Down and desperately wanting to be out.

I got a cold this past Monday, and the fever is finally breaking. Needless to say, I've been out of commission these last several days. Who'd have thought writing for a couple weeks straight with about a couple hours of sleep a day would eventually catch up with you?

Oh well, c'est la vie.

Done???

They call me Hadoken...cause I'm Down, Right, Fierce!
I had to post that, cause, well I'm a fucking geek.

Speaking of, now that the script's done. Here comes selling it.

And damn, if that ain't more work than writing the thing. I hate interacting with people, a curse of all writers I guess. But I feel weird calling up people and peddling myself to them.

But then I think about the money that's gonna come from this bad boy...

It's a good thing I've got a sexy voice, that's all I gotta say ;)

Done...

Two years in the making. But a script that was near and dear to my heart is finally done. Technically it was done last year. But there were parts of the script that were just flat out killing me. One scene in particular, for the life of me, I couldn't get right. Take note kids, don't write about something so excruciatingly painful, that every time you go to it, your body goes through upheavals.

So when do I get to read it you ask?

You've got to wait. It's going to the Writer's Guild of America as we speak. As soon as this bad boy is registered it is off to be sold. That's right, I'm selling this bad boy. Consider it, compensation for time served.

With luck, it'll be picked up and made into one of those 'moving picture' dealies.

Here's to Shatters, you've come a long way baby.

I Am All That Is Man!

I saw this over at IGN, and I thought it deserved it's own little place here. Some of you still haven't played online, and soon, you won't have a choice, so when someone tells you, "Pwned!" Now you'll know why. Here's a little dictionary of gaming terms.

"Pwned" - A corruption of the word "Owned." This originated in an online game called Warcraft, where a map designer misspelled "owned." When the computer beat a player, it was supposed to say, so-and-so "has been owned." Instead, it said, so-and-so "has been pwned." May also be used to your friends when they lose their keys, drop a cell phone or spill coffee on their new pants.

"W00t" - "w00t" was originally a truncated expression common among players of Dungeons and Dragons tabletop role-playing game for "Wow, loot!" Thus the term passed into the net-culture where it thrived in videogame communities and lost its original meaning and is used simply as a term of excitement and extreme nerdiness.

"I defeated the dark sorcerer! Woot!"

"Teabagged" - A traditional saying in shooters, after you get killed or owned, the enemy begins to crouch up and down on your dead body, whether over your head or other preferred area of the corpse. Makes great kill-cam footage.

"You got served!" - Another way of saying "You just got owned" or "Pwned!" or "You suck at breakdancing!"

"ZOMG HAXX" - Two separate words, 'zomg' is derived from 'omg' meaning oh my god. 'zomg' puts an extra ZO in it, so it sounds like ZOH-MAI-GOHDUH. 'Hax' is commonly used on the Xbox Live world as a defense mechanism for people with low self-esteem who need to justify getting beat by accusing the opposing player for cheating. In conclusion, 'ZOMG HAX' means to be incredibly excited/confused/depressed about losing a game or your pathetic life, in general.

"N00b" - An insult term referring to someone who is new to a game - but is more widely used as a general insult. Usually gets spouted by an elitist, or bad players that can't accept losing (and calls everyone else 'noobs' for beating him). The videogame world's version of a rookie.

"Kekeke" - It's what some Koreans say in online games, usually signifies joy, or sometimes it's like a war-cry. You'll see this from an enemy if he is killing you, he is Korean, or both.

ATTACK THE BASE! KEKEKE!!!"

"Suxxor" - Modified version of the verb "to suck", and the meaning is roughly the same. There are two main uses, as a verb ("Dude, that suxxorz!") and as a noun ("You are teh suxxor."). They appear independently. The verb version is antonymous to roxxor ("to rock"), and a noun could be considered as a counterpart to "haxor" ("hacker"). The pronunciation is "suck-zor". Contrary to some claims, EverQuest's spell "Succor" has nothing to do with that word (actually pronounced "Soo-kore"). This is one of the early uses of the -zor word-ending. Don't say this to your girlfriend.

"Base raping" - When a team has captured all of the bases but one. Members of that team surround the last remaining spawn point and decimate the team with additional kills, insults. Note: Being base-raped sux.

