Archive | January, 2015

The Future Of Love

28 Jan

three-little-pigs

 

The Future Of Love

They remake 3 Little Pigs
so the pigs are the ones
trotting around
blowing the house down

and it’s the misunderstood
wolf who waits inside
for the walls to crumble

haunted by straw

Advertisements

Significant Bullets

26 Jan

lon-chaney-wolfman

Significant Bullets

Standing outside tonight
in the dark
the sound of some poor fuck
scraping snow
behind a long fence
seems to fit my mood
perfectly

With the invisible slush clouds
up there looming
& my nerves lighting cigarettes
melting
down here

Where she hints at leaving
again
requiring my madness
to dabble in patience

The moon’s sanity already surrendered

The old fuck behind the fence
keeps scraping

A nervous squirrel freezing its nuts off

I guess that’s life

Love Is: a yes or no answer

23 Jan

giraffe

Love is

a yes or no answer
to which she
always responds

giraffe

Treatment for Terminator Sequel Spec Script

11 Jan

The-Terminator-terminator-24509187-1920-1080

Treatment for Terminator Sequel Spec Script

It’s the future again. A couple hours after the human freedom fighters have sent Kyle Reese back into the past to prevent the assassination of John Conner’s mom/Sarah. The effects of their actions are felt immediately. John Conner still exists, which means Reese has succeeded in keeping Sarah alive, but something’s wrong. The John Conner that exists post sending Reese back to save his mom is no longer the brilliant leader who was on course to save humanity from the robot apocalypse, and eventually the freedom fighters from the future figure out why. Reese was supposed to keep Sarah Conner alive. That’s it. He wasn’t supposed to fuck her. But he did. He totally fucked her. And in this unauthorized fucking, he knocked her up, and in this knocking successfully cock blocked John’s real dad out of the picture, and because of this cocking humanity’s doomed.

It was sort of obvious, really. Reese couldn’t be the original father because it’s impossible to impregnate someone in the 1980’s unless you’ve been to the 1980’s. I don’t care how handsome the guy is.

 

So in this movie, the humans from the future figure out who John’s father was supposed to be and then, as in Terminator 2, they reprogram another Schwarzenegger and send him back into the past again, but instead of sending him back to hang out with Eddie Furlong they send him back to the first movie, with orders to make sure Reese keeps his dick away from Sarah Conners this time or at least find Real Dad and make sure he gets to her first.

 

It turns out John Conner’s real father is the bum in the alley from the first movie, the guy Kona has written about previously, the guy off whom Reese steals his very first pair of 1980’s hobo pants.  But as it turns out the guy wasn’t really a hobo, the clue to his real identity being the black leggings he wore under his outside pants. He wasn’t a hobo, he was an extremely unwashed dance instructor (They’re everywhere in Boulder) He was just drinking too much that night outside the diner where Sarah worked, trying to get up the nerve to ask her out. But then Reese showed up and stole his pants and after that the future’s timeline went to hell because you can’t go into a diner and ask a girl out after you’re pants have been stolen and you’re already super drunk. I mean you can, but that sort of thing rarely ends well. After the pants theft Sarah and Reese went on their little ‘let’s stay alive’ adventure fleeing from the original Terminator, so the guy’d lost his shot with her. The past was changed forever. The future shat doom.

 

That means in this movie the new Arnold has a lot on his plate. Not only does he have to fend off a horny Kyle and the original Terminator who followed Reese back in the first movie, he’s got to clean up John Conner’s real dad and teach him the romantic dating skills that will now be necessary in order to steal Sarah away from a goddamn heartthrob like Kyle Reese.

 

It’s like Harlan Ellison’s Soldier meets Will Smith in Hitch.

 

In my movie the Terminator will walk into a Hallmark store with the same attitude he had when he walked into the gun shop the first time around and start barking out a list of necessary supplies: “An aquamarine greeting card that expresses emotional affection.” “That’s Italian.” The Clerk says before placing the card on the counter. “One medium sized stuffed Teddy Bear” The clerk asks if he’d like the bear in the yellow rain hat or the bear that’s holding the cookie. “The one with the cookie.” The Terminator responds before going on. “A twelve inch dildo with duel penetration pump action attachment and laser sighting.” “Hey, just what you see pal.” the clerk will say. The Terminator will look disappointed without changing his facial expression. “One coupon book for affordable breakfasts and a package of those mints which are designed to annihilate bad breath.”

