Thursday, June 30, 2011

I Kissed a Black Girl and I Liked it


Well, I've finally done it. I've been fantasizing about "doing stuff" with a girl of the opposite race for quite some time now and finally - just a few nights ago - the fantasy finally became a reality.

It all went down at a Boston bar called The Pour House on Boylston Street. I was there with a couple friends and pretty liquored up from a forty of Natty Ice and a few Bud Lights that were thrown into the mix. It was probably a few minutes before last call and I saw a black girl dancing by the bar, kind of by herself, but I guess she must have been there with friends. She was cute and had a little frizzy Afro and seemed to be in a good mood. So I decided to chat her up a bit.

Granted, I was a little drunk, so I don't remember the details of our brief conversation. All I remember is that she was celebrating her 21st birthday and that she was from "the ghetto", as she put it - a town called Mattapan in the outskirts of Boston.

"Awesome. I'm from Walpole," I told her.

"Oh, where the Walmart is," she responded. See, Walpole is known as the closest town south of Boston with a Walmart.

"Yes, where the Walmart is."

So far, the conversation was going well and her body language was giving me all the right signals. It wasn't long before I decided that this was likely my one and perhaps only chance to ever make a move on a "ghetto" black girl from Mattapan. So I began to spin the wheels into motion:

"You're really cute," I told her.

"Oh, hee hee. Thank you."

"You have really nice skin. Looks really shiny and smooth."

"Oh, hee hee. Thanks."

"Do you mind if I - um - touch it? I mean, that's all I wanna do. I know that may sound weird. But I'm not a creep or anything."

The girl blushed and shyly shrugged her shoulders.

"Yeah, if you wanna. Hee hee."

So I proceeded to caress her arm, gently, and in the most non-creepy manner possible. Damn, I have to say...this girl had the smoothest skin I have ever friggin' felt. It was incredible feeling that skin. She must have used Dove soap or something similar. I couldn't help but wonder how her naked body would feel against mine.

"Do you mind if...I dunno...I know this is really weird but I'm not a creep. Give you just a little kiss...on the cheek?"

"Hee hee hee. Yeah, that's fine."

Yes! I was thrilled to find that my plan was unraveling nicely. So I gave her a little kiss on the cheek. Very gently. And I also threw in a little tickle of warm air from my nose.

"OK, can I...yeah, I know, just can I give you a kiss on the lips, maybe with some tongue...just a little bit? That's all, I swear. I know that's bold. But I'm not a weirdo or anything."

"Hee hee hee."

She shrugged her shoulders, grabbed the back of my head and proceeded to bring her ripe, juicy lips closer to mine.

"Wow, THIS is happening right now!" I couldn't help but scream to myself as our faces coupled.

We probably made out for five or six seconds, maybe a little less. The details of the session are kind of foggy, but I know we were in pretty good sync with each other. No clashing of the teeth. A lot of well-executed tongue rolls. When I was slow she was slow. When I sped up she sped up. Our minds seemed to be one with each other. We somehow - telepathically - anticipated each other's next move. It was so harmonious. And, damn, she tasted really good.

"Hee hee. I really gotta go," she said as she broke off the kiss. "My friends are waiting."

"Can I walk you out?" I asked, knowing that if she said 'yes' then there was the possibility of making out with her again outside the bar.

"Sure."

Oh, hell yes. Her answer was a good sign. I told my friends I'd be back in a few moments, they responded with a look that basically said 'what the hell are you doing?', I ignored them and then I proceeded to walk the cute little black girl out of the bar.

"OK, well, it was nice meeting you," she said once we stepped out onto the sidewalk.

"Wait, can I just make out with you...one more time? I know what you're thinking but I'm not a predator or anything...that's all I want, really."

She acquiesced and we started making out again, like we did in the bar. This time, it lasted for maybe ten or fifteen seconds. I sucked on her lips a lot this time and tried to savor the flavors like I would with fruit. The whole experience was really surreal. I couldn't believe I was finally gratifying several years' worth of raging jungle fever.

"You're a good kisser," she said as we finally unlocked our lips.

"Not so bad yourself," I said, regretting afterwards that my response was predictable and cliched. I then caressed her cheek with the back of my hand and told her again how much I loved her skin.

"Thanks. Hee hee. All right, I better be going," she said.

"Wait, do you want my number?"

"Yeah, sure."

So I gave her my number and I was thrilled when she actually called my phone right away, so as to instantly put her number into my phone's 'missed calls' log. This meant she wanted to be sure I had her real phone number. No fake numbers. No 'give me your number and I'll call you's'.

"All right, see ya!" she yelled.

"Wait, one more quick good-bye kiss? To remember you by?"

"OK," she giggled and gave me one more wet peck.

Then she turned away, strutted her fine self down the sidewalk and disappeared around the corner. It was pretty safe to say at this point that I was in a state of bliss. Everything would have been perfect had I not found myself locked out of the bar. But after some arguing back and forth with the bouncer, I was allowed back in and I was left alone to ponder my first experience kissing a woman of the African race.

In retrospect, it's pretty hard to believe how easy it was for the whole thing to go down. When I had been fantasizing about making a move on a black girl, I kept on envisioning an incredibly awkward situation, that the difference in races would get between us and be difficult to see beyond. But the make-out session at the Pour House that night went down suprisingly smoothly and also very quickly. To be honest, I was making out with this girl about three or four minutes after I had met her. That may actually be a record in my book, with maybe one exception that involved a drunk bachelorette walking down Lansdowne street one night a few years ago.

