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“Undead Men Walking” Script
Story Title: “Undead Men Walking”
For: Vampires Book 1. Type O Negative: Blood Drive.
By: Brady Sullivan
Page 1-
1- Ext. Large menacing prison. Barbed wire on the fences. Sunset.
2- Int. Warden’s Office
A large, regal office. The office is dark except for a sliver of light coming from a crack of opened curtains. There is a huge wooden desk in front of the window. There is a darkened figure sitting in a chair behind the desk. This is The Warden. The office is full of books, a globe, a computer and other things that might be in a Warden’s office.
WARDEN
Come in Theodore, I can smell you out there. What, have you come to tender your resignation as well?
3- Theodore, a thin vampire wearing glasses, is standing in the middle of the room addressing The Warden. He looks nervous.
THEODORE
Oh no sir, nothing of the sort. Pardon the intrusion, I know you hate to be disturbed, but you should know that Prisoner 6172 is about to be brought to the execution chamber.
4- A tight shot of the Warden. He is still just a shadowy figure, but he is allowing his hand to drift towards the sliver of light from the window behind him so we can see details of his hand and arm.
WARDEN
I always know when one of my inmates is headed down the red mile. I’ll be down.
5- The same tight shot as 4, but now the Warden’s pointer finger is in the sliver of light and beginning to smoke.
WARDEN
Someone has to remind them of their table manners. Anything else?
6- A closer shot of Theodore. He looks concerned.
THEODORE
Well, there is talk sir. Claiming this prison when the blood bath began was a stroke of brilliance, sir, but there are only 7 prisoners left. 6 in a few moments.
7- Tight shot of the Warden. He is lighting a cigar clenched between his fangs with his now flaming pointer finger. We can now see his face clearly as it glows. He has a thin mustache and a scar over one eye. The eye with the scar is also completely white, as he is blind in it.
WARDEN
I’m well aware that our personal pantry here grows bare, Theodore. I’ll deal with it. Have some faith.
Page 2-
1- Int. Cell block of the prison
A long shot of an abandoned looking cell block. All of the cells are empty. Near the end of the block are two vampire guards (wearing prison guard uniforms) holding a human prisoner. One guard is on each side of him. The human is in a prison jumpsuit and handcuffs.
PRISONER
Please…you don’t have to do this! I’ll….I’ll give you guys a fresh pint every day! 2 pints!
2- A tighter shot of the two vampire guards leading the prisoner. The prisoner is extremely distraught and the vampires look annoyed.
VAMPIRE GUARD #1
Would you stop whining?
PRISONER
Just make me one of you! I’ll be an asset! I’m a team player!
VAMPIRE GUARD #2
Ugh, you humans have it easy. At least your food can’t beg in english.
3- In the foreground of this shot we see two limp feet dangling. A human prisoner has hung himself in his cell. Through the cell bars in the background we see the two vampire guards and the prisoner in the cell block looking in, shocked.
VAMPIRE GUARD #1
Oh you gotta be kidding me! Not another one! Get someone to cut this meat down. His blood is smelling stale in there already.
PRISONER
Oh Jesus…oh my god…
4-Reverse angle of the last show. Now we are back in the cell block focused on the guards and prisoner. In the background we can see the dead prisoner hanging in his cell. Vampire Guard #1 looks furious and is holding out a roll of duct tape, pulling off a strip. The prisoner looks terrified. Vampire Guard #2 has a stern look on his face and is on a walkie talkie.
VAMPIRE GUARD #2
Hey, Jorge, we got another dangler in cell 57. Mind getting down here for a juicing? He aint too fresh, but I guess we can’t be too picky.
VAMPIRE GUARD #1
And I’ve had enough of your yapping. If I wanted my food to make noise I’d eat a bowl of rice krispies.
PRISONER
No! I swear I’ll…
5- The two guards with their backs to us. They are dragging the prisoner behind them by his arms. He now has tape on his mouth and a horrified look on his face. His legs are sticking straight out and dragging, as though he is trying anything to resist being pulled. They are walking towards a door. The sign above the doorway reads “Executions.”
VAMPIRE GUARD #1
Ah, silence truly is a virtue.
PRISONER
Mmm! Mmm!
VAMPIRE GUARD #2
And so is feeding the hungry. This guy’s going out a real saint.
Page 3-
1- Int. Execution chamber
A tight shot of Sheila, a sexy female vampire. She has a mischievous grin. Behind her we see a couple of other vampires.
SHEILA
The state has found this human male guilty of being…delicious. Who will read the final prayer before he is sent to meet his maker?
2- Large panel showing a much wider area of the execution room. The prisoner is strapped to the apparatus they use for lethal injections. It looks kind of like an almost upright hospital bed. Leather straps are around his wrists, ankles and head. Tape still on his mouth. He is crying. Sheila, the two guards and 4 other vampires are around him. A large vampire, short vampire, piereced/punk vampire and another.
VAMPIRE GUARD #1
Ok, guess it’s my turn…hem hem… “From birth unto death, first breath to last, here’s to hoping you don’t give us gas.”
VAMPIRE GUARD #2
Warden?
