GALAXY MICHAEL
An Original Screenplay
by
Michael "Lawless" Adams
Second Draft & 1.2
Registered by "Insufferable Industries"
In the year of our Lord, 2009
(God help us all!)
NOTE: VISUALS HAVE BEEN ADDED TO FACILITATE UNDERSTANDING OF JUST WHAT IN KINGDOM COME IS GOING ON HERE. . . . . MAY COME IN HANDY FOR THE CLUELESS AND TIME-PRESSED TURNING THIS WHACKED-OUT THING AROUND, AND THEN HOLDING IT UPSIDE DOWN BEFORE USING IT AS A FOOTSTOOL, PAPERWEIGHT, OR IMPROMPTU SOURCE OF "SNOT-RAGS". BE IDEALISTIC-- AND REALISTIC! "THAT'S MY MOTTO. . . . .".
Part VIII
"Hellbound Train"
FADE IN
BLACK SCREEN WITH TITLE
ENTER MUSIC: "Hellbound Train" by "George Thorogood & The Destroyers", a rumbling, rollicking nightmare of a song that captures the desperation of being taken down the wrong rail in life, praying to get off as you're taken down to the fiery inferno-- looking out the window at the shooting flames.
MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS (V.O.)
There comes a time when a young man rolls out of his parents' hayloft and takes down the road like a Medieval peasant sleeping in ditches and generally being a ner'do'well "up to no good".
[CUT TO CLIP of Medieval peasant-boy doing just that]
There you behold him shuffling along with a sack over his shoulder, dodging any kind of responsible apprenticeship and playing petty tricks on housewives to beg, borrow, or steal a crust of bread (-- if not "a roll in the hay") like a knave. And here in the late '90s, the time was never more ripe for such rotten attitudes, such thieving shenanigans. . . . . yet some things never change.
EXT. Medieval Fairytale Village, Day.
A blonde-haired boy with straw-like hair and an orange cap rolls out of the hayloft and takes off down the road carrying a sack over his shoulder.
He comes to a house with a 34 year-old woman working outside and says he'll do chores if he'll feed him. She feeds him, and in the meantime he's looking down her bosom. Finally he gets to work outside raking leaves, but when she goes back in the house he drops everything and takes for the open road, telling himself how crafty he is.
MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS (V.O.)
Like being sold a "get-rich quick" scheme, in this case a man selling him a horse that shits gold coins. The lad gives him everything he owns for this wealth-building article, not realizing that the man simply stuffed some coinage up the horse's butt and let nature take it's course.
The boy bargains with the con artist, trying to contain his excitement, and then brings the horse home by the bridle.
He tells his Dad about his find, but the old man raises his index finger in the air with raised eyebrows then gently shakes his head. He takes the boy aside by the shoulder and imparts one of life's lessons.
MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS (V.O.)
Chastened, the boy learns his lesson and harp strings are strummed in "fairy tale" fashion to get across the moral, a sense of closure to this episode.Indeed, the boy had fallen for "the oldest trick in the book", thinking he was going to get "something for nothing".
SOUND EFFECT: "Strumming Fairy Tale Harp Strings"
MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS (V.O.)
You might wonder where this all begun. . . . . .
Enter "The Education of Michael Adams" Sequence"
EXT. St. Louis Lambert International Airport, 1999, Late Afternoon
An opening shot of the region's ratty travel hub.
Airplanes are busy taking off and landing-- the business of the world as black black porters outside the terminal in the weather load up the ticketed luggage in black caps and white shirt sleeves with a heave-ho.
INT. EXT. St. Louis Lambert International Airport, 1999, Late Afternoon
Folks on the phone, waiting for their flights, and stand in line at the ticket counter. Life is very ordinary and routine.
Then there is 17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS walking through the terminal with long hair, a "Wayne's World" hat, a flannel shirt, a Metallica t-shirt, and a light carry-on bag. He spies A VIDEO ARCADE, idles a second, silently makes a decision, then walks in.
[CUT TO SCREEN SHOT of "Final Fight" machine, giant wrestler beating the shit out of hoodlums. Grunting sounds as he body-slams opponents in righteous fury-- "RRRUP!" "RRRUP!" "RRRUP!"]
