Holy shit! does everybody feel that strange, buttery tension in the air? I mean, seriously, $700 billion dollars? Seven hundred BILLION dollars! $700,000,000,000. That's a bit of money right there. Oh, and really? Absolutely no oversight? Ho ho ho, what's this? That's a nice brave bit of big baller swindling genius, that...
Technically, that is $1200 that you are asking from each of the following people:
1.Me
2. My mom
3. My dad
4. All of my siblings
5. My siblings kids? (That one hurts, asshole)
6. All of my friends
7. And family
8. And all of the other Americans that I have ever met
9. And every single American I have never met
...and we're supposed to just let you do as you please with all of our money?
OK, maybe. If maybe I could trust you...
(Ironic chuckle turns into painfully self deprecating sob)
Oh yeah, I can't. I cannot. I cannot trust my government to be fiscally responsible. Hell, I cannot trust my government to be responsible with even the lives of its own service men and women and that is some seriously fucking serious bullshit if you ask me. I certainly goddamn well cannot, will not, trust you with even twenty of my dollars. Are you seriously squeezing every last goddamn cent out of us that you can before your sweet, massively lucrative, fucking seven deadly sins all of them nailed directly by you and/or your henchmen in some tragicomedy where we, the people, lost not only our sense of direction but our own self respect run ends? For real?
Maybe try not having gone to war (war being a very real place where innocent people [hundreds of thousands of them at a time] die horribly twisted godawful deaths and even many of those who live are immeasurably scarred for. ever. For like, the rest of their lives and shit) and spending oh, I don't know, five hundred and seventy billion dollars and counting on a losing effort. How about that?
Or what about not having given us back the money we gave you in the first place? Remember that? When you said "Hey - remember what happens April 15th? Yeah, that's right, give me some money or I will make it impossible for you to own a company or live in a house," and I, being a dutiful citizen, did just that? And then, you fucker, you...you gave back just enough of that for me not to keep hating you...twice. And now, now that it doesn't matter whether I hate you or not (you being the lamest of ducks and painfully, brutally disloyal to even those you pretend to be friends with [and here I am talking about John McCain, Valerie Plame, and that guy Dick Cheney shot in the motherfucking face, bitches!]) you are asking not only for that money back, but pretty please with a little extra sugar on top?
Oh that's right...sans sugar, right? This is a do or die thing. We are all going to die if you don't get your money, right? And be quick about it! Apparently the American economy is going to spiral completely out of control if we don't pony up the cash in the next seven days...what, is the straight terror angle not working on this one? You've found a new threat (that, ironically, again you created...) to hold over the heads of your fellow Americans? I'm sorry, I hadn't realized there was a red alert in the financial district...no wait, yeah I did. Something about some towers or something?
And the truth is, whether you believe conspiracy theorists or not, this same group of fuckers are the ones who sold weapons to the Saudis back in the day, the same ones who...Kissinger in Vietnam...Prescott and the Nazis...Ollie North...no, fuck it. I'm getting carried away and anyway, if you don't already know all this, then you're probably just amicably surprised by all the zeroes in this number
- 700,000,000,000 -
and there's no lyric in this tired old song that will raise your ire to anywhere near appropriate levels...
Basically, no. No, I will not give you my money. And if I catch you out by the playground after school I will not punch you in the face but I will call you all kinds of names and bring up some viciously awful shit about you, your family, and your friends that hopefully will make you feel so bad about yourself that you go home and play awkwardly with one of your dad's guns. You are a smirking chimpanzee fuck and the face to the reason I will never have children, at least not until things change.
Sorry about the rant, I'm just worried about some things these days...
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
If You Don't Know Already, You Probably Never Will...
That's right, this is about the New York Yankees...
So, Steve's been giving me shit lately because while I claim to be a fan of football, I don't really claim any particular football team, despite the fact that I obviously have it in me to be fervently loyal to a team, a point in which he is referring to the New York (baseball) Yankees...