3- The Warden looking in from behind a pane of glass. He is in the viewing room for when families of victims could watch the executions. There are some splatters of blood from previous executions on the glass. He has a serious look on his face.
WARDEN
That rhyme still tickles you after all this time? Yes, go ahead. Dig in.
4- A vampire biting into the prisoners neck, blood spurting. The prisoner looks shocked.
5- Two vampires biting into one of the prisoner’s arms. Again lots of blood.
6- A vampire biting into the prisoner’s stomach and pushing another vampire who is going for the same section aside. They both look savage.
7- A tighter shot of the Warden. A sneer on his face. Theodore is standing behind him in the viewing room.
WARDEN
Look at them, fighting over his carcass like a pack of wolves. We don’t have to be animals.
THEODORE
Well, the comparison is apt, we do operate best in packs.
WARDEN
Hmph. So they say.
Page 4-
1- The group of now bloody vampires standing around the ravaged corpse (which has to be missing at least one hand) that they just feasted on. Some are wiping their faces, some licking their fingers. One vampire is concerned. The one that answers looks like a punk with many piercings.
CONCERNED VAMPIRE
We probably should have left more than scraps for the Warden…
PIERCED VAMPIRE
Whatever. I’d say it’s every vamp for themselves at this point. I’m probably taking off soon anyway.
2- The Warden walks into the execution chamber through a doorway, everyone is now paying attention to him. The slurping sound comes from off-panel.
WARDEN
Another jumping ship? Good luck out there. Hope you find enough squirrels to drink. As for the rest of us, it’s time to discuss our next move. We’ve been living large in this prison for some time now, and the world out there isn’t…
OFF PANEL
ssllluurrpppp…ahh..mmm
3- A vampire squatting in the corner, looking down. He is gripping one of the prisoner’s hands and chewing/sucking on it.
SQUATTING VAMPIRE
hmm…slllurpp..mwar-
4- Very tight shot of the Warden looking down giving an extremely intimidating, pissed off scowl.
5- The squatting vampire, now looking up with a nervous, bloody grin on his face.
SQUATTING VAMPIRE
Heh..sorry boss. Rest is for you.
6- The Warden is back to addressing the group of vampires.
WARDEN
As I was saying, the world out there is different. As we relaxed in here dining on criminals, our brethren have been waging a war against the humans. And prevailing. We may have to travel farther than expected for our next watering hole, so to speak. I’m open to any information those of you who have gone scouting may have for us.
Page 5-
1- A large vampire now speaks up. Next to him there is a shorter vampire glancing up at him.
LARGE VAMPIRE
From what I’ve seen, every human within at least a hundred miles has been sucked dry, turned, or is hiding damn well.
SHORTER VAMPIRE
What about the bank?
LARGE VAMPIRE
That’s only rumor.
2- A wider shot of the room so that we can see more of the group, including the large vampire and the Warden, who are now speaking. The Warden has one hand resting on his chin and one on his hip, although he is pondering a deep question.
WARDEN
There’s a kernel of truth in most rumors. Out with it.
LARGE VAMPIRE
Some nomadic brothers I crossed paths with while scouting mentioned rumor of an untapped blood bank in a small town East of here. They figured it for a possible vampire hunters’ trap.
WARDEN
Hmm. I would like to make a withdrawal from that bank. Trap or not, either way that’s fresh blood. We search tomorrow night.
3- The punk looking vampire with piercings has a smirk on his face. Sheila, the sexy vampire, has a grumpy look on her face and is punching the punk vampire in the arm.
SHEILA
I’ll lead a search party towards the southeast.
PIERCED VAMPIRE
You sure that’s a good idea? If we trust Sheila to sniff it out she’ll probably lead us to a sperm bank.
SHEILA
Pig. Why don’t you go out tanning tomorrow? You could use some sun.
4- The Warden sniffing the air, almost like a dog that smells something, his nose pointed towards the sky and sticking his neck out. Another bloody vampire next to him is shrugging his shoulders.
WARDEN
That’s enough you two. Bickering will get us nowhere. Tomorrow night we will each take a…wait. I smell blood.
VAMPIRE
Well, prisoner 6172 is still dripping from our faces…
5- A very tight shot of the Warden’s face. He has a stone cold look on his face.
WARDEN
No, this is a new taste. Maybe 2 miles away. Theodore, Sheila, come with me. The rest of you, clean this mess up.
6- The remaining vampires stand around the corpse, looking down at the bloody mess. One speaks up.
VAMPIRE
Anything left in that thigh?
Page 6-
1- Ext. Deserted rural highway, night
The highway has some fields and a few trees surrounding it. There are abandoned cars and some garbage on the road. There is a group of three humans (two men and one woman) on the road. They are dressed in dirty layers. Man #1 is looking in one of the abandoned cars. Woman is walking. Man #2 is holding his bleeding hand.
MAN #1
Come on, there’s gotta be a first aid kit in one of these cars. Just some gauze or something.
MAN #2
Come on man, you guys have got to–
WOMAN
Oh hush, you know we’re not doing that so stop brining it up!
2- Tight shot of the Man #2′s bleeding hand. There is a large gash in it that we can see despite a rag tied around the hand. The rag and hand are soaked in blood. Word bubble coming from off-panel.
