Friday, April 12, 2013
Hey there, crime kids. Happy Friday. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where your most violent fantasies become sins of the flesh, right here, where the hardboiled action is non-stop, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.
In Chapter 13 of DAZED, BEAUTIFUL & BRUISED, suspended homicide dick Carrie Love enlists the help of a friend to continue her investigation, teenage serial killer Sparkle Plenty has fun with her latest victim, and detective Bernie Keko listens to a tape made by Sparkle found at her latest crime ...
EXT. POLICE HEADQUARTERS - PARKING LOT - NIGHT
From a distance we see Dina
chatting with her GUCCI ATTORNEY.
Definitely the 'big guns.'
charges outside, muttering to herself.
Why don’t you just whip them out,
see who’s got the bigger --
She sees Dina. Stops.
The brunette beauty
and her lawyer shake hands.
Dina sees Carrie.
Turns, briskly goes to her car.
turns around. Sprints off toward --
A SURVEILLANCE SUV
A tricked-out monstrosity with blackened windows.
Carrie RAPS a drumbeat. Then again.
The door opens with a PFFUT, and --
Out pops ILONA RAMIREZ,
a curvy bullet of a woman
stuffed into a leather catsuit.
Armed to the gills.
Hey there, spitfire.
What’cha got on the grill?
I need to borrow your van.
(pulls out wad of cash)
Rent it, actually.
I’m on hiatus.
I told you, it’s not a van,
it’s a fuckin’ SUV, girlfren --
got eight cylinders, microwave DSL,
heat-seaking stealth mikes.
This is the law enforcement shit, lady dick.
Please accept my profuse apologies --
(ton of subtext)
Put away the bankroll.
This could be dangerous, Lona.
That’s what you said
that night on the beach in San Juan.
Don’t remind me.
I’m still having lower back problems.
EXT. 'THE INTERNATIONAL' MOTEL - NIGHT
Ridiculous. Flags from around the world
painted on a cinder block bunker.
Behind a gas station in 'The Hood.’ Hello.
INT. MOTEL ROOM - CONTINUOUS
My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult’s
DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS.
Sexy -- oozing promises of pleasure.
The HIPSTER VIDEO CLERK
is in a human-size dog costume,
tied up with electrical tape on the couch.
The head sits nearby.
Sparkle fastens a ball gag in his mouth.
Good boy, that’s a good boy.
Now we’re gonna play a few tricks.
The clerk jerks up, stands.
Fights against his restraints.
Sparkle WHACKS him on the ass
with a wooden paddle.
(whacks on each 'bad')
Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad -- boy!
No treats for you!
I told Mama not to
get a stray from the pound.
She pulls out a huge, gleaming,
hooked fish-gutting knife.
Now look what you’re making me do.
The boy’s eyes flash frightened tears.
I know, it makes me cry
when we have to put doggie to sleep.
INT. POLICE STATION - LIPSHITZ’ OFFICE - NIGHT
Bernie sits across from Larry’s desk.
A half-dozen HOMICIDE DETECTIVES
stand around, chatting, drinking coffee.
Lipshitz looks like shit,
eyes hollow sockets.
He pulls out a brown bottle.
Pours some into his coffee.
Takes a sip.
My wife was crying last night,
couldn’t get any sleep,
we were up all night --
We gotta get this -- succubus, Bernie.
I’m there like white on rice, Lare.
Thanks for the banality, Bernie.
It’s oddly comforting.
Alright, everybody listen up.
We got another tape.
Actually, it’s a CD.
The killer’s gone digital.
Let’s hear it,
I’m getting a chubby already.
Shut the fuck up MacDonald, you prick.
You think this is funny?
No, sir --
I was just trying to lighten the mood.
They say that humor during a time of crisis --
Why don’t you go to the morgue, MacDonald,
get laid, and leave us to the detecting.
Fuck you, Keko --
you’re just pissed off cause your wife
went bearded clam-digging.
(bad Brit accent)
Shall we shag-carpet-munch now,
or should we shag-carpet munch later?
The detectives chuckle.
Now pay attention -- this one’s a doozy.
He goes to a boombox, punches a button.
The sexy coo of Donna Summer’s
LOVE TO LOVE YOU BABY oozes into the room.
Love the gay disco, chief.
Somethin’ you wanna tell us?
Fuck you. It’s my daughter’s --
Okay. Now everybody shut the fuck up.
Lipshitz hits the ‘play’ button.
The Ramones come on,
the catchy pop-punk of PET SEMATARY.
I don’t want to be buried,
in a pet cemetery,
I don’t want to live my life again --
The music fades, and we hear --
And the night when the wolves cry out,
listen careful, and you can hear me shout --
I don’t I don’t want to be buried,
in a pet cemetery --
Thanks for tuning in.
It’s time to par-tay, dog-gone it.
Damn, I crack myself up.
Gotta watch that.
A shredded corpse is no laughing matter,
isn’t that right, awficer?
Hey, officer Krupke,
I feel pretty, oh so pretty --
Broad babbles more than Courtney Love on crank.
Paramount Pictures released
PET SEMATARY in 1988, a solid base hit.
The ten million dollar budget was well spent,
considering that it grossed
twenty-five million domestically --
and that’s not counting
international and ancillary revenues.
Steven King doesn’t consider it
to be a good adaptation of his novel,
since the director went with a semi-comedic tone,
which hurts the scare factor, I must say.
But still, it’s good, clean, sick fun.
A personal fave.
Two thumbs up my vag, thas’ fah shure.
Today’s installation is an example
of what happens when a petty little dog turd
uses his power over people.
Well, this is the end of the line,
chopping down the family cherry tree, bub.
Buster Hymen time.
Don’t forget --
to spay and neuter your pet.
Then, the sickly sound of a
knife making rapid puncture wounds --
A chill runs through the room.
Keko leans forward, in shock.
Here’s where it really gets good --
Film is a collaborative art --
but since I’m an orphan,
I need parenting, guidance.
A firm, loving hand to --
to stop me before I --
I’ve got my adoption papers.
Can the 42nd Precinct’s golden couple
save me before the end of the third act?
Whaddaya think, Daddy?
I think -- I gotta go find Carrie.
First go take a look at the body.
And brace yourself.
Crime scene tech still
can’t keep anything down.
PUSH IN on Bernie’s face.