Happy Friday, crime busters. Is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me? Are you hot and bothered? Hot under the collar? Feel like life has give you a bum steer? Well, then you've come to the right place ... That Killing Feeling.
Had some nasty computer problems today, so I'm gonna skip the film review. Made the mistake of downloading 'new updates', which included Microsoft Internet Explorer 8. Which totally FUCKED ME. Installed Windows 2007, which fucking SUCKS. But to make matters worse, this new version of the Explorer does not allow me to copy and paste from another document into this blog. ARRRRRGH. F-you, Bill Gates.
Okay. I'll calm down now ...
Onto today's sequence from HIT & HOT HOLIDAY, and this one's a doozy. Things are really heating up for disgruntled screenwriter Friday Foster. She's just lost everything, and now her car has been reposessed.
So what's a girl to do?
How about steal a new set of wheels ...
EXT. TINY BUNGALOW - DAY
Friday RACES OUT the door t0 --
THE BACK ALLEY
But Carrie's gone. Friday grimaces.
Squeezes her eyes shut.
A car motor ROARS to life.
She turns, RUNS around to --
Where a 1971 Dodge Dart Swinger sits idling.
A BEEFY ASIAN GUY
Sits behind the wheel.
GUNNING the engine.
(knocks on the window)
Hey! That's MY car.
What the FUCK do you think you're DOING?
The window slides down a couple inches.
BEEFY ASIAN GUY
It's the bank's car now.
But I sent my last payment --
Listen, you gotta help me,
I put a three-thousand dollar sound system in there --
BEEFY ASIAN GUY
Material possessions are not the answer.
(shifts the car into gear)
Music ROARS to life.
He PEELS OUT in a crunch of gravel.
Friday STOMPS her foot. SCREAMS.
WHIRLS around. SCREAMS again.
A car HONKS out in the alley.
Friday stops. Cocks her head.
She walks over to --
EXT. VENICE APARTMENT BUILDING - BACK ALLEY - CONTINUOUS
A pizza delivery CAR idles. A crappy, late-model Nissan Sentra
with a cardboard triangular sign on top.
Shudders. Something goes through her.
She tip-toes up to the car. Empty.
The door's ajar. She looks around. No one. Huh.
And, faster than you can say pepperoni,
she JUMPS IN, JERKS it into drive --
and TAKES OFF.
Just then, BLAND LOOSENER (27) appears.
Six feet of corn-fed muscle.
Spiky Mowhawk. Combat fatigues.
Toking on a fattie.
He nodes to the music on his headphones.
Takes a hit. Smiles.
Nice. Weapons of mass distortion --
My CAR. My fucking CAR!
Somebody stole my fucking CAR!
EXT. VENICE ALLEY - CONTINUOUS
Friday barrels down the alley in her newly-stolen wheels.
Right behind the boardwalk, behind the shopes and the drunks.
Thirty minutes or LESS.
Or we take your fucking CAR!