MAN #2
No! You have to listen! I have hemophilia, this isn’t going to stop bleeding! You should have left me as soon as I cut it! I’m walking bait for those things!
3- Man #1 is no longer looking in the car and is gesturing towards Man #2. The woman is scolding man #1, pointing her finger at him in an accusing fashion with a grumpy look on her face.
MAN #1
Maggie, as horrible as it is, he does have a point. We’ve seen how they–
WOMAN
No! We are not leaving him to bleed to death alone because he nicked his hand on a fence! As far as we know those things abandoned this area months a–
4- In the foreground is the back of Man #1′s head. He is looking toward the sky, where we see three dark figures flying towards us.
MAN #1
Talk about jinxing us! We got sky sharks on us! Grab the supplies!
5- Warden, Sheila and Theodore landing on the highway dramatically with sinister grins on their faces.
SHEILA
Well, well, well. Looks like we’ve got a three course meal.
Page 7-
1- Man #1 lunging at Sheila with a wooden stake in his hand. She is dodging his attack with a smile on her face.
MAN #1
Get away from us monster!
SHEILA
Oh look, they were nice enough to bring toothpicks for us to clean them out of our fangs with.
2- The Warden holding up Man #2 by the throat, about to throw him. Man #2 looks terrified, the Warden has a serious look on his face. Man # 2 has a stake in his non-bloody hand.
WARDEN
Stop squirming, boy, you’re dripping our dinner all over the pavement. Be still.
3- Man # 2 slamming into one of the rusted cars from being thrown by the Warden. Glass is flying as he slams into it.
MAN #2
Ooof!
4- The woman human aiming a crossbow at Sheila, who has one hand on Man #1′s face and the other on his shoulder. The woman is angry/scared.
5- Sheila has now turned around and is holding Man #1 up by the shoulder with one arm to use him as a shield. An arrow is landing in his back with a “shunk” sound effect. He has a shocked look on his face.
SHEILA
Bullseye, little lady!
6- Distraught woman screaming as The Warden hovers behind her with his hands stretched out, about to wrap around her neck..
WOMAN
Nooo!Ron!
WARDEN
Don’t fret, you’ll be reunited soon enough.
Page 8-
1- Theodore is crouched down, looking through one of the human’s backpack’s in the foreground, pulling out a folded up piece of paper. He looks intrigued. In the background the rest of the scene we just saw is playing out, the Warden’s snapping the woman’s neck with a “snap.”
THEODORE
Hmm. Don’t kill the third! I need to talk to him!
2- Theodore leaning over Man #2, who is now badly bleeding all over, including from his mouth. He is still slumped against the car he was thrown into. Man #2 looks like he is about to pass out. Theodore is stern and holding out the piece of paper, which is a map, for Man #2 to see.
THEODORE
Tell me, what is this “Camp” you have marked West of here?
MAN #2
Heh…I’m…I’m not telling you a thing….
THEODORE
We’ll spare you if you give us information we desire. This could work out nicely for you.
3- A different angle of Theodore leaning over Man #2. Man #2 looks distraught.
MAN #2
Yeah…cause if you don’t eat me…I’ll be just fine…
THEODORE
I’ll turn you. You can join us, you’ll be immortal. But we need the details.
MAN #2
Aww…oh god…fine, fine…it’s a survivor’s camp…cloaked in the woods…supposedly150 or more…
4- Theodore with a big grin on his face, turning to tell the Warden the news. This is a tight shot of just his shoulders and up, we can’t see his chest. There is a “shunk” sound effect after the word bubble to represent an arrow going into his unseen chest.
THEODORE
You hear that?! You were right about having faith! A camp that big will feed us for at least a few more months! Wait till the oth–
5- Theodore, devastated and shocked, looking down at the arrow in his chest. It is lodged exactly where his heart is. His hands are stretched out a bit with his palms facing up, as though he is gesturing “why?”
THEODORE
Wha…why….
6- Sheila is lying on the ground, dead, with a stake through her heart.
WARDEN (off-panel)
Yes, it would indeed feed our group for months…
7- The Warden with a big grin on his face. He is holding the crossbow and is standing over all the bodies on the ground.
WARDEN
So imagine what a buffet it will be for one.
END
Orcas Island
(Written for a nonfiction course)
“Welcome to Orcas Island,” said the ferry captain over a muffled intercom. I was thirteen at the time and happily leaning over the ferry railing, watching the water below churned by massive motors. The small, forested island we approached looked like something out of a Thomas Kinkade painting, with only one building visible from shore. On our drive across the island we only passed through one tiny town. There were buildings simply marked as “convenience store” and “toy shop.” Beyond this one modest town there was an absence of any human life as we continued on. Large sprawling fields with cows grazing surrounded us. Only the road we drove on and an occasional crooked, rotting fence gave testament to civilization. Spoiled by years of vacations to theme parks and tourist destinations, my sister and I were less than ecstatic about this stop on our trip and equally ungrateful for the beauty that flashed through our windows. After twenty minutes or so of driving we saw the sign we were looking for hidden behind an overgrown bush: my grandma’s maiden name, “Nordstrom.” We turned down the long dirt road and headed towards the one house at the end of the stretch. The house belonged to my great aunt and uncle, Peg and Gene, whom I had never met. They lived on this small island off the coast of Washington for their entire lives and never knew any different than their country lifestyle.