Anyway, yes, it finally happened. One more thing to check off my bucket list. What's next? Well, I'm not so sure. I've already kissed an Asian and also a Latina (my first real makeout sesh was with a Costa Rican exchange student in middle school), so what, then? To be honest with you, I think a lesbian is next on my list, no matter how strange that sounds. I figure if you can convince a lesbian to make out with you then that says a lot about what kind of moves you have. Yes, I admit I'm insecure and I need fuel for my ego. This is the kind of thing that keeps my mojo potent. A kind of mental Viagra.

But, yes, we'll see if the lesbian thing ever happens. I shared a nice slow-dance with a lesbian once, but that doesn't really count. She wouldn't let me kiss her when I asked. I didn't pressure her. I let it go.

As always, I will keep you posted if I have any luck! Until then, I highly recommend embracing the jungle fever that (I believe) is in all of us. It's an amazing feeling.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Supermarket Zombies!!!



SUPERMARKET ZOMBIES!!!




Here are the first 30 pages of my newest screenplay SUPERMARKET ZOMBIES!!! It is a horror-comedy that has everything from zombies to skateboarding to punk rock to gore and much, much more. I post the pages here for feedback and to possibly attract interest from producers or girls who are attracted to screenwriters.

The story involves a Haitian master of Voodoo in search of the American Dream. He brings a crop of zombies to America and sells them as slaves to the local "American Supermarket" for a percentage of the store's earnings. The supermarket's profits skyrocket with the help of these new employees who work long hours and for no pay, but it's not long before the zombies get hungry for brains and all the other employees gradually start turning into brainless zombies!

However, there's one skater punk cashier named Jason Hawk who doesn't give his brain up so easily. Although he finds himself trapped one morning
amidst a gigantic supermarket of zombie employees, he'll be damned if he's gonna become a zombie himself. Nah-uh! No way! No-how! If those zombies want a piece of his tasty brain, they're not gonna get it without Jason putting up ONE HELL OF A FIGHT! YAAAAAAAAH! DEATH TO ZOMBIES! PUNK ISN'T DEAD!!! OI OI OI!!!

NOTE: please disregard the poor formatting, as pasting the script as a blog doesn't translate very well.

SUPERMARKET ZOMBIES!!!
By Matt Burns
WGA Registered # 1186466


Ext. haiti - Sugar plantation. Day

It's an endless field of sugarcane. There is green for as far as the eye can see.

A BLACK SLAVE kneels in the soil, chopping down a stalk of cane with a rusty machete. The SLAVE wears nothing but a pair of dirty denim overalls and a straw sun hat.

There is mostly silence...except for the buzzing sounds of heat bugs or other humming insects.

But, suddenly, the SLAVE hears rustling...

And groaning.

He lays the rusty machete on the ground and stumbles to his feet.

He swipes the beads of sweat from his forehead and hears the noise again.

He creeps towards the sound.

And creeps...

And creeps...

The field is dense, lush and very thick. No visibility beyond a few feet.

Soon, the SLAVE hears what-sounds-like chomping and lip-smacking, like a dog chomping the meat off of a bone.

He moves further into the cane and comes to a small, circular clearing in the field.

In the clearing there is another PLANTATION WORKER lying on the ground...DEAD!!!

The SLAVE is shocked...

...but even more shocked to see two other PLANTATION WORKERS kneeling beside the carcass, taking bites out of the head and snacking on the brains. These are no normal workers. They are...

ZOMBIES!!!

The SLAVE is horrified.

Suddenly, the ZOMBIES feel the SLAVE'S presence and look up from their tasty victim.

The SLAVE shivers in his overalls - paralyzed with fear.

The ZOMBIES grunt their way onto their feet.

The SLAVE is still paralyzed and doesn't budge.

The ZOMBIES stumble their way towards the SLAVE.

The SLAVE finally shakes the paralysis out of his bones and runs like hell!

Ext. the fields. Day

The SLAVE weaves his way through the thick, green cane. He trips! He falls! He crawls! He stumbles back on his feet! He keeps running!

The ZOMBIES stumble and groan their way after the SLAVE - nothing but the thought of tasty brains running through their minds.

ext. Further into the fields. Day

The SLAVE runs! Hops! Jumps! Runs! And trips! Over a thick stump of cane!

UMPH! He lands face-first in the soil.

Slave

Ugh!

He hears groaning and grunting coming from not too far away.

He peels his face out of the dirt, rolls onto his backside and sees what is fast approaching him...

ZOMBIES!!!

The brain-eating ZOMBIES aren't too far behind. The SLAVE can see glimpses of them amidst the rustling cane.

The SLAVE jumps to his feet! He limps! He stumbles!

He runs for his life!!!

Ext. edge of the field. Day

From this perspective, the field looks even more enormous. It goes on forever. Nothing but a horizon of cane in the distance.

All is quiet and peaceful with the sound of buzzing insects - except for three spots in the field where there is rustling.

The rustling moves closer and closer to the edge of the field.

The SLAVE finally emerges from the cane and runs like hell...

Within a couple seconds, the ZOMBIES emerge from the cane and follow the SLAVE'S trail. They salivate like Pavlov's dogs.