"Ridicapwned" - When someone pwns someone....but it's ridiculous.

"Janitor" - Someone who avoids the main battle and cleans up on wounded survivors to finish them off.

"Muhahahaha" - Evil laugh.

"The Rocks" - Rocket launcher in Halo2.

"Bring a baggie fo ya teef - You just got assassinated.

"Boomstick" - Shotgun.

"Blue Screen Bitches" - Quitters.

"No-scoped" - A single shot sniper kill without the use of sights or a scope.

The Continuous Adventures of Dumb Fuck... Episode II

Another installment of...


"The Continuous Adventures of Dumb Fuck - Dumb Fuck Gets A Costume"

A congealed, almost porous substance, pounded flat against hard wood. Sounds of wet flesh smacked against hard glass. He tosses a white powder against it. The sounds are no longer wet. A red, richly thick liquid, runs all over... It seeps in slightly. It spreads to the very edges, like lava flow, then stops. Cheese is tossed on it, along with slices of linguica, pineapple, and finally jalapenos. Dumb Fuck always makes a pizza for himself near the end of his shift. The boss doesn't mind, and most people don't come in this late at night. He slides it into the oven and pulls the steel doors shut. He strains a bit as he recoils. He lifts his shirt to see if his bandages are ripped, he pulls back his bulletproof vest and reveals bruises from his three cracked ribs. It's been two weeks since Dumb Fuck learned he was a super hero. And it's been four days since he last tried to figure out how exactly he is a super hero. So far he's got cracked ribs from jumping off a chair to see if he can fly, a nice little cut on his forearm from a stab wound he gave himself to see if he was impervious, and a black eye from his coworker that he asked to be slapped by, just to make sure that the knife cut wasn't a fluke from his super human strength (which, he knows now that he doesn't have). Dumb Fuck hasn't given up, but he will try to use a little more tact in his next experiments. His coworker comes in from the back room as he tucks his shirt back in, his bandages are fine.