We climbed a set of deteriorating stairs, seemingly ready to collapse at any moment, to reach their front door. My mom rang the doorbell. No response. She rang it again. No response. I was getting excited by the prospect that they would never answer their door. I would have been more than happy to spend the evening in the hotel pool. She rang it a third time. This time we heard some sounds from inside the house; footsteps towards the door. Finally the door was opened by Peg, wearing a collared blouse, jeans, and orthopedic shoes. I was taken aback by how much she looked like my grandmother, yet acted so differently. “Have you been waiting here long?” she asked apologetically. Her voice sounded like it was a badly dubbed cassette, only segments of words actually audible. “I couldn’t hear the bell over the TV, Gene’s watchin’ wrasslin.”
As Peg led us into the house I choked on the thick smoke in the air. My parents had warned me that my relatives smoked, but entering the house I would have guessed they were barbequing indoors. We made our way past walls covered in hundreds of framed photos to a small family room. Three elderly men were huddled around a television watching wrestling, never taking their eyes off of the screen until the match was over. They occupied two small maroon couches covered with a variety of different sized cigarette burns. On the coffee table was an ashtray that was already overflowing. Peg pointed out the balding man with a large beer belly on the left and introduced us: “This is your uncle Gene, my husband.” He wore a pair of paint covered jeans, a long sleeved thermal shirt, and a snow vest. When we greeted him with a cheerful hello we were only responded to with a mumble that resembled “hey.” He was a quiet man, rarely speaking the entire evening, and mumbling almost incoherently when he did. Peg continued, “Next to him is his friend Phil. He just dropped by to deliver some cartons of cigarettes he bought for us at the Indian Reservation. They’re a lot cheaper there you know.” Phil was a slender old man with gray hair wearing a stained and tattered leisure suit. Finally Peg introduced us to a short old man wearing a yellow polo shirt and brown corduroy pants. “This is your great uncle Carl, my brother.” Carl asked Peg who we were and she explained it to him slowly. My grandmother had told me that Carl was not the sharpest man and that his memory was fading.
Sluggishly an overweight dog waddled into the room. “Oh, look. Here comes Carl’s dog.” The dog came to a slow stop in front of us and lazily wagged its tail. I asked Carl what the dog’s name was but his response was a few “ums” followed by a blank faced silence. “Blue!” Peg exclaimed, “His dog’s name is Blue.” I began to pet the dog and noticed that the hairs on its back were a strange reddish brown color, like the tanbark under a jungle gym, and were in stiff clumps. When I inquired about this oddity, Peg chuckled as she explained what had happened a few weeks prior: “Carl was painting his deck and Blue was lying on it next to him. He didn’t even notice that Blue was there and just painted him like the rest of the deck. You believe that? Carl let this dog get fat in the same way. He forgets whether he fed the damn thing or not so feeds it five or six times a day.”
Just as we were sitting down Phil began to explain who he was and why he was there and how he knew my family and every other aspect of his life. “When I first met Gene in the military,” he told us, “he was in a full body cast, face and everything, from an injury on the base. For the first month of our friendship I didn’t know what an ugly bastard he was!” The whole room laughed at his story except for Carl. Phil began hacking and coughing from laughing so hard at the story he had surely told hundreds of times before. He lit another cigarette; a reward for his fine joke. Half the cigarette was turned to ash after only one inhalation. This guy was a pro. He took out one of his newly acquired cartons from the reservation and admired the art on the box: a drawing of a scantily clad young vixen. “I buy these cigarettes because of the box,” Phil giggled, “Sometimes I bring them into bed and end up burning a hole in my sheets.” In case old Phil decided to in any way elaborate on his most recent anecdote I asked my sister if she would like to join me to explore the large backyard. She eagerly accepted.
Peg gave us some bread and instructed us to throw it into the pond in their backyard, so we naturally assumed we would encounter some sort of water foul. We approached the pond, bread in hand, and tried to think of any reason why we would throw bread into the serene body of water. No ducks or geese were in sight. Finally I tossed a slice into the pond. It floated on the surface, slowly beginning to sink as it absorbed water and became a soggy, crumbling sponge. Suddenly, like a scene from Jaws, the bread was dragged under by an invisible force in the water, only waves, ripples and a few drifting morsels left behind. Rhythmically sending slices into the water, birthing one feeding frenzy after another, I briefly considered what a dramatic change my grandmother submitted herself to. This was her life. Yet at eighteen she said good bye to it all and moved to San Francisco alone. We continued this process of tossing bread until Peg joined us and explained the school of fish in the water that loved bread. Without hesitation she threw an entire loaf into the pond and cackled gleefully as it was devoured just as quickly. “Yeah we gots lotsa wildlife round here,” Peg continued, a broad smile still across her face, “There’s a family of coons that live in these trees. I feed ‘em cat food.” She continued on about the “coons” for a few minutes until she finally remembered why she had come outside: “Oh yeah, dinner’s ready.”
