Friday, April 5, 2013
My So-Called Fuck
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 8 of DAZED, BEAUTIFUL & BRUISED, we take a trip back in time and witness the abuse of teenage serial killer Sparkle Plenty's trailer trash parents. Meanwhile, homicide detectives Carrie Love and Bernie Keko listen to a horrific recording Sparkle made at the scene of her most recent murder ...
INT. SPARKLE’S TRAILER - FLASHBACK - DAY
Title card reads SIX YEARS EARLIER.
Dot yells at Roscoe,
waves a receipt in his face.
Seven-eighty? For a pack of smokes?
We were celebratin,
I won the Camelot super-buck scratch-off.
Jimmy said Dunhills were the best.
Said The Rock smokes ‘em.
The Rock! The Fucking Rock?!
You and your dumb-ass loser friends!
No wonder we’re fuckin’ broke!
She grabs a saucepan off the stove.
Greasy food splatters.
Hey -- be careful with that.
Let fuckin’ Jimmy fix yer supper!
She flings the pan at him.
He ducks, runs away --
as it hits the wall with a CLANG,
food spraying everywhere.
Fucking crazy, psycho cunt!
Dot chases after him, into --
INT. TRAILER - LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
But Roscoe’s gone.
The front door swings open in the breeze.
Dot holds her head,
the sudden movement causing a reaction.
Whoa, head rush.
(sits on the couch, calls out)
Sparkle? You dressed yet?
Mommy wants to see her little beauty queen.
Sparkle (10) appears as if by magic.
Painted, tarted up.
Holding a tiara.
I hate it when you guys fight.
Never mind that.
Put on the crown.
I wanna see how it looks
on my pretty little princess.
Looks like she’s about to cry.
Now that’s my little lady.
Come over here and sit on Mommy’s lap.
As if in a trance,
the little girl does. Trembling.
(strokes her hair)
That’s my little lady.
My pretty little girlie.
(hand on her thigh)
You ready for the pageant tomorrow?
You been practicing yer baton twirlin’?
(off her terrified nod)
That’s a good girl.
Such a good girl.
(hand goes up her dress)
My little lady.
My pretty little doll.
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 a CD 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?
Not my underwear, Rain Main.
See ya later, Gladiator.
Since this puppies’ 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.
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,
We’ll take my car.
Don’t do the penis extension thing.
You’re going to make this
as difficult as possible, huh.
Hey -- hijinks ensue.