"D. F.?" She says walking in with a barrel of sauce, "Is you're face still hurting?" Dumb Fuck looks at her. A beautiful young girl in her mid-twenties. Her vibrantly red hair tied up in a bun, so as not to get any 'pizza guts' as she says, in it. Her eyes, a light shade of brown, like the bottom of a soft flowing stream, when the sun hits it just right. The fibers of her eyes are so tightly woven that you could stare for hours, and never make them out. Dumb Fuck can never get enough of them.
"I'm fine Sheby. Just getting my pizza ready."
"You know, I would have never hit you, but I couldn't pass that up."
"It's cool Sheby."
"I mean a Britney Spears' DVD!"
"Yeah, it was my pleasure."
"It even had the one when she performed in that Elvis suit..."
"Sheby!" He interrupts. "I really didn't want it."
"By the way?" She says obliviously, "I've been meaning to ask you, why do you call me that?"
"What? Sheby?"
"Yeah, it's not like it bothers me or anything, I think it's cute, but everyone else calls me Shibana. You're the only one who's ever given me a nickname."
"Well, you call me D.F.?"
"Can't call you Dumb Fuck in front of the customers, right? At least not without an explanation, or an apology."
"I don't know why I call you that, but if it bothers you..."
"No not at all, I like it, just curious is all." Just then, the door bursts open. They topple off their hinges from the force. Four men walk in, stepping on the doors as they enter. The last one jumps over the doors.
"God Damn Jerry! You fucked up those doors!" He says.
"Don't give me no shit Larry!", says Jerry, "I'm not in the mood." Larry, Jerry, Gary, and Harry. Once Lawrence, Jeremiah, Garibald, and Harold. These four middle aged men, have all quit their jobs as sales representatives at their respective "Dot Com" companies, to pursue a dream of reckless abandonment. They all cashed in their 401K's to buy each of them a Harley Davidson Motorcycle, a bowie knife each (compliments of Harry who watches "The Knives Collectors Show" on the Home Shopping Network), and cool zippo lighters (even though Larry doesn't smoke).
They all have on leather in some way. Larry has on leather pants, a little tight for him and they make a lot of noise when he walks. He also has on a leather hat, the kind that Indiana Jones wears, except all black. Gary has on a leather vest, he saw it once in a movie, he thought it was cool. Harry has on leather forearm guards, he saw them in a movie as well. And finally, Jerry has a leather trench coat, he doesn't wear it when he rides, however. He doesn't want to ruin it, so he folds it up, carefully, and tucks it away in his bike compartment, he only takes it out when he is going inside somewhere, but this time he has forgotten it. They haven't really committed any serious crimes, mostly misdemeanors. Jerry is the only one who actually carries a gun. They haven't really used it yet, they pointed at a young Asian man once and told him to 'Go back to China you fucking gook!" The young man was going to tell them that he's Filipino, not Chinese. Also, that gook is a ethnic slur for Vietnamese people, but they rode off on their motorcycles before he got a chance to say anything.
Dumb Fuck comes running in from around the counter, followed closely by Shibana. Jerry sees them.
"Damn boy." Jerry says to Dumb Fuck, "Fucking doors must be old as hell, nearly got us killed." A feeling comes over Dumb Fuck, something familiar and normal.
"That's okay sir," Dumb Fuck says apologetically, "We'll get that fixed."
"In the meantime," continues Jerry, "Why don't you fix us up with two pitchers of beer before we order our pizza."
"No problem sir." Dumb Fuck turns away as the four men sit at the table. He takes Sheby by the arm. "Take their order and be really cool about it, no long talks, they're not the nicest of people." Sheby looks at them, and then to Dumb Fuck.
"Okay, no problem." Dumb Fuck walks back as Sheby goes to take their order. "Hi, how are you?" No answer from any of them. "You guys came right on time, we were just about to close."
"Well you're a cute one ain't ya?" Larry leans back looking at the "too young for him, so it feels oh so right" young lady. Sheby smiles graciously.
"What would you like?"
"What do you recommend?" Says Harry, the only one actually looking at the menu.
"We'll have a ultimate meat meat pizza, which has every single meat that we have..."
"No, I'm trying to cut back on eating too much meat." Interrupts Larry.
"God Damn it Larry!" Harry puts down the menu. "Every fucking place we go to you got to watch your fucking meat intake."
"What? I've been trying to lose weight, that's all?"
"You have been a fucking but-plug about that shit, Larry." Says Gary. Larry leans towards Gary.
"I can't fit into these pants anymore, Gary. They're getting tight, plus every time I sweat, they seem to shrink." Harry's eyes light up.
"Hey did you ever see that episode of Friends when Ross bought leather pants and he couldn't get into them?"
"That was Alley McBeal." Says Gary assuredly.
"No I think he's right," says Larry, "It was Friends."
"Are you sure?" Gary says. Jerry, all of a sudden, slams his hand on the table.
"Are you fucking femmes done?" The other three fall silent. "Look, Red." He says to Sheby, "We'll have an extra large pizza, with linguica, jalapenos, and pineapples." Larry looks at Jerry worriedly.
"But..."
"You can pick it off Larry." Jerry leans back in his chair. Sheby jots down the order, already bored with the conversation.
"Will that be all?"