We were served pre-cooked chicken from the only grocery store in town, corn cooked so long that the colonels had grown pale and shriveled, and the same bread we threw at the fish. Peg asked if we would like milk with dinner, and after saying yes I silently prayed that it would be cow milk. In the corner of the cluttered kitchen Carl was filling his plate with pieces of bread, neatly stacking them like flapjacks. Phil was still in the kitchen as well, picking chicken off the bones, eating it, licking all the flavor off his fingers, and then proceeding to pick at the chicken some more. As I was about to take my first sip of milk I noticed a lipstick stain on the side of the glass. I didn’t drink anything the rest of the night.
The stiff, dry brownies we had for dessert had large clumps of powder where the batter had not been stirred. I glanced over into the kitchen and saw Gene eating his brownie over the sink, crumbs tumbling down his ski vest onto the dirty dishes below. He still had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he ate and a beer in his other hand. After getting his fill, Phil stood up and announced he had to be on his way with a grand announcement to the room. “Well, it’s my wife Lucy’s birthday today so I guess I should get home and spend some time with her. I got it pretty covered though; I bought a stuffed deer for five bucks on the reservation and put a bow on it.” We walked out to the porch and bid farewell to Phil. He got into his darkened car and lit a cigarette in his mouth, illuminating the interior, before heading down the long dirt road. After our own good byes we followed suit.
The next morning we were leaving the island and heading up to Canada to finish our vacation in a destination I found infinitely more exciting than the small town life we had endured: Vancouver. In my adolescent brain the visit with relatives had felt like going on errands with your mom before a final trip to the toy store. We stopped by Peg and Gene’s to say our final good byes, but found no one there. The only other place they would possibly be was Carl’s, so we traveled a few miles east until we found another long dirt road that led to Carl’s house. I noticed that the haphazardly applied reddish brown paint looked much better on the porch than on the dog. Sure enough Peg and Gene were there having breakfast. Peg was ecstatic to see us again. Carl didn’t remember who we were. After spending a few minutes chatting we began to say our good byes and Peg promised that they would come to visit us some time soon. “I can’t wait,” I sighed. And I actually meant it.
An Open Letter to the Pope
Dear the Pope,
Hello your lordship, thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to read my letter (if there was a “ring kissing” emoticon I would have inserted it here). I just had a few questions about Catholicism I was hoping you could clear up.
What happens if I pour holy water in a Brita water filter? Will the little calcified balls that develop in the filter be pure, condensed holy spirit? Can I just throw those away or do I have to do dispose of them in a special way like batteries? Because that’s a pain in the ass. I may even re-think my whole church based water-theft scheme.
If I choke on communion, do I get a free pass to heaven? Because according to you folks that stuff is literally the body of Jesus, so that would be choking on Jesus. I bet he would feel awful bad about that. Unless he knows what’s in my basement. Can he see through concrete? I always forget his powers.
Speaking of that, if the wine you serve in mass is transformed into the blood of Christ through crazy priest incantations, why don’t you buy a shitload of cheap wine at Costco, get a couple priests doing the voo-doo double time and open up a blood transfusion clinic? Think of how many fancy hats you can get with that blood money. It’s like a bottomless collection basket, I’m telling you! Then again, maybe J.C. has a special holy trinity blood type that only his pops and the Holy Ghost share with him.
Can you make it so that confessionals are set up like drive-thrus? I think I would be a lot more likely to confess my sins on a regular basis if I did not have to get out of my car. And instead of the priest giving you like 10 Hail Marys and 2 Our Fathers when you finish, maybe you get fries and a large soda? And also instead of a church it’s an In-N-Out Burger?
One last thing: would you mind testifying on my behalf in court on the 21st? Just tell them we were skeet shooting or something on January 18th. You’re infallible so they will have to believe you. And since everything you speak is the truth, it technically wouldn’t be lying. Please? I can’t cover the plane fare, but after the trial I’ll buy you a beer or something. I mean you own a city, I think you can afford a ticket in coach. Don’t be so fucking cheap. Man, now I don’t even want to have a beer with you.
Thank you again for your time and please don’t send me to hell with one of your enchantments.
Rejected Carols
(This is something I wrote out of boredom some time last year and just re-discovered.)
Jim,
Sorry for the delayed response, but I’ve had a full plate in recent months. Despite the fact that the holiday season is long behind us, I felt it only polite to get back to you about your various pitches for holiday albums and songs for our recording artists. Because we solicited everyone in the office as well as the artists themselves for ideas, most did not make the cut. Unfortunately, as you well know, that refers to all of yours. I’ll just briefly let you know why each was passed on. I feel it’s only fair.
-We loved your idea of getting popular young artists to record a song or album for our Jewish consumers. However, having Miley Cyrus and Norah Jones release a duet as “Hanukkah Montanukkah” and “Menorah Jones” is never going to happen. We felt that your inclusion of “The Jewness Brothers” was also ridiculous, but their management has actually shown interest for next year. Everyone, however, felt like “Dr. Dreidel” was just over the top. You seemed more interested in puns at that point than genuine ideas.
-We treasure our country artists and understand that many of them and their fans are not pleased with the results of the 2008 election, but your proposed re-write of “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” was highly offensive.
