TQR Confidential

Monday, June 26, 2006

Casting Call to Staff, but only the Floor responds!

Sent this out last week, hoping to get my fillum cast before the weekend was out. But, as you can see from the date of this entry, it didn't happen. Currently, I've got gmails to Ann Leckie and Jetse de Vries (current and past VC respectively) to take a part. Depending on people's improvisational skills, it should translate into a masterpiece of contemporary film because the script itself, as you can see, is rather shitty.


Yo. Here's the script. We need to get together and perform this soon either on gmail chat or in the Dojo. Let me know which part you'd prefer. There needs to be a narrator to act as kind of a ringmaster, who will cut off the wild ad libbing that will ensue by interjecting the blocks of exposition that exist betwixt the dialogue. The advantage of doing it on gmail chat is that it automatically saves a transcript whereas getting a transcript is a 'cut and paste' affair and includes the need for a cast member who is solely responsible for having their 'refresh' button unchecked and cutting and pasting the transcript once it's over with. The rub is that the only way somebody with their refresh button unchecked can see other people's posts is by posting some gibberish or other themselves then the result of what has gone before that splats wholly onto the screen, in other words, the cut and paster wouldn't know when the performance was over, but would have to sit there looking at a blank screen and estimating the time of the fini of the performance, then type in some gibberish and then do their job (that is if the performance is complete!). So... much ado about nothing. I will attach the script.

BOLIGARD REPLIES:

i am all over Brian, that be da fact, jack. i've nearly memorized my lines, and i've developed some makeup techniques that i believe really fill the character out. so doomey is brian, mofos.

GABRIEL REPLIES:

Uh huh. I have read the script in its fine form and although I do not yet feel kinship or the inside of Sonia's skin, she will be me and I will become her like the chameleon, Zonad who was the first wife of Carmel, first-born son of the seventh son of the lost and forgotten grandfather of Isaac Hayes who, without knowing it, lived for many years on a street named Abraxas next to the third cousin of King Miles who was, when not sustaining hallucinations brought on by his copious intake of opium, the Man. That's where Willie and Muddy and Johnny and all who followed after got the inspiration for the song where they spell it over and over again just in case you forget when you're listening: 'at spell EM AY EN. IMAMAN. Spell hit agin: EM AY EN. 'at spell MAN.

I, of course, am not a MAN but a WO man. Though I feel that this WO man of Portus', this Sonia, is portrayed in the adaptation as slightly dumber and less intuitive than dear monsieur Colvin must have intended, my interpretation and diction, my poise [you cannot walk the tightwire with Cirque de Soleil and not possess constant poise! mon dieux...] will elevate her to her rightful position. She will rise to, but not surpass, the great Portus. They will reign like King and Queen of Zippy Marts throughout the Land. They will change the product line and the lighting in every store. They will invite beggars to dine with them at a feast fit to be a royal banquet. They will fart in the wind and yodel until the cows come home.

But when is this engagement, this rehearsal of parts of which you two speak in such hushed but excited tones? What if I am at confession or defending myself against a bear in the woods when it is scheduled? What if I do not know my lines and have to, um wham jum, er..what if I have to i-m-p-r-o-v-i-s-e?

Is Stable Boy to appear as the alien? H3K the mothership?

Who is directing? Non! Don't tell me. Is this one of those free form productions we've tried before and fallen hard on our respective ass cheeks against the cold cement of an empty dojo floor when even the rugs had been lifted?

What is the sound of one hand clapping? Who has seen the wind?

Portus! Pass me that large potato sack so I can camouflage the chile. We will never surrender her to these heathens!

And bring me my moon boots. I have some kick-boxing to do.

ZOMBIE HOLOCAUST: The Script

Cast, in order of appearance:
1. Narrator played

2. Portus played
3. Brian played by Boligard Doomey
4. Portus’s wife, Sonia played by Gabrielle DePlancher
5. The Farmer’s Ghost played by
6. The Alien played by

Ext.
Zippy Mart Parking Lot
Night

Portus sweeps the lot of cigarette butts, candy wrappers and used condoms. Admiring the neat pile of refuse he's made, he shakes his head and laughs to himself.

