It's Oscars time. Somebody wake the Grouch.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Five Times the Torfivius

Well, I know I did not post much last week, and for that I feel a disgusted sort of stomach-sickness. Please understand, devoted readers of the Dictionary, that I was polishing the final draft of my Mark Northover screenplay. Yes, Mark Northover, our torfivious star of stage and screen! Things have changed since the first draft of the script, some of which I posted here previously. In particular, the original name of Mark Northover's character repulsed certain persons, though I can't for the life of me figure out why. I have changed it in the final draft to be more sensitive to the pansy-like wimpiness of weak persons.

Neverthemore, without further ado, here is a delicious sample of my upcoming Mark Northover smash hit, future Oscar contender, and heir to the throne of such hits as Amadeus and Stank: the Musical.

Edging Towards the Midnight Moisture Adventures
by
Nuffy Noe

EXT. NIGHT -- PUMPKIN FACTORY SHOWROOM

Salisbury Femininenapkinmaker and his trusty sidekick, Shoots McKills, enter the dank, dark, festering, smoke-laden showroom of the evil pumpkin factory, guns drawn.

Salisbury -- Remember, Shoots McKills, shoots first and mckills later.

Shoots -- I wish I could see over all these pumpkins. They are sort of blocking my line of sight. Being a fan of pumpkin pie and pumpkin-liver sausages, I would consider eating these pumpkins to get them out of the way, but I see that they are, in fact, hollowed out pumpkins full of elephant excrement.

Salisbury -- Just start shooting as soon as the you hear the klaxon which signals the missile launch.

Shoots -- I hear it! I hear it!

Shoots begins shooting in all directions, blasting pumpkins to pieces and filling Salisbury so full of lead that he poisons the earth's water supply when he slams to the fetid ground with a thud. When the smoke clears and the bullets are all spent, Shoots holsters his weapons and wipes two inches of grimy sweat-filth from his forehead.

Shoots -- Dang, I don't think I did hear that klaxon after all. Sorry, Salisbury. I'll buy you a new existence when I can get back to the Laboratory. And possibly a seven-layer burrito with extra mayonnaise.

Salisbury -- Too bad for you I am a robot. And I am not of this earth. And I am immortal. And I cannot be killed. *HISS*

Salisbury rises from the ground and stomps on Shoots McKills with his iron alien-robot foot, crushing him into the ground. It turns out Shoots McKills is actually a pile of melted golf club rubber handles, brought to evil life by a wicked sorcerer from the pits of moldiest Europe. The rubber splatters all over the ground beneath the iron boot.

Salisbury -- Now, it is time for the special dance.

Salisbury begins to have a toe-tapping good time in the pumpkin factory. Fade to pink.



Anyway, that is the very last scene of the movie, and, as you can see, it will save America from moral bakruptcy. Thank you. That is all.

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