-Kid Rock is obviously one of the greatest musical artists of his generation, so at first we were thrilled with the concept of a Christmas music video of him singing “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” But dressing up “that midget he owns” (your words) as an elf in the video is something that we are not comfortable with. This is because it seems both exploitative and derogatory, but mostly because he is dead. I did not even read your new lyrics for the song, but the spelling of “coming” in the title alone was inappropriate.
-Do I even have to tell you that your original rap composition, “My **** is Baby Jesus and Your ***** is the Manger,” is offensive on several levels?
I would also like to take this opportunity to remind you that you do not work here and that we would really appreciate it if you stopped sleeping in our stairwell.
Thanks again,
Timothy Reynolds
VP of Marketing
Another Universe
(An essay I wrote for a nonfiction course)
There was a hideous creature hobbling my way. I only saw it out of the corner of my eye, but I could tell it was coming in my direction. Upon closer inspection, it was a short woman (five feet at the most), chubby to the point of almost round, and dressed in a black skin tight uniform. A thick layer of prosthetic make up was smeared over the top of her face. I had never watched Star Trek in my life, but I recognized her costume as an attempt at a Klingon. With the prosthetic forehead peeling off her sweaty skin and the stringy black wig ratted and tangled into knots, she looked more like a guest on the Maury Povich show than an ambassador from a fierce but noble alien race. Her black glove was stained silver from gripping her spray painted space pistol in the summer heat. I began to follow her, certain she would lead me to my destination.
As I approached the convention center, I became uneasy about walking in. I knew nothing of stolen plans or missing droids, but the crowd of Stormtroopers gathered around the entrance made me nervous. There was easily thirty of them swarmed around the doors. Surveying the crowd of oddly shaped Imperial troops, I assumed the Empire had relaxed its standards to bolster its troop numbers. They did have a Death Star to fill after all. After making it past forty feet of white plastic suits and the pungent aroma of excessive Old Spice used to keep them fresh, I finally made it into the hall.
That was the first time I ever attended a Comic Con. It has since become an annual pilgrimage. The convention began in San Diego in 1970 as a small gathering of three hundred comic book enthusiasts. In the nearly forty years since its birth the operation has exploded, becoming the largest convention of it’s kind. Crowds of over 120,000 descend upon downtown San Diego for five days of unadulterated pop culture indulgences. It has become a major stop for any studio with a movie they want to sell to the coveted young male demographic, leading to countless celebrities passing through the halls. But at its heart, Comic Con still belongs to the nerds.
The convention floor was a sight to behold. Comic books, toys, statues, autographs, DVDs, props and everything else a con attendee could possibly want filled booths to the brim. The crowds worked their way through the aisles like a colorful and un-athletic ant farm. That’s the most noticeable element of Comic Con: the people. A more eclectic and enthusiastic group of outcasts there may not be. Adding to the spectacle, many decide to dress like their favorite fictional characters, making the hall a living wax museum of pop culture, but one unable to afford the best of sculptors. The problem with dressing up as most comic characters is that on the page the costumes look great, but in the real world it’s a different story. Especially when slapped on the body of the average Comic Con attendee.
In the lobby a man dressed completely in cardboard boxes painted to look like a transformer was being led to the bathroom by another dressed entirely in black and carrying a sword; presumably his seeing eye ninja. The Transformer got stuck on his way in, unable to force his square-like bulk through the narrow passage. Finally he turned and passed through sideways, moving on to the even more insurmountable task ahead of him in the rest room.
At first the experience of walking the aisles was overwhelming. Huge throngs of people flow endlessly, threatening to sweep you away if you do not time your movements correctly. At one point I came across a huge group of people gathered around a booth. When I asked someone what they were waiting for, he responded “I don’t know, but it’s gotta be good.” I had my mind set on making it to one booth in particular, so I decided not to stay and see. Using the provided guide and the direction of a helpful Green Lantern, the way to my chosen aisle was arrived upon. I thought it polite to tell the middle aged man in the emerald spandex that it was the best Green Lantern costume there by far. The blonde guy’s in the lobby was actually much better.
I began to make my way to booth 1214. Like a salmon swimming upstream, I moved against the river of people flowing the opposite way. Once there I joined the already formed line. If you want to do anything at Comic Con besides walk around, you will find yourself in a multitude of lines. The large man in front of me had a long ponytail and smelled of mildew and Fritos. His backpack was covered in a variety of pins emblazoned with “Han shot first!”, “Beam me up Scotty!” and other sci-fi catchphrases. At least it was something to read in line. Finally he made it to the front and it was his time to meet Stan Lee, the creator of Spider-Man, the X-Men, the Hulk and dozens of other instantly recognizable comic book characters. Stan formed Marvel Comics in his own vision, creating an entire comic book universe that is still the financial juggernaut of the industry. Needless to say he is a living legend. My eyes rolled as the pony tailed man stuttered and gushed to Stan, telling him that he was a god and asking him specific questions about things the poor eighty two year old man would never remember. He stepped away and it was my turn to approach the cheerful old man. With tinted prescription glasses and a trademark white mustache, the spry senior citizen acted like the true recipient of a “World’s Greatest Grandpa” mug on a sugar rush. He eagerly shook my trembling hand, never letting his genuine smile drop. All I could manage was, “Wow, it’s, uh, amazing to meet you. Thanks for all the, uh, entertainment you’ve given me. Could you, uh, sign this, um, comic?” I could feel the eyes rolling behind me.
