The following are choice excerpts from a proposal for a full-length motion picture, currently being drooled over at the highest levels of a Hollywood studio. In an effort to get this, his one hundred and third movie script, bought for anything above a dignifying $5 threshold, the author, an impoverished young hopeful, has made a few minor amendments to the basic plot. To date, the only treatment he has ever been party to was administered by one Dr. R.M. Schumbaum. All advice on this timely effort is most welcome.
Scene 1
We open with a crows (or vultures) eye view of a barren desert (the barrener the better). Music accompanies, either the Iraqi or US national anthem, whichever is most suitable. Suddenly, a figure is seen falling from the sky, struggling to undo his parachute. It is Tom OHawke, Special Ops. hero, and author of One Leg Akimbo, his best-selling memoirs of his time as a CIA-planted combat specialist in the Pinochet administration, where he was Hon. Minister for Disappearance (all this emerges at a later stage, when he flashes back to a book-signing tour).
OHawke (panicked): Open, dammit! Goddamn bleedin heart liberal military cutbacks! Look how those lousy Democrats treat our heroes!
(He hits the ground as we hear the sound of his knee-bones cracking under his weight. He looks directly into the camera.)
Another day, another hobby!
(Cut to an eighty-four frame shot of his air-soled sneakers, accompanied by a hip version of Bette Midlers tear-jerker Hero (Did you ever know youre mine?)
What an air-sole!
(He takes a look around his surroundings, frowning knowingly as he slowly opens a pack of cigarettes. He sticks a few of them in the corner of his gob. A Zippo is pulled from the side of his helmet, an image of a naked bald eagle lapdancing on the side. It catches the light, and we are blinded as subliminal advertising space is secured. After lighting the coffin nails, OHawke chucks the lighter over his shoulder.)
Goddamn, dont you just love throwing shit away? God bless the disposable society.
(At which point, a huge explosion occurs just behind him. OHawke is sent, slo-mo, hurtling through the air, a torn Stars and Stripes blowing from his back, cape-like, an RnB version of Barbers Adagio for Strings adding a sense of poignancy to the moment.)
Sssshhhiiiii
(His voice is lost in the noise. For a few desperate moments, we think we have lost our hero, and Bette Midler starts up again. Then, out of the dust, like a mirage, and walking in extra slo-mo, OHawke emerges, a cigar in his mouth, and a Stetson in place of his helmet. He hoists up his belt buckle, spits over his spurs, and waves the union flag above his head. He reaches the camera, and takes a long, manly breath in through his nostrils.)
Aaaahhhh! You smell that? Good ol oil. Aint no smell like it.
(He cracks open a bottle of Tennessee whisky, empties the contents and fills it with the sprays of an oil slick directly ahead of him. He glugs it down in one.)
Goddamn! Petroleum. Id almost forgotten how sweet that stuff tasted.
Scene 82
The camera strays into the meeting hall of the UN assembly, where Secretary-General Frapuccino Annan is trying to fix his microphone so as to deliver a report on his meeting with Saidim Inssein, the Iraqi big cheese. The crowd (assembly stooges) are already boo-ing their disapproval, and chanting Traitor! Traitor! to pass the time. The camera swiftly exits the scene and enters a strip club where OHawke and his buddies are enjoying a traditional boys night out, slipping ten dollar bills into the thongs of their dates.
OHawke (an edge of danger in his voice): Oh come on, Mylene. How bad can it be? Worse than those Democrat tax hikes?
Mylene (a finger in her mouth): Hell, no! Lets just do it!
(Cut to an eighty-four frame shot of his air-soled sneakers, accompanied by a hip version of Lionel Ritchies Easy.)
OHawkes buddies (their aprons still stained with the blood from the meat-processing plant): Woah! Go for it Tommy boy!
OHawke: And remember boys, this is what Im fighting for.
Lone Educated Voice: It is?
OHawke: You bet it is, you S.O.B! (He picks up a bottle of light beer, and smashes it over the head of the Ivy League pipsqueak. He exits triumphantly, carrying the stocking-clad Mylene over his shoulder, Hail to the Chief being played by a solo bugle.)
Scene 173
In a flashback to a previous heroic mission, OHawke is seen attending a briefing aboard the USS Oversize, somewhere in the Gulf. He, along with his unit, is sitting astride a nuclear warhead.
OHawke (boisterously): Hey Lieutenant, check out the size of mine!
Lieutenant (proudly): Thats the spirit, gentlemen. Now do your duty, and get out there and whip some butt. And may God be with you.
(The scene descends into an orgy of adrenalin-fuelled high-fives)
Scene 212
Back in the Iraqi desert, OHawke is gathering intelligence, reading a picture book.
OHawke (sounding like a Faulkner character): Dammit! This dont mean nothing. Goddamn liberal eggheads! What do they know about triangular warfare? They ever been one-on-one with a scud missile? They ever smelt napalm in the morning? They ever saved the world from alien invasion? They ever spent a night with Mylene? You bet yass they aint.
(We hear the distant sound of camel hooves.)
Its them. They musta got my invitation. You gotta love those parcel guys. (He launches into a croaky version of Aint no Desert Dry Enough etcetera, as he lifts a rocket launcher out of its Styrofoam carton.)
Lets just see how them Holy Shiite Alliance like this welcoming party.
(He fires a barrage of missiles towards the foe, who, armed with biological textbooks (donated by Western charities), swing their camels round and head for the hills which fortunately have been strategically bombed out of existence in Operation Flatten (see Scene 76).
Scene 221
We are in one of President Saidim Insseins palaces where he is taking tiffin with left-wing British MP, Ivor Sontan.
Saidim Inssein: Sugar?
Ivor Sontan: Yes?
Saidim Inssein: No, I mean, do you take sugar?
Ivor Sontan: Oh, right. Im so sorry, your majesty. I apologise.
Saidim Inssein: Why else would you be here?
Ivor Sontan: Good point, exalted one.
Saidim Inssein (tetchily): I fear my days are numbered.
Ivor Sontan: I wouldnt know, I cant count.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to this congress, outside the door, a barefooted Tom OHawke, wearing an airtex vest, is treading on shattered glass, a cigarette in his mouth, and an uzi in his hand.
OHawke: Sorry boys, Tommys here.
(He smashes open the door with his hairline, and sticks his grinning face through the crack.)
Teas up, gentlemen!
Scene 244
A secret meeting between the joint chiefs of staff, and their staff, is taking place somewhere amid the cigar smoke.
Colonel X: Thats one less nuke to worry about. Now, whos gonna win the next election?
Colonel Y: I dunno, who dya want?
Colonel Y Not: So tell me gentlemen, where dwe put the loot from Saddams palaces? And those anthrax spores? Whatever happened to all those goodies?
Colonel X: Theyre safe, dont worry.
(Laughter)
The camera heads down into an underground warhead warehouse, where all the destroyed arms from foreign jaunts and arms-reduction treaties are stored under file no. 3266: Just in Case. Next to the arc of the covenant and an alien spacecraft, we see President Insseins silver tea service, glistening under the lights.
The End