Ext. Sugar mill. Day

The SLAVE spots the sugar mill from a few hundred feet away and heads straight for it. Perhaps he can lose the ZOMBIES in the mill!

Int. Sugar mill. Day

The SLAVE bursts into the mill...

...slams the door shut...

...and locks it tight!

He let's out a sigh of relief, turns around, and is shocked to see...

...NO!!! More ZOMBIES - frothing at the mouth like a bunch of rabid raccoons.

The SLAVE has nowhere to run! Nowhere to hide!! He's doomed!!!

He takes a closer look at the ZOMBIES and realizes that one of them is white! It's the SLAVE OWNER!

Slave

Monseigneur!

Nothing leaves the zombie SLAVE OWNER'S mouth except for moans and grunts, like the others.

Slave (CONT'D)

Monseigneur Pierre! Monseigneur!!!

The zombie SLAVE OWNER doesn't acknowledge his name. His eyes are empty. After all, he is among the un-dead...

But, suddenly, a DARK MAN emerges from behind the ZOMBIES. He wears a black hat with a black rim, black pants and black cape. His face is pale as powder. His eyebrows are black, wiry and untamed. He looks like a cross between Bela Lugosi and The Yellow Man in the "Curious George" books (though with black - not yellow - clothing). This is MR. EVIL.

The sight of MR. EVIL horrifies the SLAVE. The maniacal look in this man's eyes is enough to make any man scared silly, let alone a slave who has just been chased by two brain-hungry ZOMBIES.

Slave (CONT'D)

Who are you?!

MR. EVIL says nothing. All he does is pierce the slave's soul with that crazed look of his.

The SLAVE nearly hyperventilates with fear.

MR. EVIL slowly locks his fingers together, conjuring some sort of black magic from hell.

The ZOMBIES moan and groan and drool! Moaaaaaan! Groaaaaaaaan! Drooooooooool!

The SLAVE eyeballs all the frothing ZOMBIES and whimpers with fear. Oh, God, what a damned sight!

Then, the ZOMBIES start stumbling towards the helpless SLAVE.

The SLAVE whips himself around to the door and tries to leave the mill. But as soon as he opens the door...

ZOMBIES!!!

Zombies

Uggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh...

They moan and groan and grunt.

The SLAVE turns the other way...

MR. EVIL'S ZOMBIES are just a few feet away from him now!

He turns towards the door.

ZOMBIES!

He turns the other way.

ZOMBIES!

The poor SLAVE is trapped on both sides by horrible ZOMBIES.

He has no choice but to drop to his knees and submit. But not before he lets out one of the most haunting...

SCREAMS!!!

...ever heard.

SLAVE

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggghh

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!


Two-hundred years later. (Present Day)

Ext. america - the streets of suburbia. Day

All is quiet and perfect and boring.

The houses look like they all got crapped out of the same machine - white picket fences, sprinklers, Vinyl-siding, paperboys, flower-beds, garden gnomes and matching trash barrels.

The grass is an Eden-like green - except for the small yellow signs warning passersby of toxic fertilizers.

Birds chirping...lawns mowing...kids giggling...

But, then, commotion.

In the far distance, there is cacophony. Chaos. Disorder.

It's two TEENS...on skateboards.

They weave on and off the streets.

Grind the curbs.

Olly over trash barrels.

Pull "Burts" in the middle of strangers' driveways.

Anger neighbors.

Set off car alarms.

And generally just tear it up like dudes who know how to!

One TEEN is JASON HAWK. If you looked up 'thrasher' in the Webster's dictionary you would see a picture of JASON next to it. Wild, frosted hair. Baggy pants. T-shirt with a disconcerting skull-like logo on it. Dangling crucifix earring (a la Barry Bonds but way cooler). Finger-less gloves. Dogtags. The works.

The other TEEN is JASON'S best friend CUDDY, aka 'Cud-dog'. If you looked 'thrasher' up in the American Heritage dictionary you would find a picture of CUDDY next to it. Collared shirt only buttoned at the collar. Tan khaki pants tapered at the ankles. Black low-top Vans. Wiffled hair.

JASON and CUDDY thrash their way down the street.

They kick-flip onto the sidewalk.

Variel back onto the street.

Cut off cars.

Piss off DRIVERS.

Get honked at! Beep! Beep!

JASON and CUDDY bring whole new meaning to the art of skateboarding. They are friggin' ballerinas with boards! So graceful! So beautiful! But also so cool! So stoked!

These dudes know how to turn a boring neighborhood into something thrash-worthy!

Ext. Suburban neighborhood - street corner. Day

JASON and CUDDY meet up with a small gang of SKATER BUDS coming from a perpendicular street.

JASON, CUDDY and the SKATER BUDS skate in circles around one another, do sick wheel-slides, kick-flips, heel-flips, Vari-flips and other tricks.

Skater bud

What's goin' on, fell-uhs?!

They twirl around on their boards, doing seven-twenty spins. Others hop around on the board like it's a pogo-stick.

Skater bud (CONT'D)

Jason and Cuddy, get ready to be happy.

JASON stops his tricks and looks the SKATER BUD square in the eye.

Jason

You found one?

The SKATER BUD wiggles his eyebrows.

Jason (CONT'D)

Where?!

Ext. house - driveway. day

It's the ass to a big pick-up truck.