I mean, I sorta claim the Dallas Cowboys and the J-E-T-S Jets Jets Jets but that apparently is suspect because I am from New Jersey which therefore should mean I'm aware of:
1.the special filth-hatred Giants fans reserve for the Dallas Cowboys (and here I must remind you all that Giants Stadium is in North Jersey [aka where I happen to be from], and the Cowboys are from...well, somewhere else and fuck that) and
2.the specific reasons Jets fans are Jets fans (which run the gamut from "I am blue collar to the very core and believe the only team worth getting behind is a perennial underdog not because I am generally a loser but because I believe winning should be that much more delicious" to " I am from North Jersey and am just contrary in nature")
...which, obviously, I am. Not only am I aware of these things, I believe that they are completely valid reasons to back a professional football team, which is why I purport to be fans of each of those teams in particular. It turns out that I am contrary by nature, which means I automatically qualify for the Jets and also (because by certain league laws I am not allowed to be a fan of more than one team playing the same sport from the same area without forfeiting my right to be a fan of that sport or even sports in general) that I am forced by my exaggeratedly pronounced contrarian nature to be a Cowboys fan.
But no, according to Steve's reasoning, you are simply a fair weather fan. The Cowboys are on a winning streak and the Jets just hired the recently retired Brett Favre, inarguably the greatest quarterback in the history of the NFL (commence arguing), which should put them on a winning streak of their own...
All of which makes sense, I guess, but still, if backed into a corner I would gladly pledge sole allegiance to the Cowboys simply to be as froward as possible. Since I have been that way forever I do believe that entitles me to say I have been a Cowboys fan forever as well so yeah, go fuck yourself Steve...
That's a retarded point, continues Steve's incessant reasoning, and you're a retard. How do you account for the Yankees? Your blind allegiance to those assholes proves the fair weather angle, does it not?
To which I reply:
Dear Steve,
That was rude. I hope that being rude makes you happy.
Your friend, Eric
No, Steve, while being a Yankees fan does indeed accustom me to winning more often than any other franchise in the history of franchise sporting teams, it does not make me a fair weather fan. I might be prepared to admit that there are other Yankees fans who are as suspect of fair weatherdom as all Los Angeles Laker fans are automatically, but honestly, those people are beneath even mentioning in a blog entry about things like sports and decency and I am not one of them.
Truth is, I have always been and will always be a Yankees fan.
No, fuck that. Let me be completely honest here...the actual truth here is that I will always be a New York Yankee. Seriously. An actual Yankee. That's just how it is for Yankees fans. Its cool if you don't understand that, we're used to the haters...hating, in fact, just makes you seem that much sadder. There are different reasons behind the fandom for every Yankee but ultimately, those of us who are sincere are legends by association and you are just a fan of some other, shittier team. I actually played for the Yankees in my childhood imagination and have never once considered switching to another team. Never. Not even once.
That's not how its done by us Yankees...
Speaking of the Yankees and in case you didn't know it, the last. game. ever. was played in Yankee Stadium tonight. Yankee Stadium. Of course, that's not by any means the end of the Yankees, despite the tough season we've just been through. Still though that's kinda deep, no? Yankee Stadium is closed...
Have you heard that Dave Chapelle bit about the scope of Bill Clinton's fame? It refers to oral sex, of course, as any good Bill Clinton bit will and like most of Chapelle's shit is funny mostly because of its honesty. Well, that same sort of equation applies to Yankee Stadium. We're talking about a building. Its a building made of concrete and glass and whatever else but what makes it Yankee Stadium and not just some other shitty concrete building in the Bronx is the concept it has housed for the last century...the flavour, the fame. Yeah, the Yankees have won a lot of games there, but they've lost quite a few as well, believe me. It's not all about winning. What makes Yankee Stadium special is the comradery, the history, the feeling of being a Yankee...good shit, that. Yankee Stadium, I shall miss you...
Like I said, though, that's not the end of the Yankees. This season was tough, yes, but the only constant being change and history being what it is, we all know that the Yankees return to prominence will be sooner than later. I, for one, have already taken advantage of a rare post season off by printing the above. Yes, it is an editioned print. Ask me for one but only if you are a real Yankees fan. Five are reserved for specific people (Kirstin, Tim, Chuck, Jason, and I), but that means there are 10 others for the taking. If you ask, it shall be sent...