There was a slow realization of how bizarre and interesting walking around Comic Con truly was. You could take a picture with four guys dressed up as authentic Ghostbusters just for the hell of it. Then, ten feet later, find yourself face to face with Ernie Hudson from Ghostbusters as he signed autographs. This was thanks to “Autograph Alley,” the section of the convention floor dedicated to B, C and D list celebrities sitting behind tables for hours on end, trying to sell glossy photos and even charging for taking pictures with someone else’s camera. It’s resonable that they try to pull in cash any way they can, because the sad row of tables might as well be called “The Valley of Stalled Careers.” Chewbacca, the original Lois Lane, some guy who had a green face on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and many other thespians you barely remember fill the seats and resentfully sell a nostalgia act in order to make a living. It’s hard to imagine that any of them, while diligently working through drama courses, imagined that their careers would culminate in making change for a twenty. Ernie Hudson was the only one that seemed to love it. He happily recorded “Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters!” as a fan’s outgoing cell phone message.
While making my way past a booth entirely dedicated to Pac Man items, I was distracted from the bright yellow piles by a voice managing to lift itself over the incessant murmur of thousands. “Everything fifty percent off! Come and get it people.” I started to follow the voice, both out of intrigue and frugality. A declaration of this nature in these halls was like a Siren’s call. “I know I’m crazy! Come and rob me blind, it’s all half off!” The source of the booming ad campaign came from three aisles over in the form of a small, boisterous black woman. She sneezed, wiped her hand on her loose fitting Captain America tee shirt and then cupped her hands around her mouth once again. “Get your butts over here before my husband gets back! Fifty percent off!” A stoic faced man walked towards her, very seriously examining the contents of the booth. “Man, it don’t hurt to smile. This is a toy show, not a funeral. Have a little fun!”
Inside the booth I searched through a box of discounted books, looking for nothing in particular. After flipping through the contents I patiently waited for the small man in the Zorro costume next to me to finish with his box. After pausing a few times to consider certain covers, he finally offered the customary “Switch?” As we continued to systematically work our way through boxes side by side we compared items and asked one another to keep an eye out for certain titles buried in the boxes. There was something familiar about the exposed bottom half of Zorro’s face and the quiet, almost timid voice that it emitted. Grinning at his stack of books, Zorro told me to have a good time and went to pay the small woman, still loudly wooing potential customers. Weeks later, thanks to an Entertainment Weekly article, I realized that the man behind the Zorro mask was Spider-Man director Sam Raimi. Only at Comic Con.
The oddest borough in the Comic Con cityscape was shoved into the farthest corner. There adult film and magazine stars greeted fans and attempted to sell them DVDs and picture sets glorifying their naked visages. Wearing outfits that barely covered their most private of places and lifted their breasts to their chins, the adult actresses lined the aisle, calling for the men passing by to stop and chat. They had binders filled with photographs of themselves in a cornucopia of settings and outfits (which always managed to come off) for the crowd to peruse through. Each eight by ten came laminated, so any fluids that managed to find their way onto it, one way or another, could be cleaned up easily. It was not a dignified move on their part, but one the buyers surely appreciated anyway.
Most of the attendees avoided the aisle or moved through quickly, like children rushing through the bad part of town: curious enough to venture there, but eager to return to the right side of the tracks. Much akin to the adult comic section in the back of many comic stores, to many the porn aisle at any given con is seen as a shameful and embarrassing addition to what is otherwise a celebration of a beloved art form. However, there is also a substantial amount of individuals who hover in the section for great lengths of time, speaking with their favorite stars and buying a variety of laminated photos. No matter what the sophisticates who insist on calling all comics “graphic novels” or “serial art” may say, a ven diagram of interests featuring comics and porn would undeniably have a distinct overlap.
Back in the PG rated section of the hall I passed through the tables of artists but found it to be anything but family friendly. The area is reserved for comic book artists to draw whatever fans desire. As long as they also desired to give them money. I heard one artist complaining to another about this aspect of their work. How humiliating it was to whore himself out in such a way and comparing a sketch of Robin to turning tricks in an alley for crack money. Like the street-worn prostitute, he was eager to abandon his post. If only the money was not so good.
Back in the lobby I witnessed a group of Stormtroopers on break, revealing to the world what they looked like under the masks. One was a thin middle aged man with a comb over and a scraggily little goatee. Another could have easily been the brother of American Idol reject and media sensation William Hung. I chuckled as I made my way into the bathroom. Suddenly the imposing troops were just like everyone else there. Instead of standing at attention they were slouched and awkwardly apologized if someone bumped into them. While washing my hands the guy dressed as Indiana Jones at the sink next to me asked if I had seen the DC Comics booth. “Sure I did, it’s fantastic.” As we discussed it at great length I looked up into the mirror. Water splashed from the sink onto my Spider-Man tee-shirt and the plastic attendee badge dangling from my neck. The straps of my backpack were tugging at my shirt, weighed down by all the items, free and bought, I had acquired throughout the day. I watched my eyes widen as the revelation washed over me. These people I’ve been laughing at all day. I’m one of them.