PORTUS
Dust pan. Dust pan. Dust pan. Got your head up your
butt again, brother.

Before he can summon the brain waves to get him inside for the errant dust pan, he is transfixed by a familiar faint and mysterious sound, and looks up into the starry, cold night.

PORTUS
Helicopter? No. It can’t be ... what the ...

He turns around, licks his finger and sticks it in air. Then looks back down at the pile of debris.

PORTUS
Damn it. Dust pan!

He turns and walks resolutely back to the store

PORTUS
Dust pan dust pan dust pan dust pan dust pan dust pan dust pan dust pan.





Int
Inside the Zippy Mart
Night

Brian scrambles to put away the porno mag he's been perusing..

BRIAN
Oh hi, Portus! I was just …

PORTUS
Dust pan dust pan dust pa-- Oh hey, B. I forgot the dust pan, man.

Portus walks behind the counter and gets to the dust pan, turns to leave then turns back, drops the dust pan and lays his hand on the counter.

PORTUS
See them scars, boy?

BRIAN
Yeah. Looks like they been melted or somethin'.

PORTUS
Know why?

BRIAN
You set 'em on fire or somethin'?

PORTUS
Nah. I was born with four thumbs. The doctor snipped two of 'em.

BRIAN
Yeesh.

PORTUS
My wife's pregnant, man. When our little girl is born, if she's got extra fingers, I think we'll leave them on.You could probably something really cool with those extra fingers.

BRIAN
Yeah. Like be a kick-ass guitarist … if you had those extra fingers, I mean.

PORTUS
Phantom thumbs, man. Sometimes I can see 'em. If I look close, I can almost see them.

BRAIN
Yeah ... sure. Don’t try and bullshit me, Portus.

The bell above the door clangs and Sonia rushes in.

SONIA
Jesus in a June bug, Portus! Are you all right? I was jes driving by and I noticed that goddamn ghost by the dumpster an thought maybe he infected you with the demon seed!

BRIAN
Ghosts! Demons! Christ! Are both of you crazy?

PORTUS
Honey, I keep telling you, he’s just some lonely farmer.

Brian walks over to the front of the store, looks out toward the dumpster and shrugs his shoulders, then turns around.

BRIAN
Yo Portus. You going to leave that pile of butts and shit out there all night?



Ext.
Zippy Mart Dumpster
Night

The denim overall-wearing ghost stood amidships of the dumpster trying to keep its wits while Portus and Sonia accosted him from opposite sides.

PORTUS
See. He ain’t going to impregnate me w/ no demon seed, Sonia. He’s harmless.



SONIA
(Ignoring her husband)
You stay away from my man, you unclean spirit. You hear me? I’ll call down Jesus on your ass if’n you lay one of those protoplasmic fingers on him I’ll call down the Holy Ghost and it’ll probably have you for some kind of snack.

PORTUS
You never listen to me! Jesus on a stick, woman. You shouldn’t begetting so irate and all, being with child and all.

SONIA
(Still ignoring Portus)
You know it? It’ll prolly roll you like some kind of finger samwich and gulp you down whole! For the love of God, you step back! Hear? The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ-

GHOST
Look lady, I don't even know why the hell I'm cursed to roam the night anymore than you know why you're such an inveterate harpy! [Turns to PORTUS] If I was you, friend. I'd get thee to a monastery rather than hafta suffer the slings and arrows of this bitch!

MONEY SHOT, a downward crane angle, swooping in from afar, as half a dozen zombies stagger out from behind the dumpster.

ZOMBIES
brains... brains.

PORTUS
quick, mama, hide thy plump self behind my vastness. i'll shield thee, i will. back, heathen scum!

ZOMBIES
brains... brains.

GHOST
you'd think they'd go for something a bit more tasty than the brain, wouldn't you?

SONIA
ahhhhh. no. not zombies. anything but zombies!

the swooping crane shot levels and settles on portus and lead zombie. two shot.