Next OUR HERO is playing pinball, the ball getting jolted between bonus bumpers. But sadly, the ball falls between the flippers and it's "Game Over". He's clearly having a good time, caught up in his own tuned-out world of teenaged obliviousness.
Someone is watching, as OUR HERO knocks the machine and then walks over to the change machine to get quarters.
The person walks forward ominously, predator and prey.
A hand reaches out and tugs on 17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS" sleeve.
He turn around in surprise, and behold the piteous face of a medium-built black man in an army jacket staring on with sad, pleading eyes. He stares on for a beat, then tells his story.
THE AFRICAN REFUGEE leads OUR HERO outside of the arcade and claims that he's a foreigner stranded at the airport, pulling out a letter as proof with a logo of the African continent on it that says his family was killed in a helicopter crash in Nigeria. He's "too embarrassed" to go to the help desk or to contact a security guard, and he needs my help. Wide-eyed, OUR HERO agrees as a "Good Samaritan". He weaves this grateful story of desperation, thanking God up in the heavens with raised hands as people indifferently sit around and go about their business. He has $700 in U.S. cash that he can't convert into Nigerian dollars and he wants this "kind American" to keep half for himself and give the other half to charity because I seem like such a fine, upstanding individual sent by God.
He leaves, then comes back later. He's working OUR HERO like this for 45 minutes into this tale of intrigue, telling him to "wait around" (-- as evidenced by the moving clock) . When he comes back the last time he asks if he can give him any money to get him through the trip back to Nigeria, holding the check. 17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS tells him that he only has the four quarters that he cashed at the change machine. They're warm in his hand. He goes, "shit, man!" in a south side Chicago accent and stalks off-- making OUR HERO look like the fool. He stands there slack-jawed, barely comprehending what has happened. Indeed, a hapless white sack of shit-- unhip to the ways of the world.
[CUT TO SHOT of TEXT BOOKS falling down and slamming onto a table before scattering everywhere, like in those cheap ambulance-chaser commercials]
MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS (V.O.)
If there is anything I have learned, it is that I don't like looking like "a hapless, white sack of shit" or like "Elmer Fudd" vs, "Daffy Duck" in a boxing match!
[CUT TO CLIP OLD-TIME WARNER BROTHERS CARTOON of this theme when a crowd of black ducks are sitting in the stands, smiling at the camera and going "Oh, brother"]
[SOUND EFFECT: "Scratching Record, D.J. Style]
[CUT TO CLIP of "Elmer vs. Daffy" cartoon when Daffy slams Elmer over the head with a mallet, knocking him out to the speed-count of 10 by a black-duck referee. Elmer gets back on his feet with a black-eye, wobbling there, and barely understands what's just happened. "a white suckah" to the end]
EXT. Union Station, 1999, Day
"Union Station" is a downtown mall in St. Louis where bumpkin tourists are wandering around the concourse-- bald, overweight, and wretched-- the American plain. The fountains gurgle enticingly with the lure of instant gratification, all flowing like water, as pretty girls walk by in tight jean shorts like southern-bred foxes.
INT. Union Station Concourse, 1999, Day.
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS is walking forward with his FATHER and 13 YEAR-OLD JESSE, and he turn around to look at the girl's behinds like a lecher in the seedy part of Las Angeles and smirking to himself.
INT. Union Station Candy Store, 1999, Day.
They enter a candy store-- one where all the delicious varieties sit in giant barrels-- hearkening back to St. Louis' history as a railroad hub-- and folks are milling around the store like cattle. OUR HERO'S FAMILY is pawing at the candy.
OUR HERO slickly studies a barrel, and then swipes a caramel and eats it with an easy, slick expression. 13 YEAR-OLD JESSE reacts in horror and whispers furiously that it's "thievery", the middle-class "goody two-shoes" of the lot.
DAD looks up from his distraction to see what all the commotion is about as he sees my brother hyperventilating like a moral absolutist, whispering so others don't overhear, and he smiles with a frowning expression of lapsed Lutheran absurdity. It's not exactly "kosher", but forgivable enough. One is O.K. Two is pushing the margin of trouble, but it's better not to get into trouble.
INT. Union Station Food Court, 1999, Day.
The family sits on the 3rd floor food court and an ice cream kiosk stand in center of the action with the pathos of minimum wage capitalism.
Light is shining down from the skylights with nature's beauty and indifference.