 

In my movie the Terminator will say new catch phrases too, like:That tank top makes you look chubby. You’re out of margarine, and time. Walk away from the women’s vagina and nobody gets murdered tonight.

 

There will be chase scenes and embarrassing first date scenes, at some point the new Arnold will fight the old Arnold, and lots of other stuff that will make movie audiences extremely happy.

 

Meanwhile, somewhere in Act 3  the Terminator and Real Dad will bust into the motel room where Reese has just admitted to Sarah that in the future he fell in love with her picture and Sarah’s so touched by the whole goddamn thing that she’s ready to mount him. This scene will be filled with really great dialogue and dramatic tension before turning into big budget soft core porn. To sum up: Sarah does not agree to not fuck Reese, she’s pretty solid on the fact that that’s still going to happen, but due to the Terminator’s high tech negotiating skills Sarah agrees to his proposition that they engage in a foursome. This way at least there would be a chance for Real Dad’s sperm to get up in there and beat Reese’s sperm to the punch. The original proposal involved a threesome, with the Arnold robot staying out of things. “My dick is not necessary.” he explains. But Reese has already managed to cum twice before Arnold shouts ‘Go!’ and Real Dad gets nervous so in order to save the future of Humanity Arnold is forced to jump in there and show Real Dad how it’s done.

 

When it’s over nobody knows if the mission was successful or who the father will be, but at least Real Dad had a shot this time. Has the future truly been saved? Only time and the inevitable sequel can tell.

 

My movie ends like the original movie ends, with Sarah sitting in the Jeep south of the American border. The little Mexican kid runs up and takes a picture and then tries to sell it to her for 5 bucks. Sarah buys the photo, but instead of the photo being of her like it was in the 1980’s movie the photo is of the little Mexican kid. Instead of taking a picture of Sarah he’s taken a selfie of himself, because that’s the only kind of picture kids know how to take these days.

 

The side effect of this being that this photo is the picture that Kyle carries around with him in the future which means Reese’s future has been accidentally altered.Ergo: Kyle Reese never falls in love with Sarah Conner because the picture that caused him to fall in love’s no longer a picture of her. He falls for the little Mexican kid instead.

 

(written for the Rob Bomb F Bomb Reading)

Soylent Helen

4 Jan

h and oats

Soylent Helen

 

 

“Let me put it to you this way. Throughout the recent history of mankind millions of people have purchased a Hall and Oats album or listened to their music but you’d be hard pressed to find a goddamn one of them that will say they honestly identify more with Oats. This is how the world works. Everyone thinks they’re the Hall in this situation, this situation being their own individual Out Of Touch personalized lives. Regardless of whether their hair is feathered or curly, their faces mustached or completely non-goofy looking, or they’re tall or short; at core levels the modern human has been bred and wired to believe they’re a rock star and because of this status it makes sense to them that there be out there amongst the lonely streets of this world at least one person willing to publicly recognize this fact and adore them. Someone to love who will love them and stick with them through the good times and the bad times, or the really bad times. And when this person is found, it seems impossible to think, because you think they’re awesome and you think you’re awesome, that the one you fall in love with would ever dream of letting you go. Together through the thick and the thin of it. Soul Mates till the end. Love conquers all. That sort of shit. You see what I’m getting at don’t you?” The Caretaker said.

“Yes. I think so.” Donald said back.

“Good. I don’t have to tell you that the world just doesn’t work that way. Daryl Hall is quite simply a myth. This world is populated with sidekicks. Sidekicks walking around thinking they’re the headlining act and because sidekicks are not un-leavable inevitably we all get dumped. The Method of Love is deceitful and bloody. That’s why, thanks to generous funding from the Kraft Velveeta Corporation, the John Oats Sanatorium For Incurable Romantics was founded in the first place, to give broken sappy bastards such as yourself a place to rest and heal away from the Private Eyes of the rest of normal society who have frankly grown tired of dealing with you.”  The Caretaker said.