LEAD ZOMBIE
we've a message for a mister bongo.

PORTUS
bongo?

LEAD ZOMBIE
yes, sir

ZOMBIES (v.o.)
brains... brains.

PORTUS
there's no mister bongo in these parts, pal. seems perhaps you've been dropped off in the wrong zip code.

LEAD ZOMBIE (to zombies)
boys! hey, boys. which one of you have the orders.

new shot, overhead, slight angle, on portus and lead zombie and zombies. zombies look around at each other. one steps forward.

ZOMBIE 1
i've got them (she pulls out a sheet of rumpled paper) says here we're to locate and transfer data to a mister bongo of patterson lake montana, zone 3F1-nancy.

LEAD ZOMBIE (to portus0
this is zone 3F1-nancy, isn't it?

PORTUS
beats the shit out of me, friend.

LEAD ZOMBIE
hm. (to zombies) looks like we're going to have to pack it up, boys. regroup, get our bearings.

zombies turn and stagger back behind the dumpster.

PORTUS
glad we could be of some help, fellows.

GHOST
Now just leave me the alone, will yuz?!

PORTUS
My lady, let us leave this unclean spirit
to its own devices.

Man and wife walk hand in hand back toward the entrance of the Zippy Mart. But before they can enter, the night is rent by a spiderweb of white laser beams, and that chinzie theme from 'Close Encounters' is played repeatedly on what sounds like to be a xylophone.

SONIA
They've come for the chile!

PORTUS
Get thee behind my portentious bulk, woman.
I shall protect ye from these alien marauders!

MOTHERSHIP
[vo]
People of earth, we have come for your Marlboros
and Swank! Do not try and stop us. Any of you
motherfuckers try anything and we'll zap you with
the ray gun.

Oblivious to the big shakes going on, Brian pushes his way out of the glass doors of the Zippy Mart, shaking a finger at Portus.

BRIAN
Goddamn you, Portus! I've been frying
donuts in there all alone for I don't
know how--what the...

MOTHERSHIP
We must exterminate! We must exterminate!
We must exterminate! We must exterminate!

A blinding red laser beam reduces Brian to a chunk of gristle sizzling on the sidewalk.

PORTUS
You all want hard or soft pack? Lights, ultra lights or regulars? Plain brown paperbag or plastic?

SONIA
Don't let them take the chile, Portus!
You hear me? Don't... let ... them ...

PORTUS
[Gives her a righteous backhand]
[sotto voce]
Shut up woman. They ain't never yet
mentioned nothing about the child!

MOTHERSHIP
And since you mentioned it...

A blue tractor beam envelops Sonia and turns her floating perpendicular to the ground.

Portus falls to his knees and prays to Jesus.

PORTUS
Lord, may you find it within
your holy bounds to intercede...

Brian walks out of the Zippy Mart, oblivious to the drama.

BRIAN
God dang it, Portus. I'm in there
making donuts and all you are d-
... what the ????

MOTHERSHIP
We must exterminate. We must exterminate.
We must exterminate. We must exterminate.

A pillar of light zaps Brian, reducing him to a sizzling hunk of gristle. Sonia moans mesmerically. Portus jumps to his feet and lays his hands upon his woman.

PORTUS
Sinner ... heal theyselves!
[to Sonia]
I got a favor to ask of you.

All she can do is moan.

MOTHERSHIP
We must exterminate. We must exterminate.
We must--

Four anatomically correct but humongous-sized thumbs shoot from Sonia's stomach and up into the sky, puncturing the mothership's hull with their gigantic thumbnails. The mothership whirrs for a seond before exploding in a shower of white light. Shrapnel falls from the sky all around them as Sonia falls heavily to the ground.

PORTUS
Thank you, baby girl.

SONIA
Phewee. That was close!

PORTUS
It's good to have phantom thumbs.

Brian, unaware of the tumult surrounding him, walks out of the Zippy Mart.

BRIAN
Portus. Can't you read the GD
signs?
[He points at the sign]
No Fornicating in the Parking Lot!