OUR HERO asks for money to buy an ice cream, and DAD rustles around for his wallet.
INT. Union Station Ice Cream Stand, 1999, Day.
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS and 13-YEAR OLD JESSE are contemplating the flavors. OUR HERO is having a difficult time making up his mind between French Vanilla on one side of the cooler and Rocky Road on the other. Back and forth, back and forth.
OUR KNAVISH HERO looks down at the money and then up at the menu which hangs there.
He cynically has Jesse order first, while he still acts as if he has to make up his mind.
JESSE gets his ice cream and walks off, then OUR KNAVISH HERO orders two scoops which he can't afford from THE UNSUSPECTING CASHIER working behind the counter, who makes the cone before she figures out he's a quarter short.
The UNSUSPECTING CASHIER figures it out real quick, and looks at the ice cream and then looks at me with a real disgusted expression on her face as if she's been used. OUR KNAVISH HERO hands over the money, collects his ice cream, begins to make a beeline, but stops at the newspaper bin-- "The Thrifty Nickel".
"FREE, TAKE ONE!"
OUR KNAVISH HERO returns to the table with the ice cream with the paper.
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
(Snickering)
Hey Dad, look what I got! It was free!
13
YEAR-OLD JESSE Hey that's not fair! I want another ice cream!
(Throwing a hissy-fit)
DAD frowns down into his chest
and smiles slightly, holding the peace. He's not going to part with any more
money. OUR HERO sniggers how he was short, but ordered anyhow.
13 YEAR-OLD JESSE panics and begins to weep at my moral decrepitude, the rottenness of the world.
DAD looks down at the paper and assumes that I stole it.
DAD
(With concern)
turning into quite the little operator there, Michael.You're
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
(Like a wise-guy)
You gotta be slick, you gotta be aware to "get ahead" in this world. You gotta take advantage, or you end up like those guys. . . . .
[He gestures to the minimum-wage slaves working behind the counter at the food court]
Here, I'll do this. Gimme a quarter.
DAD does so reluctantly, having the sense that he's getting involved in another scam as his son "pulls the wires of the system" like a god.
OUR KNAVISH HERO pays the woman he ripped off the quarter while looking down her bosom. She catches him staring and shakes her head in disgust.
For a moment our hero looks shocked, uncertain, hurt, and blurts out "sorry". Then he walks back to the table and resumes his sociopathic sway. The crowd mills around. The feeling is the anonymity of the public, the fact you can "get away with it" as the camera moves from one group of undesirable Americans to the other.
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS (V.O.)
You see, Dad-- It's all about 'the big score'-- if you can somehow stack doofuses up in a pyramid and climb over all of them so you can get to the top, then you got it made!
13 YEAR-OLD JESSE (V.O.) That's wrong!
DAD (V.O.) Well. . . . . it all catches up with you someday.
(Pondering with reflection)
EXT. Mom's New Living Room, Night, 1999
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS is flipping through "THE PALADIN PRESS" CATALOG, a clearing-house of outrageous books on self-defense, explosives, and action careers for "Green Beret" wannabes. This is contrasted by MOTHER'S silly sculptures and artwork sitting on the mantel, and a Zebra with a pair of legs sitting on the edge. This woman is all about rainbows, dildos, "Earth Day", and hand-holding holistic liberal therapy that does not quite fit in with breaking someone's neck with a single blow.
MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS (V.O.)
I wanted to explore the outward limits of human existence, The ultimate heavy metal recording, the ultimate stud-covered "outlaw attitude", "the ultimate truth", or even catch some tail-- all without paying a cent like the little piss-ant "operator" my Dad said I was.
I wanted to know how to make a firearm out of common household implements, how to win in a street fight, how to beat bill collectors, how to smuggle drugs, how to survive behind prison walls, how to stage a military coup, how to survive with the general breakdown of order in case this Y2k shit should go down bad and I got to play out my slimeball "Mad Max" fantasies.
[CUT TO CLIP of PALADIN PRESS COVER]
[CUT TO PICTURE OF "MAD MAX"]
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS calls up "Barnes & Noble" bookstore and asks if he orders in "special order" books, if he can "return them for a full refund" in case "he doesn't like them" or it turns out **he already has them**. The mild, bookish clerk-- a man in his 50's, stumbles for an answer, needing to check his policy and saying it depends on what kind of books they are. OUR HERO blurts out his full intentions to be friendly and conspiratorial, that he'll read them and then return them without paying for them, but the clerk is so appalled that he hangs up the phone on this 17 year-old creep.
MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS (V.O.)
Clearly honesty-- even in jest-- is not the best policy. Some sociopath I was!
And here I sleazed around, straddled between the line of childhood and adulthood-- where frankly the world doesn't give a shit about what you think, only to get you through the door and sell you a product, a world-view, "a system" in this grasping pigsty of mud-slinging "either/or" thinking that fought desperately for "the sale", no matter what the cost.
I wondered what truly separated me from any petty Subway franchise owner who paid his employees "zilch" and kept it all down to "the bottom line" with a pinched, puckered Republican asshole that clenched on to money like an octopus sucking on a five-fingered sand dollar for sustenance.
[CUT TO PICTURE of SUBWAY FRANCHISE OWNER who looks upright enough, if not focused on the details and the wholesale price of condiments]
At least I was generous with my sleaze!
And what could be more sleazy, than flipping through my local alternative newsweeklie's employment section?!
[CUT TO PICTURE of outrageous, dubious Riverfront Times cover]
17 TEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS is still sitting in his mom's dining room, flipping through the employment section. His eyes fall upon this:
Aggressive Phone Sales $8/Hour
+ Commission Call "J" 555-8426
He dials the number on THE ORANGE PHONE-- a callow, beardless youth with wide eyes taking a big risk.
EXT. Helping Hand Charities, 1999, Day.
The view is of a man sitting behind a desk from the rear, wearing a blue-button down shirt. The camera can see only the arm of his sleeve as he talks into the telephone. He is upbeat and slick with an accent that is slightly southern like a country/western barfly. This is the lure of easy money, casino-like excitement, and personal freedom talking.
JAY This is "J".
[Back to Michael]
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
Hey! I saw your ad in 'The Riverfront Times' and I'm interested in working for you!
[Back to "J", switching the phone to another shoulder, picking up a pen, and clicking it]
JAY
That's great! Have you ever done phone sales before?Really?
[Back to Michael-- his eyes are darting around with excitement]
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
I worked for a politician's phone bank once, telling people to get out and vote.
[CUT TO FOOTAGE of John Lewis speaking at the lectern, the candidate I worked for, and grim conservative activists sitting around a fundraiser dinner with great heaviness as he goes on about "integrity" and "the free market". Snippet of the "Battle Hymn of the Republic" is playing, a humming voice of American courage and guts]
[Back to "J"]
JAY
What is it about telemarketing that appeals to you-- er, what's your name?
[Camera lingers on Jay at the telephone, pouring himself a scotch]
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
My name's Michael.
JAY
Yeah. . . . . Michael.
["J" weighs this information, stroking his jaw-- like a butcher eyeing prize
beef]
[Back to Michael]
Well. . . . . I enjoy
the challenge of the sale. [Back to "J", who leans forward in his chair with a creak
with excitement like a Texas car salesman on late night television]
JAY C'mon down! [Back to Michael]
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS You got it, Jay! OUR HERO hangs up the phone, thrilled. [Back to "J"'s end]
JAY
FRESH FISH! As 17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS drives to the job
interview, heavy metal playing in the background (Faster Pussycat?), a monologue
plays.
MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS (V.O.) I thought I was going to be "the king of salesmanship",
"a cocaine cowboy" who made up his own rules as he went along. the
rodeo-king of the high-octane hustle as true as Tom Cruise giving the
"thumb's up" in "Top Gun".
INT. Office Suite Hallway, 1999, Day. 17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS is walking down the hallway,
a camera tracking shot following his back until he reaches the door. The sign
reads:
(Hollering out to the room)
Suite 301: Helping
Hand Charities
Jay Kane & Associates
The door opens to reveal small single room of half-cubicles set around the perimeter in a semi-square, full of scruffy 20-somethings-- riffraff-- murmuring into headsets like air traffic controllers with all the air of the guests on "The Jerry Springer Show". Phone cards, car title loan services, strippers, and crack pipes.
