Just kidding. It's gorgeous here in sunny LA. Just the kinda weather that makes you wanna go out a jack a bank just for the hell of it.
Screened BANGKOK DANGEROUS last night, and shit -- I want those two hours of my life back. What a piece of shit. Should be called BANGKOK LUDICROUS. Nicolas Cage has become a parody of himself. And what's up with those tranny eyebrows? It was a decent story about a hitman doing his 'last job.' (Gee, I've never seen that story before.) But it was ... turgid. Nice subplot about him finally having some emotion when he falls in love with a deaf pharmacy worker, but of course that went nowhere fast when he had to suddenly shoot people during their midnight walk in the park. Whoops, sorry about the blood splatter on your blouse, Mail-Lin. Two big thumbs DOWN.
Enough is enough. Onto today's scene from DAZED, BEAUTIFUL & BRUISED. Homicide cops Carrie Love and Bernie Keko are confronted with crime scene evidence re Sparkle's latest killing ... and then listen to a tape she left with the body. The plot is about to get MUCH thicker.
Hold onto your scalpels ...
INT. POLICE PRECINCT - LIPSHITZ’S OFFICE - DAY
Carrie and Bernie sit across from Larry at this desk.
They examine a stack of photos.
That’s a lot of catgut. It’s as if the killer
wanted her to look like a doll.
What kind of sick fuck does this to a ten-year-old?
A perverted, pyscho-sexual sick fuck, that’s who.
I studied this at the academy --
this kinda guy gets off on --
What makes you so sure it’s a guy?
(shoves photo in his face)
It’s obvious that this is the work of a female.
Look at that stitching.
Can it, you two -- people are dead!
This is the most horrific crime wave in our city’s history --
these ‘reimaginations’ of famous film fatalities
are the shame of our modern age,
a blight on our collective consciousness --
which we have to put to an end.
We must find this madman.
Nice speech, Lare -- you thinking of running for office?
There was an audiocassette left at the scene.
He reaches around, punches a button on his boom box.
Ah-hem. Testing, testing. Is this on?
‘Silence of the Lambs’ grossed 130 million in 1991,
and swept the Oscars.
Pretty good for a suspense-horror flick
about a cannibal, don’tcha think?
Buh-bye, Ghandi. Not my underwear, Rain Main.
See ya later, Gladiator
Since this puppy’s been sequeled to death,
this stunning tableau is from my original fan fiction.
So I posit this query to you, my beloved audience --
what if my man Hannibal had a little sister?
I call this installation ‘Hannah Lecter.
My so-called fuck.’
For investor relations, a press kit, or other inquiries,
please contact my manager, Bruce Ball at Miracle Pictures --
where if it’s a good film, it’s a miracle.
Larry punches it off. Looks at Carrie and Bernie.
I love it when I’m right.
The woman’s voice. I’ve heard it before.
Me, too. Recently.
They exchange looks.
We’ve got Ilona analyzing the tape.
The background noise indicates
that it was recorded above a nightclub.
Well, that narrows it down.
What if I told you Ball’s not involved?
That miss Movie Phone is acting alone?
Now that’s a stretch --
some chick killed two dozen people all by herself?
Can it with the misogyny, Bernie.
I need you two to go pick up Balls.
It’s all we’ve got to go on.
Ball. His name is Ball.
I knew that.
Come one, former flame, let’s book.
We got a testicle to pick up.
She regards him coolly. Doesn’t move.
He shrugs, goes for the door.
You’re just bringing him in for questioning.
I don’t want any more of your hijinks.
EXT. POLICE PRECINCT - PARKING LOT - CONTINUOUS
Carrie and Bernie each go to their cars, parked side-by-side.
We’ll take my car.
Sorry. Don’t do the penis extension thing.
You’re going to make this as difficult as possible, huh.
Hey -- hijinks ensue.