I held the door for Indiana Jones and we headed back out into the fray together. Now that it has become such a commercial enterprise, the prospect of running into Robert Downey Jr. or Jessica Alba at the show can detract from what make it such a beautiful event. People with common interests, interests that they have been told their whole lives are weird or stupid, can come together in their natural element. More than that, someone in multi colored spandex talking about the state of the current Batman comic can feel absolutely normal. I breathed in the aroma of obscenely priced garlic fries and old comics and headed across the hall to say hi to Chewbacca.
Proof of God? Chris Elliott getting an Adult Swim show
Oh hey, this blog is back.
In news that should make any comedy nerd’s day, it was announced that Chris Elliott (you know, that guy from Groundhog Day and There’s Something About Mary) will be returning to television with his own series on Adult Swim entitled “Eaglehart.” According to Yahoo! News:
“Eagleheart” centers on a low-level television executive sent to Texas to produce an action series of the same name. He finds himself stuck in a never-ending power struggle with his temperamental star/creator/exec producer (Elliott), a veteran action star past his prime who uses the show as a soapbox for his right-wing politics and conservative paranoia.
Chris Elliott on Adult Swim?! I can’t see how anything but greatness will come from this. While his film and tv work over the past decade has been mostly guest spots on sitcoms and appearances in the Scary Movie franchise (do I even have to say he was the highlight of those trainwrecks?), those who remember his early work know of the genius that resides inside his balding head. And to make the news even better, Jason Woliner (“Human Giant” director and all around awesome comedy guy) has confirmed on his Twitter that he will be directing the pilot. With experimental shows like “Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!” and “Xavier: Renegade Angel” already on the network, it’s good to know that Elliott will not have to curb any of his weirdness.
For those unfamiliar with Elliott’s career, he began on the staff of “Late Night with David Letterman,” where he made himself many recurring roles as odd characters like “the guy under the seats” and his own bizarre interpretation of Marlon Brando, who always insisted on doing his banana dance. From there he went on to co-write and star in his own Fox sitcom, “Get a Life,” as a 30-something year old mildly psychotic paperboy who lived with his parents. The show pushed the limits of tv comedy and played with the sitcom format, so of course it was canceled. With “Get a Life” co-creator Adam Resnick, Elliott made his first attempt at writing/starring in a film, but after “Cabin Boy” flopped miserably (despite being hilarious) he was essentially banned from creating his own projects in showbiz. He has since written two very entertaining novels, The Shroud of the Thwacker and Into Hot Air.
Adult Swim as Ambassadors of Comedy
Adult Swim has given us some really great programming over the years. There are the old stand bys like “Space Ghost Coast to Coast” and “Sealab 2021″ (not to mention their save of “Home Movies” after it’s 5 episode run on UPN), but in recent years they have stepped up their programming even more, giving us fantastic shows like “Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!,” “Xavier: Renegade Angel,” and “Delocated” that have allowed Adult Swim to grow into more than just cartoons with weird/grown up humor. But they aren’t just focusing on original content these days, and it was recently announced that the original UK version of “The Office” will be airing on Adult Swim over the summer. Now there will finally be no good reason why every American hasn’t watched it.
“The Office” is joining a list of other great British comedies that Adult Swim has been allowing Americans to watch. Over the past couple of years they have aired “Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace,” “The Mighty Boosh,” and “Look Around You.” What do all three of these shows have in common? They’re all hilarious British comedies that have yet to come out on region 1 DVD. Luckily Adult Swim has stepped in so comedy nerds don’t have to invest in a Region 2 player just to give these series a shot.
Sadly, what makes the arrangement so special should be a given: they are just playing the episodes as they are. While every major network feels the need to re-make great British shows for American audiences, Adult Swim actually has enough faith in their fans to enjoy them in their original form.
Physical Comedy: Yay or Nay?
Is there room for physical comedy in the world of comedy snobbery? Or is it purely a realm of intellectual humor? Comedy of the mind over comedy of the body? I think Zach Galifianakis handled the issue best in the documentary “The Comedians of Comedy.”
Some physical comedy is atrocious and caters to the lowest common denominator, but I would sure rather watch Zach fall out of a chair over and over than listen to what passes for comedy on NPR most of the time.
Norm Macdonald: Talk Show Champion #1
Different comedians have different callings. Patton Oswalt was born for stand up. Phil Hartman was a natural sketch comedian. Norm Macdonald? As far as I’m concerned he was genetically engineered to be a talk show guest. The man knows how to creat an awkward/hilarious talk show moment like no other. So with that unnecessary intro out of the way, I present the first installment of “Norm Macdonald: Talk Show Champion.” This is perhaps Norm’s best known talk show appearance, and could very well be his funniest. It’s fairly lengthy and separated into 3 parts (which are all funny), but if you just want to see his now infamous mocking of Carrot Top and his movie “Chairman of the Board” in front of the co-star of that film, Courtney Thorne-Smith, click on part 3.
Stay tuned for more thrilling editions of “Norm Macdonald: Talk Show Champion” in the not too distant future.