On the bumper to the truck there is a big sticker of an American flag and another sticker right next to it that says "U.S.A. Rules!!!", also followed by another sticker that says "If you don't like it here, leave!".

The engine starts.

The truck pulls out of the driveway.

And floors it down the road. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrccccchhhhh!

Ext. hedges. Day

There is rustling. And giggling. Some voices.

JASON pokes his head out from the hedge and watches the truck buuuuuuurn its way down the street.

Jason

(to the skater buds)

Let's do this!

They chuck their skateboards over a wooden fence and then hop the fence themselves.

Ext. pool. DAY

The pool is a drained, concrete bowl shaped like a kidney. In other words, it's a skateboarder's wet dream realized!

JASON, CUDDY and the SKATER BUDS take turns skating the pool.

They skate...

...and grind...

...and hand-plant...

...and rock and roll...

Air-walks!

Tail-slides!

Kick-flips!

Two of the SKATER BUDS skate the pool simultaneously, sometimes even skating in sync with each other. It is at times a truly beautiful sight - like a flock of birds moving in perfect synchronization with each other. It's like their minds and souls are operating in unison.

Ext. suburbia - outside house with pool. Day

A police cruiser rolls down the street and suddenly sees two more SKATERS hopping the wooden fence with their boards.


Int. police cruiser - rolling down street. Day

The COP grabs his radio and shouts...

Cop

(into walkie-talkie)

Calling all units, calling all units. I got one word for ya: skater punks!!!

Ext. Pool. DAY

JASON, CUDDY and the SKATER BUDS continue to pull out the sickest tricks imaginable. Board-slides! Five-O grinds! Fakies! Nose-picks!

But, suddenly, they hear noise coming from the front of the house - tires screeching and, then, sirens wailing. Uh-oh.

Then, before they can even gather their druthers about them, there is a shout:

cop

Freeze, dildos!

It's the COP who was scoping out the neighborhood. And he's already made his way into the backyard, aiming his gun right towards the pool.

Nailed. Damn.

Int. Police station. Day

POLICE OFFICERS buzz in their cubicles like worker bees in a strip of honeycomb.

JASON, CUDDY and the SKATER BUDS sit in chairs that swivel in place.

They amuse themselves by seeing how many times they can spin in place without using their feet. Obviously, they're not taking their arrest very seriously.

At the far end of the office appears a police captain named OFFICER DICKHEAD. He struts down the row of cubicles like he's the mayor of cool-ville - only the joke's on him, because he definitely isn't.

OFFICER DICKHEAD has a goatee and a body that has consumed one too many Ultra-fuel shakes from the local GNC. He's probably on the juice, too, because his face and neck look way too disproportionate for his size.

OFFICER DICKHEAD comes to the end of the cubicles and sees JASON, CUDDY and the SKATER BUDS.

Walking behind his desk, he shouts...

Officer dickhead

Skater punks! Not a big fan!

He plops his swampy ass into his seat.

OFFICER DICKHEAD (CONT'D)

And when I say I'm not a fan...I mean I HATE YOUR FRIGGIN' GUTS!!!

He plops his feet up onto the desk.

OFfICER DICKHEAD (CONT'D)

You punks picked the wrong pool to skate. Do you have any idea whose pool that was?! Any idea at all?!

JASON, CUDDY and the SKATER BUDS shake their heads.

OFFICER DICKHEAD (CONT'D)

(growling)

Mine.

JASON and CUDDY gulp.

OFFICER DICKHEAD (CONT'D)

Let's see here...we got trespassin', breakin' and enterin', malicious destruction of private property...if it was any other day, I'd throw you punks right in jail.

JASON, CUDDY and the SKATER BUDS eyeball each other.

OFFICER DICKHEAD (CONT'D)

But I'm headin' down to Foxwoods today and I don't wanna do all the paperwork.

The SKATER BUDS let out a sigh of relief.

OFFICER DICKHEAD takes his feet off the desk and leans in close to JASON, CUDDY and the SKATER BUDS.

OFFICER DICKHEAD (CONT'D)

Still had to call your folks, though.

A group of PARENTS appear at the far end of the office.

JASON catches sight of them.

Jason

(under his breath)

Shit.

A smug smirk crawls up OFFICER DICKHEAD'S face.

And then he jumps to his feet.

OFFICER DICKHEAD

And if it happens again, I'll kill ya!

Ext. Jason's house. night

It's a ranch and has Vinyl-siding and, basically, looks not much different from all the other similar-looking houses in the area.

A big, dark, gas-guzzling, hearse-like car rolls into the driveway and parks.

Int. Jason's house - kitchen. night

It's dinner-time!!! Well, TV-dinner time.

Everything on the table is labeled "American-brand", whether it be salad-dressing or ketchup or soda pop or croutons or milk or peanut-brittle or whatever.

JASON sits at the end of the table, eating out of an 'American' box filled with an overly-processed goop resembling squash and mashed potatoes.

His MOM and DAD - two middle-aged suburbanites - sit on each side of him. DAD wears a white-collared shirt with a name-badge and a pocket protector lined with pens. His appearance exudes a submissiveness relative to MOM, who clearly wears the pants in the relationship.

All is awkwardly silent. But something seems to be bothering MOM. She eyeballs DAD with a fuzzy set of eyeballs.

DAD isn't looking.

MOM clears her throat to get his attention.

But DAD still doesn't look up.