"I guess so." Says Larry disappointingly.
"Okay, It'll be a couple minutes." As Sheby starts to walk off, Jerry stops her.
"Hey, that boy ain't going to make the pizza, is he?"
"Who, D.F." Sheby says curiously, "No he just handles the register, I make the pizzas at night." Jerry turns to the other three.
"Good, didn't want that nigger touching my food." Jerry laughs loudly. The other three turn their heads a bit, faking their chuckles. Sheby, a little surprised, tries to lighten, the all of a sudden sullen mood.
"Well," she says, "He's half white actually."
"Hey!" Jerry says sternly, "A nigger is a nigger is a nigger. And that's that. No matter how white you try to make him, he still looks like shit to me." Jerry laughs again, this time alone. The other three look at each other. Memories of sitting at a cubicle discussing their online stock options with their brokers, while sending forwards of the latest Osama Bin Laden getting fucked in the ass by a goat in the Tora Bora caves pic; all of a sudden become very fond.
"Well. alrighty then." Harry says trying to break the tension.
"I'll get your order sir." Sheby, with no more to say, walks to the back. She walks to Dumb Fuck as he fills the last pitcher of beer. She lays down the order next to him as she reaches for the dough in silence. "Well, I could have done without the Jim Carrey reference, among other things."
"Hey!" Dumb Fuck says amusingly as he looks at the order. "They ordered the same thing I like."
"Yeah they did." Sheby says softly.
"They got good taste." Dumb Fuck says nodding his head. Sheby looks at him.
"D.F., they called you the "N" word." Dumb Fuck looks puzzled.
"What's the "N" word?"
"Oh come on, you couldn't have forgotten that?"
"Noodle Dick?" Sheby looks at him shockingly.
"No!"
"Well good, cause I could have whipped it out for them if they really wanted to..."
"They called you nigger!"
"Oh, that "N" word." Dumb Fuck stops the spout as the pitcher fills. "Well, there's no accounting for taste." He grabs the other pitcher and motions to go out.
"You're not planning on going out there are you?"
"Look Sheby, it's hard enough for me to remember why the "N" word is so bad, and even harder to remember why I should take offense off of someone I don't know. I'm not going to do anything but give them their beer and get them on their way." He grabs the pitchers and walks out toward the table.
Gary and Larry are playing with their lighters as Dumb Fuck turns the corner. Larry is trying to show Gary a really cool way to flick the lighter on, something he saw on "Reservoir Dogs". Jerry keeps his eye trained on Dumb Fuck as he sets down the pitchers.
"Here you go guys," Dumb Fuck taps Jerry lightly on the back. "Your pizza is coming right up." Jerry grabs Dumb Fuck's hand tightly.
"That little bitch told you didn't she?" The others stop what they're doing and look at Jerry. A wave of terror runs up their spine. They mistake it for adrenaline.
"Told me what, sir?" Dumb Fuck is surprisingly calm.
"Red, get your ass out here!" Jerry looks at Dumb Fuck. "We're going to have us a little chat."
"Sir I assure you that she hasn't told me..."
"No!" Jerry reaches into his crotch and pulls the gun out, not realizing that he had the gun stuffed into his underwear. All the squirming and moving around that he's been doing has unfortunately pinched a few of his pubic hairs between the moving parts. Later, the police Forensics Department will spend about four thousand dollars of man power and resources trying to figure it out. But for now, Jerry had to hide the pain as he slams the gun on the counter. "Get that little bitch out here!" Dumb Fuck didn't here a word Jerry said. The moment he saw the gun, his mind was ablaze. Jerry's hand twitched. Dumb Fuck, reacts, slides his hand around Jerry's side. He turned in a blink of an eye and Dumb Fuck slammed his hand down hard on top of Jerry's. Jerry only saw a flash of light. He looks down at his hand, his mouth gaping as Dumb Fuck pulls his hand away. In Dumb Fuck's hand was Jerry's Four-forty, stainless steel, African Safari bowie knife.
Larry, Gary, and Harry, stare in amazement. Curiously, Jerry pulls his hand away. More curiously as he discovers, his forefinger remains. There, at the trigger guard, next to a pubic hair, lies Jerry's finger and the trigger, both beautifully severed by a thin piece of metal, from their respective owner's. For a moment, Jerry's mind slips into a thought on how he is going to recover from his internet stock crash, "the market has been sucky lately." He thinks to himself.
At that moment, Sheby comes around the corner to the tables. She sees the men standing around a now-curling, bloody finger.
"Dumb Fuck, what did you do?" Harry, being the one sitting at the end of the table turns to look at Sheby, then to Dumb Fuck.
"Your name's Dumb Fuck?" Dumb Fuck looks at Harry for a moment, then quickly looks at Jerry. Jerry has begun to reach for the knife. His wits coming back to him. Dumb Fuck dives for the knife. The other three push back. Harry does so, very hard and knocks down Sheby. She slams the back of her head against the opposite table and is knocked out cold. Dumb Fuck pulls the knife out of the table. He sees the men getting up and takes that as an attack. Larry is the closest to Dumb Fuck. Dumb Fuck takes the knife and buries it into Larry's throat. Larry stumbles back and his leather pants slip down and trip him up. As Larry falls, Dumb Fuck pulls the knife out of his throat. A slight gurgling sound is heard.