Sitting behind the desk in the back of the room is this Jay in a button-down blue shirt and black pants, leaning back in the chair behind a computer and talking into the telephone. He is a short, ruddy, well-fed man in his early 30's with his blonde hair looking like quills on a brush, a trimmed mustache and beard cut neatly like a country/western barfly. Quite the ladies' man.
JAY
I'll call you back in a sec.
(Talking smoothly into the phone)
He bids who has to be Mike to take a seat.
THE BOY is half-bold, yet timid-- lacking the brass of the kid who called him up on the phone.
(-- Over his shoulder THE TELEMARKETERS are visible, lashed to their cubicles like sled dogs panting across the North)
JAY squints for perhaps three seconds, as if I'm not the same kid who called, and then raises his fingers with his left hand with a "let-it-go" attitude.
Then there's informal small talk on Jay's side like a man shuffling cards on a riverboat with a self-satisfied expression as we pal around. And with a straight-faced expression that conceals a lie as his eyes dance with mischief, JAY explains the object of "HELPING HAND CHARITIES" and what it stands for, raising money for "The Missouri State Trooper's Association".
He tosses a job application and it glances pathetically off THE BOY'S LAP.
JAY
Here, give me a script reading!
(THE LAD goes into the paper haltingly, trying to sound confident, and the view cuts back to me struggling with it and JAY beaming and rolling a pen in his hands as THE LAD looks up from time to time as the more ridiculous passages)
---------------------------------------
Country Music Script
Howdy, (person's first name)! (If they aren't home and ask who's calling give your first name) This is (your name) representing the "Missouri State Troopers' Association", telling you about our upcoming country music show benefit. You like country music?
(If yes): We got a great show coming up. We have Blue Lou Nash, Luann Honeysuckle, and Texas Bill. They're growing stars in the country music scene and you'll see them in person. Fun for the whole family!
(If no, don't loose confidence): Well, country music isn't for everyone but you still want to help out your state troopers, right?
The Missouri State Troopers' Association helps out downed officers and their families with the extra stuff. You know, nuisance lawsuits from angry criminals and all. It seems like crooks are getting more protection these days than anyone else, am I right (their name)? It also helps give temporary shelter if their houses burn down or if they're injured in the line of duty and need more to pay their medical bills. You know, that little extra care that we oughtta give to our men and women of law enforcement.
What to say if. . . . .
person asks what percentage of the proceeds go to them: Well, it all really depends on how much we raise all together but we give them all we can.
If woman says she'll have to talk to the husband: I know if my husband treated me to an evening of countryrific entertainment after a hard day's work I might bring her flowers and pearls more often (laugh).
(if man says he'll have to talk to the wife:) Hold on there, (name). I know that if I treated my wife or girlfriend to an evening of countryrific entertainment I might get lucky that night (laugh).
(THE SALE) We're so glad that you decided to help out the Missouri State Trooper's Association. We sell different ticket packages and we'll just run these by you. We have the super-duper-trooper 20 pack for $225 dollars. Is that too high for you? We also have the 10 pack for $115 dollars. You don't have to use all the tickets, all the tickets that aren't used will be used to seat handicapped children and retirement home folk. We also have the family 4 pack for $40. Or we sell the 2 pack for $20.
O.K, you'll have the tickets sent to your address in 3 business days with the toll-free Missouri State Trooper Association number if you have any questions. Thanks again. (their name).
---------------------------------------
Now JAY leans forward like a king, giving stage directions
JAY
Great reading! You sound like a natural! But try to sound a little bit more southern-- more like their buddy. . . . .
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS You got it, Jay!
[CUT TO BEAVIS & BUTTHEAD MIKE JUDGE-style shot of the room that looks down on this scene with existential absurdity]
[THE SMOOTHLY RUNNING CLOCK transforms itself from 1:16 to 1:29 in an effortless motion]
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS is now reading the script in a country voice, this time to JAY'S satisfaction. He's improved, but still wooden and green. Mechanically proficient, yet there is no "soul" there. It's good enough from Jay with a "great", nodding once. His sense is that there is potential inside that will be mined out in time.
OUR HERO nods there with his mouth open-- like a young D.J. getting off with the thrill of it in a radio booth.
JAY arches his eyebrows, then slaps his hand down on the table.
JAY
Everyone take five!