Saturday, September 20, 2008
An Icelandic Vignette, or, Tori Amos Tried To Kill Me
Begin scene:
Wide angle shot of hilly, snow covered Icelandic landscape. Foreground and right are dominated by frozen lake with powdered snow blowing steadily and ferociously across and towards the viewer.
An embankment rising from the lake in a lazy 35 degree slope meets an icily treacherous two lane highway in the mid to foreground. This highway sweeps down and around from between two hills in the right back to midground. Where it first encounters the embankment on the right the road is 200 yards or more from the frozen lake but gradually comes to within 8 feet or so by the time it completes the downhill and straightens out to the left.
The hill on the left towers over the highway where it emerges from the pass, then drops abruptly in a clifflike fashion before finally tapering softly into the background. A set of imposing black lava and ice mountains complete the very far background to the left.
The whole scene looks cold...no...it looks frigid, and this is because it is in fact 17 degrees below zero (fahrenheit). The waxy yellowish light through the clouds is diffused and weak to the point of being eerie although it is high noon.
As we watch, a tiny red car squirts out of the pass and begins the descent. It is possible that the tiny car is going too fast.
Cut to interior of car:
The back seat of the car is packed with things. At first glance, the viewer sees two backpacks and a strange milk crate wih Icelandic writing on it. In the crate there is cheese, an odd looking fruit-like object, a loaf of bread, a few bottles of schnapps, and some beer. The beer has a Santa figure on the label. The Santa is obviously very intoxicated, which is funny. Scattered among the aforementioned items are various maps, headlamps, a discarded sweater, and a few sketchbooks.
Our driver is a handsome blonde Scandinavian looking man with a scruffy half beard and a wounded expression. He is wearing jeans and a tee shirt with some sort of flaming acorn symbol on the front. He is barefoot and his knitted earflap hat is ridiculous. He has one headphone in his left ear and is holding the other one in his right hand while driving with his left.
Our passenger is a young, buxom blonde, also in jeans, a long sleeved undershirt, and a fur (fake) lined white vest whose beauty is currently masked by a sincerely disgruntled look. Her booted (also fur lined, also fake) feet are on the dashboard and in her hands is a green paperback copy of Les Miserables, her finger holding the pages open. She too has one headphone in her ear and the other out. As we watch, she is replacing it in her earhole.
Her: ...rude. All I was saying is please drive safely, I wasn't saying you can't drive at all or that you drive like a retard. Jesus, Eric, you're such a sensitive little bitch sometimes...whatever
Him: No, actually that is what you said...that I drive like a retard. And whatever you whatever. You want to drive? This shit is fucking crazy (mumbles something more, possibly curses)
Her: (hand replacing headphone briefly pauses) What was that last bit?
Him: Nothing, whatever. Enjoy your book, rude.
Her: I thought so. And you're rude (completes the action, gives him an exasperated but loving look and settles into her book)
Him: (winks at her and then says to nobody in particular) At least the wind has died down a little bit...fuck (he too, replaces his headphone in his earhole, only to immediately remove it in a disgusted manner)
Him: (grumbling loudly) Tori Amos! What in the fuck are you doing on my ipod? What the shit...? (looks down at said ipod distractedly and scrolls through his artists looking for some James Brown)
Cut to wide angle:
At this moment, the car passes the cliff face on its right and the wind (which hadn't actually died down at all, the car was just on the lee side of the hill) hits the car from the right at full strength. When I say full strength I am talking about 75 miles an hour, at least. And bear in mind, the car is a tiny piece of shit and the highway has about 16 inches or so of ice on it. Ice, as many of you know, can be very slippery. This is a bad combination for our already distracted driver, who really hasn't actually been driving like a retard at all...up until this point. Ah, irony...
The car actually skips to the left, towards the guardrail and embankment, and ultimately the frozen lake. Driver overcorrects to compensate for the wind, and the wind fucks with him by suddenly stopping completely, causing the car to veer sharply towards the right. Driver corrects for this as well and, lightly punches the gas to power to the left and out of the spin. The wind is a complete douche and gusts again at full strength, forcing the car perpendicular to the road (facing the guardrail, et. al.) "Checkmate" laughs the wind, and scuttles merrily off, leaving our characters to their calamitous fate...