Dumb Fuck balances himself on Larry's head as he spins towards Harry, his hand catches Larry's hat before he goes down. With a flick of his wrist, the knife slides out of Dumb Fuck's hand and plants itself in Harry's chin. Harry instinctively grabs for his chin, but before he could get his hands to his face, Dumb Fuck grabs him by the forearms. Dumb Fuck leans back and kicks the knife into Harry's chin deeper. The blade disappears completely into Harry head as he falls back. His leather forearm guards slide off into Dumb Fuck's hands.
Gary has chosen this particular moment (for obvious reasons) to run. Dumb Fuck is on him in no time. He grabs Gary by his vest, Gary is pulled back but he slides out of it. Dumb Fuck drops the vest and steps on the back of Gary shin. Gary falls to his knees as Dumb Fuck takes another step, on Gary's neck. He bears his weight on it, it snaps on impact. Dumb Fuck steps off of Gary, his boot imprinted on the back of his neck. He checks Sheby if she's ok. He takes the vest off of the floor and puts it under her head. Dumb Fuck walks around the table, picking up the forearm guards and the hat as he walks around. Jerry sits in the same chair, unable to move from what he has just seen. He sees Dumb Fuck's eyes fixed upon him, burning into him as he gets closer. Jerry is able to make a soft noise in the back of his throat, his mouth completely dried.
"What was that?" Dumb Fuck asks. Jerry gulps.
"Don't kill me, please."
"Oh, I'm not." Dumb Fuck says calmly. Jerry snaps out of his daze.
"Huh?"
"Look..."
"Jerry."
"Jerry." Dumb Fuck continues. "Look Jerry you have one chance to live."
"Anything."
"You take the wrap for this." He looks at Dumb Fuck confused.
"For what?"
"For all this." Dumb Fuck points at Larry, "For that." He points at Harry, "And that." And turns to Gary, "And of course that. You take the fall for this shit, since this is all your fault." You get up and leave, and you will be that bad ass that you pretend to be." A smile comes across Jerry's face as he pictures himself in Dumb Fuck's shoes as he "Jackie Chan'd" everyone's ass just now. He looks up at Dumb Fuck and the smile wipes away. He gets up slowly and keeps his eye trained on Dumb Fuck.
"You want me to leave now?"
"Yeah Jerry, that would be a good thing, I got to call the cops pretty damn soon."
"The cops?"
"Yeah Jerry, you just killed three people."
"For what?"
"I don't know Jerry, you think I have the insight to your madness? The fact is you killed them and you fled. I didn't get a good look at your face, just a build, neither did Sheby here when she gets up. But remember Jerry, if the cops do catch you, you fall, and you fall big time, you know that right?"
"Yeah I'm getting that." Jerry begins to get excited to leave. To live his, however awkward, dream. He pushes the chair in. He turns to Dumb Fuck. "Thanks." He starts to leave. Dumb Fuck stops him.
"Jerry."
"Yeah?"
"Leave your keys, you fought with them and stole one of their motorcycle cause you don't have one anymore." Jerry reaches into his pocket. And puts the keys on the table.
"Okay. Whose bike?"
"Jerry I don't care, pick one." Jerry reaches down to Larry's side, without looking at him he took his keys and his wallet.
"Can I take his wallet?"
"Go ahead, but leave your finger." Dumb Fuck goes to the back and picks up the phone. Jerry stands for a moment realizing now that his finger is still bleeding, badly. He grabs a napkin and wraps it up. As he does so, he hears Dumb Fuck say, "Hello police, there's been a murder." Jerry runs out of the door.
As the night lingers on, two rumbling noises are heard at opposite ends of town. One races away desperately heading for the border. Not because he wants to, but because he figures everyone else does. Everyone in the movies that he's seen. Jerry has been given his dream. Forced into his fantasy, he doesn't know whether to cry or smile. So he does both. No more cubicles for Jerry. No phone conferences, no stupid funny email forwards. And no finger.
At the other end of town, after the questions and explanations to both Sheby and the police, Dumb Fuck pulls up to his apartment for the first time that he can remember, on his own vehicle, sort of. He opens the door to his apartment. On the chair in the kitchen he hangs up the trench coat that he found in Jerry's bike. He sets the forearm guards, the hat, and the leather vest neatly on the table. Things he conveniently kept from the cops. He goes over to his bed, as he removes his clothes he picks up the book that he has next to his night stand. He smoothes out the corner of the sticker on the cover that says, "computer geek inside." A joke still lost to him. As he flips to the last page he checks his bandages one more time. They're fine. There on the last page is written, "You're a super hero." Right underneath is written, "How?" And a list of words crossed out, such as invulnerable, flying, healing factor, etc. Dumb Fuck looks up at the kitchen chair. The trench coat hanging on it, the hat settled on the table. Dumb Fuck smiles.
As he gets into bed, he continues to smile. There on the nightstand, a little black book is left open to a certain page. A line, "You're a super hero." scrawled onto the page. Several words crossed out, such as invulnerable, flying, healing factor, etc. As well as the word "How?" Next to it, an arrow is drawn across to the next page. There in a new page. is written, "You are a super hero, you fucking kick much ass. And your costume is hanging on the chair in the kitchen.