People are getting up and leaving in a hurry, pushing their chairs back and tossing down their headsets
FOCUS ON ROB, a beefy Ukrainian kid about 25 years old-- Jay's right-hand man with the sleepy eyes of a sociopath. His arm is draped around the chair as he gets up and joins JAY.
THE GANG heads down the hall, followed by OUR HERO, followed by ROB and JAY.
EXT. Office Park Parking Lot, 1999, Day
THE TELEMARKETERS ARE around outside, smoking cigarettes and scuffing their shoes, not saying much, awfully low-down like "bad dogs"
JAY and ROB stand away at a slight distance, lieutenant and commander on this corrupt enterprise, and 17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS stands next to them. They both squint up at the late spring sun, their expressions saying, "It's good to be alive". Then they tuck "dip" or chewing tobacco into their lip. Chewing and sucking sounds. Just a moment of guys being guys.
JAY
Making sales is like getting pussy. If you're relaxed and smooth it'll totally happen!
OUR GALLANT HERO looks down at the sidewalk and nods twice, slightly embarrassed.
[MORE CHEWING & SUCKING SFX]
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS When's the show going to be?
JAY
Christmas Eve.
[MORE CHEWING & SUCKING SFX]
OUR HERO jerks his head back, looking confounded. . . . . then he begins to think.
ENTER: "A Con Man's Christmas Eve" Interlude
MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS (V.O.)
CHRISTMAS EVE?! Who the hell was going to show up on Christmas Eve?!
[CUT TO DREAM MONTAGE of singing LUTHERAN CHILDREN at nighttime pageant, candles lit in church with a hushed sacred silence from the audience]
[CUT TO FOOTAGE of little children at a subdued family gathering opening presents and chasing each other around]
ALL OF THIS IS CONTRASTED BY--
EXT. Run-Down Theater, Christmas Eve, "The Show that Never Was"
The marquee at the tiny, run-down theater reads "
MO. ST. Trooper's Asso. Presents: Blue Lou Nash, Luann Honeysuckle & Texas Bill".
INT. Run-Down Theater, Christmas Eve, "The Show that Never Was"
There is the tiny run-down-stage lit by foot-lights.
INT. Run-Down Theater, Back Stage
TEXAS BILL is back stage-- a surly, craggy, old-time cowboy slinging a guitar and walking out on stage where there is no one in attendance.
TEXAS BILL
I'm in the mood for some country meewwwsic tonight, folks. "Blue Lou Nash's truck broke down in Oklahoma, Luann Honeysuckle couldn't make it tonight, so I'm going to give you an extra special show, THAT'S RIGHT!
He starts strumming the guitar and yodeling.
There is the lone uniformed janitor in back pushing along dirt with a push-broom.
Back to TEXAS BILL on stage, his steel guitar string breaking with a twang.
EXT. Casino Queen Riverboat, Christmas Eve, Night.
There the gambling boat sits there where one big party is going on, indifferent to any mournful losers elsewhere in the city.
INT. Casino Queen Riverboat, Christmas Eve, Night.
There is the whirl of a roulette wheel, as Jay sits there dressed up like a 19th century gentleman in a silk hat sitting at the roulette table, surrounded by beautiful, buxom women as he laughs, winks, and raises his arms up in the air as he gambles the night away.
[BACK TO THE SIDEWALK]
EXT. Office Suite Parking Lot, 1999, Day.
THE CAMERA pulls away from OUR HERO'S frowning eyes flecking back and forth behind his glasses, as if in thought.
[SOUND EFFECT: Even more spitting and sucking sounds from Jay and Rob]
They launch a particularly nasty wad of tobacco juice onto the pavement, an ugly brown splotch with a feculent "plopping" sound, like shit.
A bleary-eyed young man walks across the parking lot-- long-haired, on skinny legs, looking like a pirate with dead, empty eyes-- carrying a yolk-stained paper-plate. He looks like the camera-man who shoots South American snuff films as OUR HERO tracks his movement.
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
Is he just eating breakfast?
JAY
Yup.
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS looks around confounded, as if it is finally beginning to occur to him the kind of people who actually work at this job.
JAY
Alright, break's over! Let's meet our quotas!
INT. Telemarketing Office Suite, 1999, Day.