Cut briefly to interior of car:
Him: (calmly) Sarah...
Her: (not as calmly) Holy Shit!
Him: I know...
Her: FUUUUUUUUUUUU...
Cut to exterior:
Angle is from behind and slightly to the side of the car, facing out over the lake. From this view, the immensity of the lake becomes more apparent and dwarfs our characters and their drama.
Camera focuses in on scene:
The tiny red car punches through the guardrail as though it were paper, hangs midair for what seems like an eternity, then hurtles down the embankment, which may have looked like a 35 degree slope from afar but to the occupants of the car feels like, oh, I don't know, lets say about 82 degrees at least. And a half. And is covered in loose igneous shale like rocks and did I mention that ultimately there is a frozen lake to contend with and there it is, through the blowing snow there it fucking is flying right at us and wow, fuck Tori Amos for this...I mean, really...talk about rude...
And KERSPLIFF! the tiny red car blasts through a final snowbank in a crystalline explosion
And WHAM! slams into the frozen lake on its drivers side, slides to the right, then the left, completes a few slow spins
And THIZZUMP! thumps back down on all four wheels
There is silence outside of the car. The plume of snow and exhaust created by the car's mad plunge hangs around for a second or two and then sprints crazily off across the lake. There is something green leaking from the engine.
Cut to interior of car:
Our driver is oddly grinning like an idiot, staring out the window to his left at nothing in particular. His hands are gripping the steering wheel with an intensity strange to his character. As we watch, he opens his mouth and then closes it without saying anything.
Our passenger has her hands above her head for no particular reason, in one hand the green paperback copy of Les Miserables. Her face is flushed and her hood has come off, revealing her wild blonde locks. Her eyes are closed.
Her: (continuing)....UUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!! Holyshitholyshitholyshit!
Him: ...yeah. Well...yeah. Holy shit indeed. (begins to put on his boots)
Cut to exterior:
As the two of them step out of the car, the rear bumper falls to the ground in a spray of powdery snow. Leaving both doors open, they circle the car in opposite directions. He pats her affectionately on the rear as they pass each other the first time and when they meet again, they silently lock hands. They continue to simply stare at the car for a few moments and then suddenly and simultaneously begin to babble.
Him: Wow. Did you see that? I mean, I know you saw it but holy shit, I thought we were dead but we're totally not deadholyshitthatwasintenseandbythewayfuckToriAmos, huh? What? Yeah, I mean, I don't know what to do now. What? Slow down. What?
Her: Oh my god wealmostdiedjustthenwhatarewegoingtodonow? Theres not even anybody on the road to help us and we're stuck and whatdoesToriAmoshavetodowithanything? Wehavetogetthecaroffthisstupidlakenowthatswhatwehavetodo nicejobEricwaytogowowwetotallyalmostdiedjustthenbutyouactuallyhandleditreallywellwow.
Wow.
A pause. He looks unenthusiastically towards the road, hoping to see someone coming but they actually haven't seen another car all day and so he looks away. He gazes around slowly as if trying to determine something. She stands beside him absently contemplating the mountains, her free hand making small fluttery movements.
Him: I guess I'll have to walk back to that last town...
Her: What?
Him: Nobody is going to come help us and we can't stay here. I mean, I guess we could. We have cheese and beer. We could just wait. No, I'll walk back there. You wait here.
Her: Dude, its like, fucking freezing out here. If you try to walk, you'll freeze to death. That's what always happens. We should both wait. There's cheese. And beer. There's some fruit too.
Him: That's not fruit, and anyway that is not what always happens. Sometimes it happens, yes, but fuck it, I'm just gonna go.
Her: Dude, that's stupid. What we should do is...
At this moment their pointless argument is interrupted by loud creaking sounds coming from the lake around them. There is a loud POP! and a miniscule but very ominous shift in the ice directly underneath them.
Him: ...fuck
Her: What the...?