The End

The Continuous Adventures of Dumb Fuck... Episode I

So a while back, I wanted to write a character that I would never make into a film, or utilize in a story. The character would just be my creative outlet to write when I felt the need to write, but didn't want to do any work. So I created Dumb Fuck. I've only done a couple episodes, over the last couple years, but I figure this is a nice place to share them with you.

Enjoy

"The Continuous Adventures of Dumb Fuck - Dumb Fuck Becomes a Super Hero"

It's not his fault of course, he thought it was the only real thing he got from his father. Think back as far as you can remember. Do you remember your first dream? Do you remember the first time you ever ate strained peas? Dumb Fuck doesn't. But he does have a vague, broken recollection of his father. Basically a man that looks like he does now. A muddled memory of his father grabbing him by his four year old neck. He would've done it by the hair but his father kept him shaved.
"Have no fucking time to deal with your head and the goddamn shampoo!" He used to say. Once he had a good grip, the kind that left bruises and shallow imprints, he slammed him head first against the aluminum screen door of the church. "Get your silly ass in their Dumb Fuck!" His dad wasn't that creative, he's seen enough movies to figure out that he could leave his kid at a church, but didn't realize that a Monday night, when the church is closed, usually isn't the best time. When the kid came to his senses he sat down at the steps, bleeding from his forehead. The priest saw him the next morning, shivering.
"Are you okay son? What's your name?" He stares up at him squinting through the dried blood on his head.
"My name's Dumb Fuck."
Dumb Fuck was later told why his father might have called him that. Dumb Fuck has a severe memory problem. A form of amnesia that he can't quite remember the name of. It comes to him spontaneously, sometimes he'd go a month without his memory being virtually wiped clean, sometimes only a day. He'd never forget everything. He still knew how to tie his shoe, wipe his ass, fuck (though he doesn't know how often), etc. And he always remembered his name, at least the one his father gave him. The doctors; the ones the halfway house that he grew up in could afford anyway, said that he was functional enough to not be hospitalized. It didn't matter to Dumb Fuck, he just wanted to keep his name. They begged and pleaded with Dumb Fuck, but eventually they gave in. Dumb Fuck has a social security card, a driver's license, several years ago Publisher's Clearing House wrote saying that "Dumb Fuck might be the proud winner of one million dollars." It didn't pan out.
Dumb Fuck has a book. A little black book that he keeps next to his bed table. A sticker on the front reads, "Computer Geek Inside". A joke that he has long forgotten. In the first page an inscription saying, "Write what's important in here so you won't forget who you are. And leave the book at home so you don't lose it. Best Wishes, Father Alvarenga." The several pages following are of basic things. The fact that he's half black, a reminder that he receives time and time again when he tries to get a cab. His memory loss, where he lives, a small apartment furnished sparsely with every single IKEA necessity that he could barely afford. His name, with "no joke" written underneath it. Several job references with reminders of when he was fired and when he was hired... The last entry of his jobs, working at Shakey's Pizza. Some of the pages in his book are worn, some oddly colored with a clear rusty stain. These pages are the odd ones. There isn't a lot written on them, but what is written is disturbing to him, or at least they would be if he could remember why they're there. On one of these oddly red pages is written in sporadic script, "You have a gun. Either on you or under the pillow." Several pages further he wrote, "You have a bullet proof vest, wear it." It usually hangs on the bed post, with three, half inch deep dents. One on the lower back, and the other two on the chest. Dumb Fuck assumes that he acquired the vest and gun when he was working security at a mall. Why it has a silencer, he never bothered to ask. Why he wears the vest and the gun still, he figures that working at Shakey's at night can be hazardous.
Dumb Fuck sits in front of the Radio Shack in his neighborhood. They leave the T.V.'s on with sound at night, and since he doesn't have one at his place, it's cheaper than going to the movies. Plus a bench has been conveniently erected there in memory of some old lady who happened to die right on that very spot. People say that she was watching a Britney Spears video when she died. She apparently was an old lesbian woman, that found the young teen pop star so hot, she had an orgasm so intense that she had a stroke and died. That's why the manager of the Radio Shack has kept it on the news since then.