MOM gives him a little kick to the shin.

DAD finally looks up.

MOM nods over to JASON.

DAD is confused.

MOM widens her eyes and gives another nod in JASON'S direction.

DAD realizes what she wants him to do.

Dad

Um...Jason.

JASON looks up from his cruddy meal.

JASON

Huh?

DAD

This is the third time you've gotten in trouble this week, son. And the summer just started.

JASON

Yeah...AND?

Dad

Well, this isn't a good thing.

JASON

I was just havin' some fun.

DAD

Well...um...

DAD isn't sure what to say next.

MOM gives DAD weird baseball coach-like signals. A touch of the nose...a rub of the lips...a tap on the head.

DAD gets the hint.

DaD (CONT'D)

...you're eighteen years old, now.

MOM gives him a few more signals.

DAD (CONT'D)

And I think it's time you get yourself a job. Make a little money.

The word 'job' is wax to JASON'S ears.

Jason

F-that!

DAD flinches from JASON'S ejaculatory shout. He looks to MOM for a sign.

MOM turns her head to the side, pulls out her lips and wiggles her tongue like a bird of some sort.

DAD

No, Jason. Dr. Phil says this is a good time for someone your age to get a job...so...so...you're gonna have to get a job. Or...or...

He looks to MOM for another sign.

MOM holds out her hands and wiggles her head like an Egyptian.

Dad (CONT'D)

You're grounded for the summer.

Jason

What?! Dad, that's not fair.

DAD

It's firm, but fair.

JASON

Where am I gonna work? Nobody's hiring. The economy's crap.

DAD

Well...

MOM nonchalantly points to a bottle of American-brand salad dressing.

DAD sees her.

Dad (CONT'D)

Hey! Why don't you take a ride down to the American?

The word 'American' brings sourness to JASON'S face.

Jason

The American?! No way! There's no way I'm workin' at the American!

MOM bursts out in what-sounds-like bird-calls.

Mom

Yew! Yew-yew!!!

DAD seems to understand her.

DAD

Now, Jason, I know it's not the most glamorous job...

MOM

Yew!

Dad

...but it's a paycheck.

JASON hangs his head down to the table in despair.

Ext. Cuddy's house - backyard. day

CUDDY skates a sick mini-half-pipe, rolling up and down...

...rocking and rolling...

...pumping back and forth...

Cuddy

Grounded for the summer?! Shit, I just got no TV for a night.

JASON sits on his skateboard to the side of the ramp. His head is buried in his hands. He is the personification of despair.

CUDDY (CONT'D)

So what are you gonna do? Get a job?

JASON

I have no choice.

CUDDY

Well, hey, come on down to the American. They'll hire you on the spot.

JASON lifts his head out from his hands.

JASON

Yeah, maybe when hell freezes over! Only an asshole works at the American!

CUDDY skids to a stop and gives JASON the hairiest of all sets of hairy eyeballs.

JASON realizes what he's just said.

Jason (CONT'D)

No offense.

Cuddy

A lot taken, dick! Where you gonna work, then?!

JASON jumps to his feet and propels his skateboard into his hands with his foot.

He hops up to the top of the mini-ramp and plants the tail of his skateboard into the metal coping.

Jason

I got some ideas.

He drops in and skates up a friggin' storm.

Ext. Video store. Day

The "Video-Rama" store is nestled between a convenient store and a laundromat in some small plaza in some place that isn't really important right now.

JASON skates up to the front of the store, kicks his skateboard into his hand and enters the store.

Int. Video store. DAY

It is a pre-Blockbuster, independently-owned deal, complete with tacky orange carpeting, humming fluorescent lights and a sketchy adult video closet in the way back.

A small TV mounted on the wall of the store plays some ultra-violent, Tarantino-esque movie.

A pimple-faced CLERK sits behind the front desk watching the movie and stuffing an onion-packed Italian sub into his face.

A little Bee-a-leep! alerts the CLERK that a customer has entered the store.

It's JASON and his skateboard.

But the CLERK doesn't bother looking to see who it is. He's too engrossed in the movie.

JASON steps up to the desk.

Without making any eye contact, the CLERK says...

Clerk

Last name?

JASON is confused.

Jason

Um...Hawk...

The CLERK types Jason's name into the computer.

Jason (CONT'D)

But-

CLERK

-last four of your phone number?

JASON

What? No, I'm not renting. I came to see if you're hiring.

The CLERK finally un-glues his eyes from the movie...

...and laughs maniacally.

Clerk

Hahaha! That's a good one! Hiring! Hahahahaha.

JASON

So...you're not?

CLERK

Boy, what in THE hell is wrong with you? Of course we're not hiring! We're goin' outta business!

He points to a sign in the corner of the store that says "Liquidation sale".

JASON

Oh, I didn't know. What happened?

CLERK

The American's what happened!

JASON

You mean the American's renting videos now?

CLERK

No, no, no nah-no-no NO. They're not renting videos. They're renting shit.

JASON

Oh, OK...

CLERK

They're gonna have those stupid vending machine thingys that shit out the DVDs, and, oh yeah, that makes for a REAL good renting experience. You think the American's gonna carry any obscure Indie titles? No, they're gonna have all the blockbusters and all the popcorn movies and all the blah blah blah blah blah. What's gonna happen to all the art-house flicks or the foreign masterworks or experimental ave-en-garde...