“Yes. I think I read that in your brochure.” Donald said back.

“Of course you did. You know all of this already, as you must also know that most of the people we have staying here have how shall we say unusual side effects attached to their inability to deal with the fact that their loved one has left them. Effects that have made it impossible for them to function properly in the real world but once housed in our Sanatorium, well let’s say they damn near literally thrive. Have you ever thrived Donald?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Of course you haven’t. That’s what we’re here for. All I need to complete your admittance form is the details involving your own personal side effect. So what’s going on with you? What’s fucking you up?”

Donald went on to tell The Caretaker about the breakup and his own breakdown upon realizing that her Do Not Disturb sign had moved on without him, and how his landscape smells bleak and his frames cracked, her love being the nail that kept his self portrait clutched safely to the wall and how without her now everything’s fallen and his left behind bits blanket the carpet like crushed cheese puffs and mud. He went on in overly self-involved detail about the day after she’d gone and how he’d woke up in the world of a clearly defined horror movie, one in which all the rules were described but ridiculously impossible to pull off and how in order to survive this low budget splatter flick of still being in love and banish the Evil that now considers every new goddamn second its home he’d have to find an ancient scepter blessed by the 95th woman that Elvis ever slept with and then trade it to a man with red gloves for a bus ticket and four packs of Big League Chew gum and after taking a long bus trip and chewing lots of gum he needed to acquire a first edition copy of Action Comics, head to the nearest strip bar, find a stripper named Unicorn, and somehow talk her into giving him a lap dance in exchange for no money. He had to talk the Unicorn into giving him a lap dance in exchange for him reading her the goddamn comic book. She had to agree to accept a verbal reading of Superman’s first appearance in comic book form instead for cash.

“Yeah, that’ll never happen.” The Caretaker cut in.

“I already know that.” Donald said. “That’s why I’m still trapped here, inside my own horror movie. And her absence has manifested, maybe because the scariest movie I ever saw when I was a kid was Jaws, I mean, I’m physically haunted by sharks these days. It’s bullshit. The human body is made up of about 60 or 80% water, and that’s where the sharks live. Under my skin. They swim there. I can feel them. Lurking around inside me. Bouncing off stuff. Chewing things up.”

“That’s horrible.” The Caretaker said.

It was horrible, but the worst bit was how the sharks had taken to migrating in such a way that Donald’s dick had become an island; a girthy sun deprived island who’s outer edges where constantly patrolled by a militantly no-sex army of dorsally finned monsters whose sole purpose in life was to make sure nothing, and I mean nothing, came in contact with his penis. Not women. Not his own hand. Not even a magazine picture cut out of Kate Upton’s tits. For months now his dick had remained painfully deserted. Donald was truly alone now. Alone with his desert island abandoned dick.

“I haven’t had an orgasm in 472 days. It’s like I’m frickin married again. It’s driving me nuts.”

“Wow.” the Caretaker said. “I almost cried a little bit in my pants just now. That’s sad, but don’t worry Donald. Just sign hear and we’ll get you settled in.”

Donald signed the papers and a middle aged guy in a white jumpsuit led him out of his seat and through the doors after saying something that sounded like “I’m the guy who shows you to your room.”.

Once Donald was gone a different middle aged guy in a white jumpsuit entered the room and collected the paperwork from The Caretaker. He browsed through it for a little bit, frowned, and headed towards the door, but before walking through it he turned and asked the Caretaker:

“Should we drain the sharks out of this one before we toss him in the Almost Cheese Processing Processor next week or does it really fucking matter?”

“Of course it doesn’t fucking matter.” the Caretaker said. “We’re not making real cheese here. It’s Velveeta. And we’ve got a quota to hit. His little sharks can be melted and eventually mixed with salsa just like everything else. ”

“Yes sir.” The other middle aged guy in a white jumpsuit said.

“And tell my secretary to get Corporate on the line on your way out will you, Helen’s finder’s fee check didn’t clear again. And also I’m hungry. Tell someone to bring me a Cheeze Whiz and Make Believe sandwich.”

 

(written for the F Bomb reading series, The Mercury Café Denver, CO)

SoylentGreen