Dumb Fuck fingers his nearly finished mocha latte as he watches his third commercial break, for coming up next on the news, "Why Coffee drinks are good for you." Dumb Fuck's ears are perked when he hears the fast paced thumping of little feet on the pavement. A young boy runs up to Dumb Fuck. He sits right next to him looking down at the street. The young boy, no more than thirteen years old, looks up at Dumb Fuck out of breath.
"Hey." He struggles to say. Dumb Fuck, paying little attention to the young boy, answers back.
"Hey." All of a sudden a quickly paced thudding sound, heavier than the first comes quickly up to the bench. The young boy gets up standing to the side of Dumb Fuck, as Dumb Fuck looks up to his left where the young boy came from, and sees a man out of breath, coming at them.
"Thought you could out run me you little shit!" He stammers, as he comes to a halt. He picks up his pants, though they were well below his waist to begin with, running had made them drop to his knees. "You better give me my fucking money!" He continues, "Or they're going to have to put another bench right next to that old, gay, white bitch's!" The young boy reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of money that could not add up to more than seventy-five dollars.
"This is my momma's money fool." The young boy puts it back into his pocket.
"That slutty ass ho wasn't worth the fuck." The man snickers. "She didn't even go down on a nigga!"
"Fuck You" The boy moves towards the man. The man reaches into his half fallen pants.
"Nah little man! Fuck you!" He pulls out a gun and points it at the young boy.
"Can you guys keep it down." Dumb Fuck looks up at the both of them.
"Who the fuck is this, your daddy?"
"Nah bitch!" The little boy replies, "That's your momma's pimp."
"I don't care who the fuck you are nigga, but this between me and this little shit." By this time Dumb Fuck has already missed the coffee segment. He puts his finished mocha down and stands up in front of the young boy.
"Put the gun down.", says Dumb Fuck.
"Shit, was going to shoot you anyway." The man shoots Dumb Fuck twice in the chest. He lowers his gun and smiles. His smile quickly fades as Dumb Fuck didn't fall. The man lifts the gun once again, but before he could take aim, Dumb Fuck reaches into his jacket, pulls out his gun, and shoots the man at the trigger guard. His finger explodes into fragments metal and flesh. The man, in shock of his recently lost finger stares into the gaping hole where his index used to be. He has little time to look at his assailant when Dumb Fuck pulls the trigger again. The bullet, so hot from the massive speed, barely reaches the man's eye as the intense heat and sonic blast ruptures it. The bullet quickly passes through the liquefied eye ball bag, and easily slides into the socket. A spray of clear liquid mixed with blood and brain matter rupture through the man's head. Small pieces of bone embed on the bullet as it hits and halts on a stop sign about 15 feet away. The man falls to his knees and then to his face breaking his knee caps and then his cheek bone in the process. Dumb Fuck puts his gun away and turns to the young boy. The young boy's mouth gaped open at the incident he just witnessed. Boyz in the Hood was never this graphic, he thought to himself. He quickly looks up at Dumb Fuck, expecting to see blood, but he sees nothing. His instincts get the better of him, and running away seems like a good option.
"Thanks man." The young boy says as he collects himself.
"No problem." Says Dumb Fuck.
"No I mean it, thanks." The young boy pats him on the back as he starts to run off. At that moment, Dumb Fuck's head swims. His memory lost. Dumb Fuck sees the young boy running off, the young boy turns one more time to Dumb Fuck.
"You're a fucking Super Hero!" The young boy runs out of sight. Dumb Fuck looks at the young boy fading off. And to his amazement, he sees the body for the first time (sort of) laying at his feet. Dumb Fuck, quite dazed begins to walk off. Habit; and later finding his wallet in his pocket, get him to his place several hours later. Dumb Fuck takes off his jacket, pays no attention to the thud that it makes on the table. Takes his shirt off and his bullet proof vest, now with five dents, and goes to sit at the bed. Dumb Fuck sees his book, and begins to read... After several hours he picks up a pen. He opens to the next page with an open line and begins to write.
"You're a Super Hero."