Him: Go! Go! Go! Get off the ice! Go! We've got to go!!!
He begins carefully and rapidly pulling her towards what he assumes is the shore although everything is under a blanket of snow and he could just as easily be pulling her to a deeper spot in the lake. She acquiesces demurely for a few faltering steps and then stops. He turns to her, a panicked expression on his face.
Cue music, hopeful violin swelling as she speaks into an inspiring orchestral piece.
Her: (looking squarely into his eyes) Eric, I know I said you were driving like a retard before... and you were, but that's not the point. The point is all our shit is in the car and we're going to freeze to death without it and seriously, didn't you grow up in New Jersey? Can't you just drive off of this godforsaken lake? I believe in you, sweetheart. I know you can do it. Come on, baby...
Him: (His face is at first offended and slightly confused, and then, at her mention of New Jersey, he tilts it up and what light there is glints off of his noble glasses [which are sitting slightly askew]. He begins to nod.) yes. YES. Let's fucking do it.
As they move back towards the car, the creaking noises stop. And then resume much louder. And closer. Also there is some very loud groaning going on. And the POP! Remember that? That is starting to happen a lot more too. Shit is getting serious. They jump into the car and he turns the key. Nothing. He tries again. Still nothing. On the third try he is able to start the car and slams it into gear, but the tires just spin. There is no traction. He shifts into reverse, hits the gas. Nope. Nothing doing. Tears are welling up in her eyes. He grits his teeth, and, looking into the rearview mirror, sees part of the lake behind them suddenly rise up and then settle back down. He wisely doesn't tell her this. Shifting from first to reverse and back again, he is able to rock the car into movement, slowly at first, but gradually building up momentum. Finally! They are moving at about 35 miles an hour when behind them, a huge fissure begins to open up in the lake. This crack, this rift of doom, this ungodly portend of their fragile mortality is snaking towards the little red car at approximately 50 miles an hour. They both see it. The whites of their eyes are showing.
Her: Um...
Him: I know...I'm trying...faster....(falls to mumbling)
Her: (quietly facing death) I just want you to know I love you
Him: (continues mumbling)
The little red car has picked up speed, to about 60 miles an hour. The sinister ice chasm has also, unfortunately, picked up speed as well, to about 65 miles an hour. They are racing along the embankment parallel to the highway but sadly, 8 feet below it and its a steep motherfucking 8 feet that the piece of shit car will not be able to ascend. The end is nigh. What to do?
Him: ...hold on, Slick
He steers the little red car out towards the center of the lake for a couple dozen yards to gain some room for the turn and then, with a little more sauce, whips it back so it is gunning for the embankment. They brace for impact. There is naught else to do.
Miraculously, and with painful crunching sounds from the undercarriage, the little red car makes the steep grade, plowing through the guardrail from the lake side this time. The demon rift realizes it has been vanquished and peters out into no more than a white line in the blue ice.
The little red car is unable to turn fully onto the highway and WHANGS! off of the guardrail on the other side. The passenger side mirror disintegrates into oblivion. There is some spinning. The car comes to a stop. Something falls off of it. And then there is silence. Snow suddenly, lightly, begins to fall.
Him: ...hmmm....ahhhhhh...well. Wow.
Her: Yeah...right...wow.
Staring blindly out the cracked windshield, his hand gropes around the crate, fishing for a bottle of schnapps. He cracks the lid and hands it to her. She accepts the bottle without a word, takes a mighty swig, hands it back. He looks at it, looks at her, takes an even mightier swig. They sit in silence for a while and then drive on.
End scene
Wide angle shot of hilly, snow covered Icelandic landscape. Foreground and right are dominated by frozen lake with powdered snow blowing steadily and ferociously across and towards the viewer.
An embankment rising from the lake in a lazy 35 degree slope meets an icily treacherous two lane highway in the mid to foreground. This highway sweeps down and around from between two hills in the right back to midground. Where it first encounters the embankment on the right the road is 200 yards or more from the frozen lake but gradually comes to within 8 feet or so by the time it completes the downhill and straightens out to the left.
