms down and looks at his bloodied hands, visibly surprised by his own actions.
Jason: Thanks Evan. By the way, you'll pay for the taxi ride home, won't you? It was my idea to get a cab instead of a bus.
Evan suddenly punches Jason with such force that he enters orbit
End Scene
Writers notes: Some astute commentators have pointed out that the characters of Drunken Scallywags 1 and 2 bear more than a passing resemblance to real-life individuals. This is correct. Both are based, to one extent or another, on Indira Gandhi.
Scene 7
Stock footage of meat being processed to the sound of 'Material Girl' by Madonna.
End Scene
Interior. Night-time. Evan's Room. Evan sits in a wicker chair, brooding like a young Winston Churchill. Enter Handbag, a popular female accessory.
Handbag: So. I heard you challenged Jason to fisticuffs.
Evan (angrily): What of it?
Handbag: I heard what he did. It hardly seems worth fighting over...
Evan: He tarnished my honour Handbag! I cannot let this go unanswered.
Handbag: Why not? Is it any different from the time he suggested that Stephen Spielberg do a film about the holocaust and then demanded 80% of the D.V.D royalties for Schindler's List? Or when he phoned the fire brigade over that orphanage blaze and then sued the firefighters for intellectual property theft because he claimed putting out the fire was his idea?
Evan: Damn it Handbag I don't know. I just know I need to do this!
Handbag: I know why...
Evan (Sarcastically, like a middle-aged Winston Churchill) : Oh then please, enlighten me!
Handbag: Ever since Alec Baldwin raped you, you been trying to recover your confidence and masculinity. The fights, the drinking, the sudden unexplained trips to the Isle of Man. You're trying to heal yourself, but I worry that you might die in the process.
Evan rises to his feet and throws a cup at the wall.
Evan: NO! That's faeces! You-You just don't understand me!
Handbag stands up to leave.
Handbag (Calmly, with an air of resignation): No Evan. I guess I don't....I don't think I even know you anymore...
Exit Handbag.
Evan returns to his chair and sulks like a blonde Wiston Churchill.
End Scene
Scene 6
Exterior. Dawn. The hill of muscles.
Evan, Jason and a crowd of onlookers ascend the hill. At the summit, the ring of endeavour where the fight will take place has been prepared. Only one flaw is evident. Two drunken scallywags are canoodling in the ring. They have clearly been there since midnight.
Evan: I say! What's all this then?
Scallywag 1 rolls to one side and looks at the crowd. Dazed, confused and from Castlemartyr, he does not know how to respond. However, he does make a pitiful attempt.
Scallywag 1: Urg...buh..turnip?
Jason: We will have none of your foul turnips my good man. Explain why you have have no callously violated the ring of endeavour!
Scallywag 1: Glurb?
Evan: Oh what cruel threads the gods do spin, that nature should produce two such as you! Leave at once so that fisticuffs may occur!
The drunken scallywags are rolled off the ring of endeavour and placed in a brown paper bag. The trumpet is sounded.
Jason: Ah! Battle begins. Throw them up Evan!
Jason and Evan circle each other menacingly. The tension is such that half the crowd faint. Jason and Evan fight like cats, scratching and biting, and removing each other's fur. After some time it becomes clear that Evan has the upper hand. Jason attempts to surrender, but Evan, like a teenage Winston Churchill, has become overcome by rage and is pushing Jason towards the edge of the cliff. Suddenly, a voice from behind stays his hand.
Enter Handbag
Handbag: Evan! Stop! You've gone too far!
Evan calms down and looks at his bloodied hands, visibly surprised by his own actions.
Jason: Thanks Evan. By the way, you'll pay for the taxi ride home, won't you? It was my idea to get a cab instead of a bus.
Evan suddenly punches Jason with such force that he enters orbit
End Scene
Writers notes: Some astute commentators have pointed out that the characters of Drunken Scallywags 1 and 2 bear more than a passing resemblance to real-life individuals. This is correct. Both are based, to one extent or another, on Indira Gandhi.
Scene 7
Stock footage of meat being processed to the sound of 'Material Girl' by Madonna.
End Scene
Monday, February 1, 2010
Scenes 1-4
THIS’LL NEVER FUCKING MAKE IT PASSED JOHN KELLEHER: THE MOVIE
Scene 1
Exterior. Dusk. Evan flees down a dark alleyway. He is pursued by Alec Baldwin. Alec Baldwin is completely naked except for a substantial number of twigs, berries and wild herbs that he has sellotaped to his person.
Baldwin: Come out, come out Evan! I shall find you!
Evan finds a hiding spot behind some barrels and beings to weep silently, knowing the fate that awaits him
Baldwin: Oh Evan, my fair-haired siren. Reveal yourself! You cannot hide forever!
Baldwin examines some boxes, thinking Evan may be hiding there
Baldwin: Bah! Just a box
Suddenly, Evan shits himself in terror, the noise alerts Baldwin, who throws some barrels out of the way, revealing Evan.
Baldwin: Ha! You are mine!
Cue Music: Enya – Sail Away
Alec Baldwin graphically rapes Evan
END SCENE
Writer’s notes on scene 1: It may be difficult to convince Alec Baldwin to play himself as a psychotic rapist. If this proves impossible then one of the other Baldwin brothers (Billy or Stephen) will have to suffice. Also, while ‘Sail Away’ may seem inappropriate for the rape sequence, it has to be included as it hints at a later plot twist.
Scene 2
Interior. Daytime. Evan and Dr.Miravago are at the Advanced Rectal Repair Clinic of North Munster.
Doctor: Wow Evan. Your recovery is taking longer than we expected. Alec Baldwin really did a number on your arse.
Evan: Yes I know. It is very painful.