OUR HERO is sitting next to ROB in a flimsy particle-board "cubicle" to show him how it's done. There is the script and the telemarketing "tools of the trade" for that time (-- numbered keypad and auto-dialer display that lists victim's name and telephone number in big fat LED characters) as ROB explains that the quota is $150 of tickets/hour and how pretty soon one won't even need the script.
He bustles into the calls like a hyper-manic "good ol' boy"-- calling the person by their first name-- gets through the script once, and is rebuffed-- says "thank-you". Tries again, asking if they like country music and is cut off by a hostile party. Says thank-you again. Keeps trying and trying, getting through various points of the script, before finally making a sale.
Now OUR HERO'S turn, and he rather woodenly addresses Agnes Chatterly from Chesterfield, a feisty 80 year-old granny who isn't accustomed to being called by her first name by "young dudes".
AGNES CHATTERLY
How do you know my name?
(Crowing)
OUR HERO can't answer, stutters, and loses track of the script.
AGNES CHATTERLY
(Snarling, then hanging up the phone)
You should be ashamed of yourself, young man! I'm calling the police!
OUR HERO turns his head over to ROB and asks what he should do, and ROB says just to ignore it. It all comes with the territory.
THE CAMERA zeroes in on "the pirate" who utters "Thank You, mam" in a voice that sounds exactly like the concierage at the Ritz Carlton before he hollers "FUCKING BITCH!".
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS is looking wide-eyed at this, like he's taking a tour of the slaughter-house and is really quite shaken.
JAY
Rough one there, huh?
(Sitting behind his desk with
satisfaction, calling out with cheeriness)
OUR HERO gulps and turns back to the script.
ENTER TELEMARKETING MONTAGE-- akin to Lars Ulrich's drum solo in the San Diego 1992 Metallica concert from the "Live Shit: Binge and Purge" box set when he's being filmed from all angles from his perch, banging away frenetically to the point of exhaustion.
OUR HERO keeps struggling-- and struggling some more, maybe 100 times-- until finally he's connected with "Horace Littlefield" from Baldwin.
INT. Horace Littlefield's Splendorous Dining Room, 1999, Early Evening.
A ponderous, weighty gentleman with a beard who is called away from his weighty, grumpy family sitting in a proper dining room breathes "who is this?" into the phone.
OUR HERO begins to go into his pitch, calling HORACE LITTLEFIELD by his first name, before he is cut off by "mean, angry, blubber" like Monstro the whale flecking its tale in contempt before dumping its load and swimming out to sea.
HORACE LITTLEFIELD
(Slamming down the phone)
This is my few, precious moments to spend with my family and I really don't want to be bothered by rude sales-calls, thank-you.
INT. Telemarketing Office Suite, 1999, Early Evening.
OUR HERO cringes with a pained expression at the sound of the click!
JAY
(Beaming from behind his desk)
How ya doing over there?
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS half-turns around in the chair.
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
(Visibly dispirited)
Still working on it.
Jay gestures his hands through the air like a drama coach, squinting his eyes and narrowing his voice for effect--
JAY
Loosen up a bit, be more natural.
OUR HERO nods like a bruised boxer and gets back to work.
THE CAMERA looks down over OUR HERO'S shoulder as he stare at the script on the desk, and then puts it aside.
The auto-dialer display now reads "Arletta Wyatt"
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS I'm looking for a Mrs. Wyatt to tell her that I'm
calling on behalf of "The Missouri State Trooper Association" and
selling tickets for their country music benefit to help them out in
times of need and would you be interested in attending.
(Speaking in a humble, ingratiating, charming voice)
Arletta Wyatt is not interested, neither is she angry at this softer approach.
THE CAMERA captures this gentler, "sea-shore" talk that is not like "the violent drum solo" MONTAGE.
Now THE CAMERA captures A SINISTER SHOT OF JAY beaming from behind his desk like a demonic Buddha of southern-talking management.
JAY
How's it working out over there, Mike?
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
I haven't made a sale yet, but I think I'm really improving!
THE CAMERA stays on OUR HERO as JAY calls out:
JAY (V.O.)
Stick to the script as written and you can't fail.
OUR HERO's face visibly breaks out into discomfort.
Then there's JAY once again with his elbows on the desk and his hands cradled impishly-- an ominous, stark, black & white shot.
JAY
Trust me.
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS turns back to the phone with weariness, like a bruised and battered fighter
The auto-dialer display now reads: "Greg Murman" as a laconic, dispassionate voice picks up the phone-- the voice of an owl-like computer programmer who doesn't say much.