The hill on the left towers over the highway where it emerges from the pass, then drops abruptly in a clifflike fashion before finally tapering softly into the background. A set of imposing black lava and ice mountains complete the very far background to the left.
The whole scene looks cold...no...it looks frigid, and this is because it is in fact 17 degrees below zero (fahrenheit). The waxy yellowish light through the clouds is diffused and weak to the point of being eerie although it is high noon.
As we watch, a tiny red car squirts out of the pass and begins the descent. It is possible that the tiny car is going too fast.
Cut to interior of car:
The back seat of the car is packed with things. At first glance, the viewer sees two backpacks and a strange milk crate wih Icelandic writing on it. In the crate there is cheese, an odd looking fruit-like object, a loaf of bread, a few bottles of schnapps, and some beer. The beer has a Santa figure on the label. The Santa is obviously very intoxicated, which is funny. Scattered among the aforementioned items are various maps, headlamps, a discarded sweater, and a few sketchbooks.
Our driver is a handsome blonde Scandinavian looking man with a scruffy half beard and a wounded expression. He is wearing jeans and a tee shirt with some sort of flaming acorn symbol on the front. He is barefoot and his knitted earflap hat is ridiculous. He has one headphone in his left ear and is holding the other one in his right hand while driving with his left.
Our passenger is a young, buxom blonde, also in jeans, a long sleeved undershirt, and a fur (fake) lined white vest whose beauty is currently masked by a sincerely disgruntled look. Her booted (also fur lined, also fake) feet are on the dashboard and in her hands is a green paperback copy of Les Miserables, her finger holding the pages open. She too has one headphone in her ear and the other out. As we watch, she is replacing it in her earhole.
Her: ...rude. All I was saying is please drive safely, I wasn't saying you can't drive at all or that you drive like a retard. Jesus, Eric, you're such a sensitive little bitch sometimes...whatever
Him: No, actually that is what you said...that I drive like a retard. And whatever you whatever. You want to drive? This shit is fucking crazy (mumbles something more, possibly curses)
Her: (hand replacing headphone briefly pauses) What was that last bit?
Him: Nothing, whatever. Enjoy your book, rude.
Her: I thought so. And you're rude (completes the action, gives him an exasperated but loving look and settles into her book)
Him: (winks at her and then says to nobody in particular) At least the wind has died down a little bit...fuck (he too, replaces his headphone in his earhole, only to immediately remove it in a disgusted manner)
Him: (grumbling loudly) Tori Amos! What in the fuck are you doing on my ipod? What the shit...? (looks down at said ipod distractedly and scrolls through his artists looking for some James Brown)
Cut to wide angle:
At this moment, the car passes the cliff face on its right and the wind (which hadn't actually died down at all, the car was just on the lee side of the hill) hits the car from the right at full strength. When I say full strength I am talking about 75 miles an hour, at least. And bear in mind, the car is a tiny piece of shit and the highway has about 16 inches or so of ice on it. Ice, as many of you know, can be very slippery. This is a bad combination for our already distracted driver, who really hasn't actually been driving like a retard at all...up until this point. Ah, irony...
The car actually skips to the left, towards the guardrail and embankment, and ultimately the frozen lake. Driver overcorrects to compensate for the wind, and the wind fucks with him by suddenly stopping completely, causing the car to veer sharply towards the right. Driver corrects for this as well and, lightly punches the gas to power to the left and out of the spin. The wind is a complete douche and gusts again at full strength, forcing the car perpendicular to the road (facing the guardrail, et. al.) "Checkmate" laughs the wind, and scuttles merrily off, leaving our characters to their calamitous fate...
Cut briefly to interior of car:
Him: (calmly) Sarah...
Her: (not as calmly) Holy Shit!
Him: I know...
Her: FUUUUUUUUUUUU...
Cut to exterior:
Angle is from behind and slightly to the side of the car, facing out over the lake. From this view, the immensity of the lake becomes more apparent and dwarfs our characters and their drama.