Zombies emerge from the back of the dumpster. The Farmer's Ghost makes itself transparent and disappears.

ZOMBIES
[OC]
Brains. Brains!

BRIAN
What in the hell?

HEAD ZOMBIE
[sizing up Brian]
Well, zombies can't be choosers.

The zombies fall upon Brian and begin to devour him alive. Portus jumps to his feet and tries to distract the zombies by banging on the dumpster from whence they came.

PORTUS
Egad! Depart from here yon, zombies!
This is Indiana ... we're nowhere near
Montana! You got the wrong guy.

Zombie continue feeding as the terrible, blood curdling screams of Brian begin to give way to the zombies moaning and the sounds of ripping flesh.

SONIA
Let's get te fuck outta here!

PORTUS
Alas, poor Brian. I knew him well!
Whether it is 'gainst the makers
canon to be devoured by zombies
I would throw off this mortal coil--

SONIA
Can it Milton! Throw me the GD keys!

Portus digs in his pocket and throws his wife the keys. They scramble to the beat-up Dodge rambler and take off, tire squealing, into the impending sunrise.

Friday, June 23, 2006

Zombie Holocaust: Pre-Production

So, me and my screenwriting partner Boligard Doomey have adapted John Colvin's CG Between the Night People and the Day People (live on the TQR site for another month or so) for the silver screen. So, yeah, it's a short film, but we've got zombies and ghosts and aliens! It could be expanded into a full length mega-blockbuster. I've been trying to pull together a cast from the TQR staff. No takers yet. But here's the gmail I've sent out.

Yo. Here's the script. We need to get together and perform this soon either on gmail chat or in the Dojo. Let me know which part you'd prefer. There needs to be a narrator to act as kind of a ringmaster, who will cut off the wild ad libbing that will ensue by interjecting the blocks of exposition that exist betwixt the dialogue. The advantage of doing it on gmail chat is that it automatically saves a transcript whereas getting a transcript is a 'cut and paste' affair and includes the need for a cast member who is solely responsible for having their 'refresh' button unchecked and cutting and pasting the transcript once it's over with. The rub is that the only way somebody with their refresh button unchecked can see other people's posts is by posting some gibberish or other themselves then the result of what has gone before that splats wholly onto the screen, in other words, the cut and paster wouldn't know when the performance was over, but would have to sit there looking at a blank screen and estimating the time of the fini of the performance, then type in some gibberish and then do their job (that is if the performance is complete!). So... much ado about nothing. I will attach the script.

You can read the script itself in the Queen's Rump located in the FREE MARKET menu item at TQR. Stay tuned.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

TERMINAL VELOCITY

Terminal Velocity ( Public )
Written by Theodore Q. Rorschalk




Dear Investors,



Though ‘Extra Time’ has been allotted in order that Archi get in his two cents worth, we’re down to the Terminal nitty gritty. Thus far, it appears we’ve got six works heading into the executives suites which are going to be commandeered this quarter by a real pair of Aces! Which is different than last quarter’s pair of asses … excuse me, but I had to pause to laugh. As I was saying, this quarter’s executive suite breakdown will at least be something fresh and never-before seen here at TQR: a hit man with iambic pentameter as deadly as his professional je n’ais ce quois facing off against his better half in what promises to be something along the lines of a messy court battle for custody of the children, they, the children, of course, in this case, being the precious cap.


I am not clear exactly when either of these two executive types propose to make their grand entrances at their respective offices, although Qrist has been in and out of the Report muttering low something-or-others referencing Beckham’s love affair with one Ronaldodino, but suffice to say it won’t be long now. You are directed to check daily the Free Market in order that you do not miss the imminent start of the proceedings, and to catch up with things in the Rump and the Safe House.


I would like to thank all the VC who have once again offered up their ventures for our vetting this quarter, and encourage you, if you did not quite make it to the top this time, to keep on plugging. And to those of you moving forward into the suites, may God have mercy on your souls! Just kidding. I wish you, as always, the best of luck.

Sincerely, Theodore Q. Rorschalk