JASON decides it's probably a good time to leave before this wacko CLERK bores him to death. He starts to leave the store.

But the CLERK is offended.

CLERK (CONT'D)

Hey...hey!!! Where you goin' now, hotshot? Nobody's hiring except the American!

JASON

Whatever you say...psycho.

CLERK

(miffed)

You skater punks just never learn! There are no other places! There's just the American!!!

JASON flips the CLERK the bird and quickly leaves the store.

The CLERK shakes his head at JASON'S stupidity and resumes watching his movie.

Int. music store. day (montage sequence)

JASON talks to an EMPLOYEE at the record store.

The EMPLOYEE shakes his head and points up to a sign that says, "Going out of business".

Int. Bookstore. DAY (Montage sequence)

JASON talks to a BOOKSELLER.

The BOOKSELLER shakes his head and points to a sign that says...

"Liquidation sale! Everything must go!!!"

JASON is discouraged.

ext. Clothing store. Day (montage sequence)

The store looks dark, run-down and ghostly.

JASON walks up to the window of the store, wipes some grime away with the back of his hand and peers inside.

The store has clearly been closed for a great deal of time. There is nothing but a few empty cardboard boxes and naked mannequins and a shelve or two.

JASON turns away from the window and leaves the store.

Int. bakery. Day (montage sequence)

The place is also forsaken.

The OWNER to the BAKERY stands behind the counter with his lips wrapped around the barrel of a shotgun.

He is about to pull the trigger when he hears a jingling of the bell above the store's front entrance.

JASON enters the store.

The OWNER quickly hides his shotgun underneath the counter.

JASON asks the OWNER a question.

The OWNER shakes his head in despair.

JASON turns away and leaves the shop.

The OWNER pulls the gun back out, wraps his lips around the barrel, and...

BANG!

ext. center of town. day (end of montage sequence)

The center of the town is like some sort of ghost town out of the wild west. All the stores are dark and closed and dilapidated.

JASON skates up to a graffiti-ridden newspaper bin and shoves a couple quarters into it.

He takes a newspaper out of the bin and drops every section of it on the ground...except for the "Help Wanted" section.

He pages through.

Page 1 has an add that says "The American's now hiring in all departments."

Page 2 has an add that says "The American's now hiring in all departments."

Page 3 has an add that says "The American's now hiring in all departments."

Page 4 has an add that says "The American's now hiring in all departments."

Page 5 has an add that says - well, you get the idea.

JASON crumples up the newspaper and chucks it back into the bin.

Jason

(under his breath)

This is bullshit.

Ext. road on hill. Day

JASON coasts down the hill on his skateboard - very slowly, weaving from one side of the road to the other.

He soon comes to a corner.

He creeps around the corner.

Beyond the corner, there is an open view. The view is of a man-made valley, the walls of which are comprised of huge squares of concrete.

At the bottom of the valley lies an enormous concrete parking lot filled with cars, and at the far end of the parking lot is one of the most gigantic supermarkets in existence:

The American Supermarket.

JASON rolls up to the valley's edge and kicks his skateboard into his hand.

He peers down to the gigantic American Supermarket.

Such an enormous piece of architecture - the eighth wonder of the world. Red, white and blue bricks comprise its facade, along with an enormous red, white and blue sign that reads "The American Supermarket". It is like a K-Mart, Walmart and Super Stop & Shop all in one.

There is a look of defeat in JASON'S eyes.

He drops into his skateboard and rolls down the hill...into the valley...into the bowels of the American Supermarket.

ext. cruise ship - somewhere in the atlantic ocean. Day

The multi-level ship plows its way through the choppy Atlantic waters. An enormous American flag waves from a pole at the very top of the ship.

Int. cruise ship - dining area. Day

A newspaper is open at a dining table, concealing whoever's reading it.

An unidentifiable MAN is behind it, scanning over the stock pages.

The American Supermarket stocks are doing tremendously well. They're up several points. In fact, a headline reads, "American stocks are up! Everything else is down!"

A WAITER approaches this mysterious MAN behind the newspaper.

Waiter

More coffee, Sir?

The mysterious MAN emerges from behind the newspaper and reveals his face.

O the horror! It's the sinister Mr. Evil from the Haitian sugar plantation.

His eyes swirl with craziness.

Mr. Evil

(Hungarian accent)

Please.

The WAITER refills Mr. Evil's cup with ink-black coffee.

MR. EVIL lifts the cup of coffee to his lips and takes a sip.

Mr. Evil (CONT'D)

Aaaaaaagggghhhhhhh. Tell me, vaiter...how much longer until ve arrive?

Waiter

Very soon, Sir. In fact, we're probably comin' up on the land right now.

Ext. cruise ship - deck. day

Mr. Evil steps out onto the deck and strolls down to the bow of the ship.

His eyes twinkle at the sight of something in the far horizon.

It's the statue of liberty, standing tall and proud.

Mr. Evil rests his hands on the deck's railing and gazes at the statue.

His eyes are full of excitement, wonder and awe - but beneath all these emotions there is still the underlying look of utter malice.

Ext. American supermarket - parking lot. Day

It is a jungle of cars.

Cars rolling around in every which direction.

CUSTOMERS pushing carriages.

Sales fliers blowing in the wind like tumbleweeds in the Wild West.

JASON skateboards his way through the busy lot, nearly getting hit by a dozen or so cars in the process.