Camera focuses in on scene:
The tiny red car punches through the guardrail as though it were paper, hangs midair for what seems like an eternity, then hurtles down the embankment, which may have looked like a 35 degree slope from afar but to the occupants of the car feels like, oh, I don't know, lets say about 82 degrees at least. And a half. And is covered in loose igneous shale like rocks and did I mention that ultimately there is a frozen lake to contend with and there it is, through the blowing snow there it fucking is flying right at us and wow, fuck Tori Amos for this...I mean, really...talk about rude...
And KERSPLIFF! the tiny red car blasts through a final snowbank in a crystalline explosion
And WHAM! slams into the frozen lake on its drivers side, slides to the right, then the left, completes a few slow spins
And THIZZUMP! thumps back down on all four wheels
There is silence outside of the car. The plume of snow and exhaust created by the car's mad plunge hangs around for a second or two and then sprints crazily off across the lake. There is something green leaking from the engine.
Cut to interior of car:
Our driver is oddly grinning like an idiot, staring out the window to his left at nothing in particular. His hands are gripping the steering wheel with an intensity strange to his character. As we watch, he opens his mouth and then closes it without saying anything.
Our passenger has her hands above her head for no particular reason, in one hand the green paperback copy of Les Miserables. Her face is flushed and her hood has come off, revealing her wild blonde locks. Her eyes are closed.
Her: (continuing)....UUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!! Holyshitholyshitholyshit!
Him: ...yeah. Well...yeah. Holy shit indeed. (begins to put on his boots)
Cut to exterior:
As the two of them step out of the car, the rear bumper falls to the ground in a spray of powdery snow. Leaving both doors open, they circle the car in opposite directions. He pats her affectionately on the rear as they pass each other the first time and when they meet again, they silently lock hands. They continue to simply stare at the car for a few moments and then suddenly and simultaneously begin to babble.
Him: Wow. Did you see that? I mean, I know you saw it but holy shit, I thought we were dead but we're totally not deadholyshitthatwasintenseandbythewayfuckToriAmos, huh? What? Yeah, I mean, I don't know what to do now. What? Slow down. What?
Her: Oh my god wealmostdiedjustthenwhatarewegoingtodonow? Theres not even anybody on the road to help us and we're stuck and whatdoesToriAmoshavetodowithanything? Wehavetogetthecaroffthisstupidlakenowthatswhatwehavetodo nicejobEricwaytogowowwetotallyalmostdiedjustthenbutyouactuallyhandleditreallywellwow.
Wow.
A pause. He looks unenthusiastically towards the road, hoping to see someone coming but they actually haven't seen another car all day and so he looks away. He gazes around slowly as if trying to determine something. She stands beside him absently contemplating the mountains, her free hand making small fluttery movements.
Him: I guess I'll have to walk back to that last town...
Her: What?
Him: Nobody is going to come help us and we can't stay here. I mean, I guess we could. We have cheese and beer. We could just wait. No, I'll walk back there. You wait here.
Her: Dude, its like, fucking freezing out here. If you try to walk, you'll freeze to death. That's what always happens. We should both wait. There's cheese. And beer. There's some fruit too.
Him: That's not fruit, and anyway that is not what always happens. Sometimes it happens, yes, but fuck it, I'm just gonna go.
Her: Dude, that's stupid. What we should do is...
At this moment their pointless argument is interrupted by loud creaking sounds coming from the lake around them. There is a loud POP! and a miniscule but very ominous shift in the ice directly underneath them.
Him: ...fuck
Her: What the...?
Him: Go! Go! Go! Get off the ice! Go! We've got to go!!!
He begins carefully and rapidly pulling her towards what he assumes is the shore although everything is under a blanket of snow and he could just as easily be pulling her to a deeper spot in the lake. She acquiesces demurely for a few faltering steps and then stops. He turns to her, a panicked expression on his face.
Cue music, hopeful violin swelling as she speaks into an inspiring orchestral piece.
Her: (looking squarely into his eyes) Eric, I know I said you were driving like a retard before... and you were, but that's not the point. The point is all our shit is in the car and we're going to freeze to death without it and seriously, didn't you grow up in New Jersey? Can't you just drive off of this godforsaken lake? I believe in you, sweetheart. I know you can do it. Come on, baby...