The End

Me Doing Work, Actually Gets Things Done.

Who would've thunk it. But shit, I've been writing my ass of as of late, and I've gotten so much shit done. Guess deadlines have a way of motivating you.

That and I think my Muse has been drunk and in Quantanamo Bay, Cuba as a detainee. They must have confused her for being a terrorist. Only thing she's responsible for is fucking my brains, and not in the good way (okay sometimes in a good way).

But she's back, and man, has she got a dirty mind. I have finally finished the sex scene in one of my scripts, this scene has pretty much held back the completion of the screenplay. But I don't think it could have come out any better, I'm really happy with how it ties in to the story, and how it's just not an excuse to show tits on screen. Really, it's not an excuse at all, it's tasteful.

Being back on track feels really good. Come June 23rd, I'll have one of the nearest and dearest scripts I have ever written completed. Check it out in theaters (hopefully next year).

$1500 For 8 gigs???

You gotta be shitting me, for 8 freaking gigs? WTF is a gig nowadays, it's nothing. A gig couldn't hold the information contained in my jock. I give away gigs to homeless people on the streets, hey they need something to store the information in their websites to, right?

So why does Panasonic find it necessary to charge 1500 bucks for a 8 gig card?

That's the price of the P2 card that I will be utilizing for the camera that I'm buying this Summer. You see, recording in HD on aP2 card at 1080i translates to about a gig a minute. You heard me, a gig a minute. So at the most on one P2 card I can record up to 8 minutes at 1080i. It is significantly less if I record at 720p or lower, but who wants to do that? I'm hoping this price will lower, as the 4 gig card only costs $500. Either way, this does not factor into the drive that I will need to translate the info (about 2 grand), nor the storage unit, that seems like I will absolutely need to dump info into, and then onto a comp.

The next gen may be here, but it sure as hell costs a lot.

I am the stone that the builder refused...

I was recently asked how I feel about starting a new film, since the last one didn't propel me into the ether that is Hollywood.

I first respond to that question, "Does it make you feel superior to point out the shortcomings of others?" Then I do a swift karate chop to their carotic artery, and they go down faster than a Filipino hooker on a military base.

Then I gather myself, and respond thusly...

So? Who the fuck cares? Godplex had several audiences, and of those people who watched them in the theaters, not one of them hated the film. And that meant more to me than any job, paycheck, or Hollywood status could ever mean. I love movies, I love the fact that I can tell a story, and that I have the ability to envision that story and bring to fruition on the screen. And on the off chance that people would go see the story I made, and enjoy it. Well, there ain't no greater joy for me (other than sex, and possibly having children as people tend to say, whom I have to take their word for at the moment).

Every film festival that Godplex was submitted to pretty much responded the same, with a resounding, "We received a lot of entries this year... yada, yada, yada, you suck." Does this deter me? No. Do I learn from it? Yes.

And so, I sally forth. With a new project in hand. I'm excited, and I'm taking you all with me.

boondocks theme

i am the stone that the builder refused
i am the visual
the inspiration
that made lady sings the blues

i'm the spark that makes your idea bright
the same spark
that lights the dark
so that you can know your left from your right

i am the ballot in your box
the bullet in your gun
that inner glow
that lets you know
to call your brothers son

the story that just begun
the promise of what's to come
and imma remain a soldier
til' the war is won