Ext. American supermarket - front entrance. Day

An endless row of soda, water and juice machines creates a "fence" of corporate logos bordering the whole store.

At the very end of this "fence" and just a few feet away from the store entrance is a bench. On this bench sits a man named HENRY.

HENRY looks like he's smoked about eight packs of cigarettes a day since he exited his mother's womb. His clothes are greasy like those of a chimney sweeper and his skin is as browned and crispy as a baked potato.

HENRY sits cross-legged on the bench smoking - what else? - but a cigarette.

JASON rolls down the fire-lane running parallel to the store, kicks his skateboard into his hand and makes his way toward the store's sliding electric doors.

He eyeballs HENRY.

HENRY seems to kind of be in his own little world. He doesn't acknowledge JASON, nor much of anything else. His empty eyes lack the presence of a soul.

JASON parts the electric doors...and disappears into the mouth of the American Supermarket.

The doors slide back shut. JASON is swallowed whole.

Int. american SUPERMARKET. DAY

JASON takes his first step into the store. His ears get pierced by a cacophonous wave of 'beeps' coming from the front-end cash registers' scanners.

BEEP! BEEP! BA-BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BA-BEEP! BEEP!

JASON moves further into the store and is humbled by the enormity of its interior.

Each aisle seems to be miles long. No end to the store in sight - only a blurry horizon of commodities in the distance.

Int. American supermarket - front end. day

JASON moves his way down the front end.

He sees drones of LATINO EMPLOYEES bagging groceries at the end of the check-outs. They are of the young and old, male and female, healthy and unhealthy. Some walk with limps and others, every once in a while, allow a slight look of pain to penetrate their stoicism.

JASON looks at the wall to his left and sees a huge photograph of MR. JOE FAZIO (apparently the store manager), looking something like the portrait of Mao in Tiananmen Square. Beneath this photo are smaller photographs of the other department managers - like grocery, bakery and produce dudes. They all have a phony - almost creepy - look in their smiles.

Int. American supermarket - registers. day

There is a CASHIER at a register who looks a little familiar:

Why, it's CUDDY!

CUDDY finishes up a transaction with a customer and spots somebody in the corner of his eye.

It's JASON!

CUDDY does a double-take.

CUDDY

(to himself)

Well, if that don't be it all...

(to Jay)

Jay!!!

JASON ignores his friend.

Cuddy (CONT'D)

Hey, Jay!!!

JASON keeps walking.

CUDDY (CONT'D)

(to himself)

Has hell frozen over?

He checks the supermarket ceiling for icicles and feels around his register for anything the least bit chilly.

CUDDY (CONT'D)

Don't think so.

INT. AMERICAN SUPERMARKET - customer service. Day

JASON joins the end of a relatively short line and waits his turn to be served.

A WOMAN stands behind the customer service desk whose name-tag identifies as WANDA. She has grayed, wrinkly skin, like that of an elephant. Her greasy hair is weaved into what's basically a cross between a dread-lock and a pony tail - kind of like a floor-mat. She is an old, burnt-out hippy who probably still lives in her Volkswagon bus.

She finishes a transaction with a CUSTOMER and locks eyes with JASON.

WANDA

(in a smoker's voice)

Can I help you, honey?

Her words hawk up globs of phlegm.

JASON is a bit disgusted by WANDA'S appearance.

She smiles at him and reveals a nice set of pearly-yellows.

Jason

Yeah, I wanna fill out an application.

Hinges squeak.

WANDA steps to the side. A door flies open behind her.

MR. JOE FAZIO - the store manager - steps through the door. He is a middle-aged man wearing a cheap-looking Italian suit and a fake-looking Rolex. His hair is slicked back with waaaaaaaay too much gel.

MR. JOE FAZIO looks in JASON'S vicinity, but never makes any eye contact. His eyes are always looking over the store's activity, just to be sure everything is under control.

Mr. joe Fazio

(to Jason in a Boston accent)

Hi ya doin', boss? I'm Joe Fazio, the store managah.

He holds out his hand for a ritualized handshake, but still never makes any eye contact.

JASON shakes his hand.

mr. joe fazio (CONT'D)

Come on up to the office and we'll get ya started.

JASON

Uh...ok.

MR. JOE FAZIO opens a door to the side of the service desk and motions for Jason to walk through.

JASON steps into the service desk and disappears.

MR. JOE FAZIO never takes his eyes off the activity in the store for a second.

INT. american supermarket - mr. joe fazio's OFFICE. DAY

There are no windows, just off-white walls with a fluorescent light buzzing on the ceiling.

A desk lies directly beneath this light. Nothing is on it except for a pile of applications, a liter of Diet Coke, an extra-large ice coffee and a Red Bull.

MR. JOE FAZIO leads JASON into the room.

Mr. joe fazio

Have a seat...

He motions for JASON to sit in a chair at the desk.

JASON takes a seat.

MR. JOE FAZIO sits at the desk and immediately chugs the entire liter of Diet Coke.

JASON watches him chug the Coke in awe.

MR. JOE FAZIO finishes the Coke, licks his finger, takes an application off the top of the pile and starts filling it out.

Mr. joe Fazio (CONT'D)

US citizen?

Jason

Yes.

Mr. joe FAZIO

18 or ovah?

JASON

Yes.

Mr. joe FAZIO

Convicted felon?