Him: (His face is at first offended and slightly confused, and then, at her mention of New Jersey, he tilts it up and what light there is glints off of his noble glasses [which are sitting slightly askew]. He begins to nod.) yes. YES. Let's fucking do it.
As they move back towards the car, the creaking noises stop. And then resume much louder. And closer. Also there is some very loud groaning going on. And the POP! Remember that? That is starting to happen a lot more too. Shit is getting serious. They jump into the car and he turns the key. Nothing. He tries again. Still nothing. On the third try he is able to start the car and slams it into gear, but the tires just spin. There is no traction. He shifts into reverse, hits the gas. Nope. Nothing doing. Tears are welling up in her eyes. He grits his teeth, and, looking into the rearview mirror, sees part of the lake behind them suddenly rise up and then settle back down. He wisely doesn't tell her this. Shifting from first to reverse and back again, he is able to rock the car into movement, slowly at first, but gradually building up momentum. Finally! They are moving at about 35 miles an hour when behind them, a huge fissure begins to open up in the lake. This crack, this rift of doom, this ungodly portend of their fragile mortality is snaking towards the little red car at approximately 50 miles an hour. They both see it. The whites of their eyes are showing.
Her: Um...
Him: I know...I'm trying...faster....(falls to mumbling)
Her: (quietly facing death) I just want you to know I love you
Him: (continues mumbling)
The little red car has picked up speed, to about 60 miles an hour. The sinister ice chasm has also, unfortunately, picked up speed as well, to about 65 miles an hour. They are racing along the embankment parallel to the highway but sadly, 8 feet below it and its a steep motherfucking 8 feet that the piece of shit car will not be able to ascend. The end is nigh. What to do?
Him: ...hold on, Slick
He steers the little red car out towards the center of the lake for a couple dozen yards to gain some room for the turn and then, with a little more sauce, whips it back so it is gunning for the embankment. They brace for impact. There is naught else to do.
Miraculously, and with painful crunching sounds from the undercarriage, the little red car makes the steep grade, plowing through the guardrail from the lake side this time. The demon rift realizes it has been vanquished and peters out into no more than a white line in the blue ice.
The little red car is unable to turn fully onto the highway and WHANGS! off of the guardrail on the other side. The passenger side mirror disintegrates into oblivion. There is some spinning. The car comes to a stop. Something falls off of it. And then there is silence. Snow suddenly, lightly, begins to fall.
Him: ...hmmm....ahhhhhh...well. Wow.
Her: Yeah...right...wow.
Staring blindly out the cracked windshield, his hand gropes around the crate, fishing for a bottle of schnapps. He cracks the lid and hands it to her. She accepts the bottle without a word, takes a mighty swig, hands it back. He looks at it, looks at her, takes an even mightier swig. They sit in silence for a while and then drive on.
End scene
Monday, September 15, 2008
Little Boy Blue and the Man In The Moon...
...so I suck at writing consistently in this here blog. Or, to be more to the specific point, I suck at working 10 hours a day 6-7 days a week and then trying to write in this here blog. I have stuff to say, believe that, and during the day while I'm leaning on a jackhammer or scrabbling through crawlspaces and attics I write the most magnificent displays of internet journalism you have ever seen...we're talking crisp meets juicy, sour meets sweet, genius meets meretricious witty spot on thrilltastic as only the P-borg can deliver material, people...Sadly, it is only in my head and by the time I get home and showered up its all I can do to open a beer and check to see if the Yankees are done losing yet (more on that later) and I fear you, my loyal constituency, end up shorted and left alone in the dark yet again. I am sorry about this, I truly am...and I will make it right, I promise.
How's this for starters?
http://www.wherethehellismatt.com/videos.shtml
Don't just watch the video...you need to read all about this lucky mother and his good ideas...
See you in a week or two...
Thank you Liz for the link and I am truly sorry I missed your wedding...
How's this for starters?
http://www.wherethehellismatt.com/videos.shtml
Don't just watch the video...you need to read all about this lucky mother and his good ideas...
See you in a week or two...
Thank you Liz for the link and I am truly sorry I missed your wedding...
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