Doctor: Well, I would prescribe a lot of rest and relaxation. Where do you like to unwind?
Evan: Oh you know, the wine bar, the haberdashery, the onion supply depot, usual stuff.
Doctor: Yes well, here comes Jason. Perhaps he can help you unwind?
Enter Jason, a man of modest sensibilities and noble bearing
Jason: Hello all.
Doctor: Ah hello Jason. I was just trying to think of a way for Evan to unwind after being sexually assaulted by Alec Baldwin
Jason: Yes, I know. I was walking by the door and heard you say that Evan should unwind. Perhaps we should go to my Gentleman’s Club?
Evan: Yes, a splendid idea. Goodbye doctor.
Doctor: Farewell.
Exit Jason and Evan.
Doctor M returns to his desk and drinks a latté for ten to fifteen minutes. He then stares intently at the camera.
Doctor: I HAVE A PHD IN ADVANCED RECTAL REPAIR!
END SCENE
Writer’s Note: Doctor must have moustache
Scene 3: Interlude
Various clips of Manchester United’s 1994 premiership season to the music of ‘Hungry Like the Wolf’ by Duran Duran.
END SCENE
Scene 4
Interior. Night. The Gentleman’s Club. Jason and Evan take their seats by the roaring fire.
Evan: Ah, back to normal. Now, what shall we have?
Jason: Perhaps some champagne?
Evan: Good idea! The 1973 Chateau Matt Damon?
Jason: Spiffing! Jeeves, the Matt Damon 73 please.
Champagne is brought to the table. Montage of Evan and Jason laughing and frolicking. The clock shows 2am.
Evan: Ah. Excellent shenanigans. Perhaps we should retire.
Jason: Yes. Pay the bill would you?
Evan: What? Shouldn’t we split it?
Jason: Well....it was my idea to come here...
Evan: So?
Jason: So you should pay 7,000 euro for the champagne and truffels we just consumed?
Evan becomes furious and leaps to his feet
Evan: I thought you were a dashing man about town Jason, but you are little better than a cad. Fisticuffs at dawn!
Jason: If you insist....
END SCENE
Scene 1
Exterior. Dusk. Evan flees down a dark alleyway. He is pursued by Alec Baldwin. Alec Baldwin is completely naked except for a substantial number of twigs, berries and wild herbs that he has sellotaped to his person.
Baldwin: Come out, come out Evan! I shall find you!
Evan finds a hiding spot behind some barrels and beings to weep silently, knowing the fate that awaits him
Baldwin: Oh Evan, my fair-haired siren. Reveal yourself! You cannot hide forever!
Baldwin examines some boxes, thinking Evan may be hiding there
Baldwin: Bah! Just a box
Suddenly, Evan shits himself in terror, the noise alerts Baldwin, who throws some barrels out of the way, revealing Evan.
Baldwin: Ha! You are mine!
Cue Music: Enya – Sail Away
Alec Baldwin graphically rapes Evan
END SCENE
Writer’s notes on scene 1: It may be difficult to convince Alec Baldwin to play himself as a psychotic rapist. If this proves impossible then one of the other Baldwin brothers (Billy or Stephen) will have to suffice. Also, while ‘Sail Away’ may seem inappropriate for the rape sequence, it has to be included as it hints at a later plot twist.
Scene 2
Interior. Daytime. Evan and Dr.Miravago are at the Advanced Rectal Repair Clinic of North Munster.
Doctor: Wow Evan. Your recovery is taking longer than we expected. Alec Baldwin really did a number on your arse.
Evan: Yes I know. It is very painful.
Doctor: Well, I would prescribe a lot of rest and relaxation. Where do you like to unwind?
Evan: Oh you know, the wine bar, the haberdashery, the onion supply depot, usual stuff.
Doctor: Yes well, here comes Jason. Perhaps he can help you unwind?
Enter Jason, a man of modest sensibilities and noble bearing
Jason: Hello all.
Doctor: Ah hello Jason. I was just trying to think of a way for Evan to unwind after being sexually assaulted by Alec Baldwin
Jason: Yes, I know. I was walking by the door and heard you say that Evan should unwind. Perhaps we should go to my Gentleman’s Club?
Evan: Yes, a splendid idea. Goodbye doctor.
Doctor: Farewell.
Exit Jason and Evan.
Doctor M returns to his desk and drinks a latté for ten to fifteen minutes. He then stares intently at the camera.
Doctor: I HAVE A PHD IN ADVANCED RECTAL REPAIR!
END SCENE
Writer’s Note: Doctor must have moustache
Scene 3: Interlude
Various clips of Manchester United’s 1994 premiership season to the music of ‘Hungry Like the Wolf’ by Duran Duran.
END SCENE
Scene 4
Interior. Night. The Gentleman’s Club. Jason and Evan take their seats by the roaring fire.
Evan: Ah, back to normal. Now, what shall we have?
Jason: Perhaps some champagne?
Evan: Good idea! The 1973 Chateau Matt Damon?
Jason: Spiffing! Jeeves, the Matt Damon 73 please.
Champagne is brought to the table. Montage of Evan and Jason laughing and frolicking. The clock shows 2am.
Evan: Ah. Excellent shenanigans. Perhaps we should retire.
Jason: Yes. Pay the bill would you?
Evan: What? Shouldn’t we split it?
Jason: Well....it was my idea to come here...
Evan: So?
Jason: So you should pay 7,000 euro for the champagne and truffels we just consumed?
Evan becomes furious and leaps to his feet
Evan: I thought you were a dashing man about town Jason, but you are little better than a cad. Fisticuffs at dawn!
Jason: If you insist....
END SCENE
Intro
From the people thaat brought you 'Arthur Scargill: The Musical' comes: This'll never fucking make it passed John Kelleher: The Movie
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