JASON

Yes. I mean, no.

MR. JOE FAZIO taps his pen on the desk for a second or two.

Mr. joe FAZIO

Wanna work in the deli?

Jason

Uh...no.

MR. JOE FAZIO

Cheese shop?

JASON

No.

MR. JOE FAZIO

Sporting goods?

JASON

Um...nah.

MR. JOE FAZIO

Electronics?

JASON

I was kinda hoping for something in the front end.

Mr. joe FAZIO

We can do that.

He writes a few more things on the application.

Mr. joe fazio (CONT'D)

Availability?

Jason

Uh...any time, really.

MR. JOE FAZIO'S eyes twinkle from the sound of 'anytime'.

He grabs his super-large iced coffee and starts chugging the entire thing - right before JASON'S eyes.

JASON is amazed.

MR. JOE FAZIO finishes his last sip, licks his lips and says...

Mr. joe fazio (CONT'D)

All right...just got a little personality test for ya. We do it with all new employees.

JASON sits up straight in his chair and gets ready to answer.

MR. JOE FAZIO (CONT'D)

(reading from the paper)

You're in the break room. You overhear a cupla employees talking about starting a union. What do you do? A: immediately alert me or an assistant managah about what you heard. Or B: join the employees in organizing the union.

Jason

Well, I guess...um...

MR. JOE FAZIO isn't pleased.

MR. JOE FAZIO

Let me rephrase that question...

MR. JOE FAZIO leans closer to JASON and leers at him like an eel.

MR. JOE FAZIO (CONT'D)

A is the right ansah and B is the wrong ansah.

Jason

Uh...A?

MR. JOE FAZIO lets out a forced chuckle.

MR. JOE FAZIO

Congratulations, you passed.

He slides the application over to JASON.

MR. JOE FAZIO (CONT'D)

(pointing)

Sign here.

JASON looks down to the 'X' where he needs to sign his name.

The X gets bigger...

...and bigger...

And bigger.

JASON grips the pen.

MR. JOE FAZIO salivates as he waits for JASON'S signature.

JASON caves and finally signs his name.

MR. JOE FAZIo (CONT'D)

(holding out his hand)

Welcome aboard, boss.

JASON forces out a smile and shakes MR. JOE FAZIO'S hand.

With his free hand, MR. JOE FAZIO chugs his entire Red Bull.

Int. American supermarket - conference room. Day

MR. JOE FAZIO pops a tape into an old VCR.

INT. american supermarket. Day (orientation video)

A black HOST in his 40s walks along the front end of the store, sporting a big, bright smile on his face.

The BAGGERS in the background are mainly young, white males in their 30s. There are only a few WOMEN and a handful of other BLACKS and ASIANS thrown into the scene to be politically correct.

HOST

Here at the American we have a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to sexual harassment.

(as though somebody off-screen is asking him a question)

What's that? Not sure what, exactly, constitutes sexual harassment? Well, watch and observe...

Int. American supermarket - checkout (orientation video). DAY

A YOUNG FEMALE CASHIER whose name-tag identifies as DONNA finishes a transaction with a customer.

Donna

And two-dollars is your change. Thank you for shopping at the American.

The CUSTOMER takes the change and walks away.

DONNA has a lull in her line, so she turns to the register behind her.

An older MAN CASHIER whose name-tag identifies as ED smiles and nods at DONNA in a very suggestive manner.

Donna (CONT'D)

(with the worst acting ever)

Hey, Ed...I heard you were retiring.

ED keeps nodding his head and smiling.

Ed

Yeah, to my apartment...with YOU.

DONNA'S smile fades and she suddenly feels very uncomfortable.

INT. AMERICAN SUPERMARKET - conference room. DAY (end of video)

MR. JOE FAZIO shuts off the VCR and whips a piece of paper at JASON.

Mr. joe fazio

Just sign here saying you saw this video.

JASON signs the paper.

MR. JOE FAZIO snatches the paper away before JASON even finishes signing his name.

Mr. joe Fazio (CONT'D)

Let's go get ya feet wet.

JASON follows MR. JOE FAZIO out of the room.

INT. american supermarket - janitor's closet. Day

MR. JOE FAZIO kneels into the closet and rummages through a big cardboard box.

JASON stands behind him, feeling awkward.

After a few moments, MR. JOE FAZIO emerges from the closet, holding an "American" shirt in his hand.

Mr. joe Fazio

Yeah, this looks about your size.

He hands JASON the shirt.

JASON holds the shirt up to his chest. It must be about an XXXL because it pretty much hangs down to his knees.

MR. JOE FAZIO doesn't really seem to notice the size. He hops back onto his feet and seems to be more concerned with JASON'S grungy appearance.

Mr. joe FAZIO (CONT'D)

(speaking as though reading off a cue card)

Here at the American we have a strict policy regarding personal hygiene. All associates are expected to arrive for work freshly showered and clean-shaven. Fingernails must be neatly-trimmed and free of dirt. Uniforms must be washed after each shift and free of stains.

MR. JOE FAZIO eyeballs JASON'S crucifix earring.

MR. JOE FAZIO (CONT'D)

The earring...

He points to his ear.

MR. JOE FAZIO (CONT'D)

...it's gotta go.

JASON reaches up to his ear and fingers his earring. No! Not the earring!!!

He reluctantly removes the earring from his ear.