OUR HERO now musters up false enthusiasm and goes into the script-- this is fireworks, and friendliness, and pyrotechnics-- he's pouring his heart out into this, desperately trying to make a sale. He agrees that he likes country music with a "yup" and finally THE APPRENTICE SALESMAN get him to the point where he asks THE MARK how much he will contribute and there is this long pause. . . . .
GREG MURMAN
Nothing.
[CUT TO SHOT OF TERRY NICHOLS-type character]
OUR HERO'S face becomes visibly gets crestfallen as he thank him, trying to keep up his buoyant tone. I wish him "good night" and wait for him to say something and THE MARK simply hangs up the phone. I sit there with my head in my hands for a good 15 seconds as telemarketing voices go on in the background.
THE CLOCK now whisks past 7:00.
JAY slinks past, we only get a shot of head.
JAY
Come in tomorrow at 9:00 AM-- Saturday?-- and we'll fill out the rest of your paperwork.
OUR HERO sits there puzzled, watching the door wheeze shut and there his eyes linger, asking a question to no one in particular like a Shakespearean character:
JAY
How am I gonna get paid?
THE TELEMARKETERS continue on and on.
[CUT TO BEAVIS & BUTTHEAD MIKE JUDGE-style shot of the room that looks down on this scene with existential absurdity]
[THEN IT TIME SHIFTS, as if to suggest that events have slowly transpired at a glacial pace]
THE CLOCK whisks past 8:30
ROB Good job, guys.
(Setting the crew loose)
THE TELEMARKETERS leave, not even seeing "goodbye", gradually clearing out like free agents into the night of marginal things like stalking leopards.
EXT. Office Park Parking Lot, 1999, Sunset
There is a lingering shot of 17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS standing out on the sidewalk outside of the office park and staring at the sunset, trying to fathom the meaning of it all in shadow as he scuffs his shoe against the pavement-- like a character in an opera waiting for his ship to come in, and feeling the pathos of indifferent nature, the cruelty of fate, the remorselessness of time.
INT. Mother's Living Room, 1999, Day.
OUR HERO is sitting at the table with his hands folded, looking down at the cluttered surface, deeply depressed The family cat walks by and he reaches down and pets it gently, this soothing mutual relationship of warmth and goodness
INT. Michael's New Bedroom, 1999, Morning.
The clock reads 8:00 A.M.
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS Oh, god!
(Croaking in ragged voice)
EXT./INT. View Through Car Windshield, 1999, Morning
The car heads toward the brick office park on a clean, crisp Saturday morning. The shot continues and reveals that there are no cars in the parking lot.
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS What the--
He draws the car to a halt, pulling the emergency brake.
WINDSHIELD VIEW of OUR HERO walking toward the building
INT. Office Park Lobby, 1999, Day.
FROM THE INSIDER'S PERSPECTIVE, there's a view of 17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS walking toward the door through shaded glass.
He pulls on THE DOOR-- locked.
He thumbs the "CALL" BUTTON but gets no answer
FROM THE INSIDER'S PERSPECTIVE, there's a view of OUR HERO fidgeting and getting nervous, not comprehending why the door is locked.
Next he's knocking on the window.
FROM THE INSIDER'S PERSPECTIVE, a lone black janitor with a cap and blue coveralls rolls his cart up to the window.
FROM THE EXTERIOR PERSPECTIVE he mimes that the building is closed, shaking his head, gesturing sourly with an expression as if he had bitten down on a rotten crawdad.
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
(Calling through the door)
I was supposed to meet Jay at nine!
Finally the janitor unlocks the door at OUR HERO'S "white boy insistence" that to him must sound like a blatting trumpet.
OFFICE PARK JANITOR
(Frustrated)
Buildin' open at 10:00, sir.
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
(Pleading)
But I was supposed to meet Jay at 9:00!
OFFICE PARK JANITOR
Don't know no Jay.
THE CAMERA stays on THE OFFICE PARK JANITOR as I ask for entry.
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS Mind if I come in?
THE OFFICE PARK JANITOR scowls and agrees reluctantly.
INT. Office Suite Hallway, 1999, Day.
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS is walking down the hallway, a camera tracking shot following his back until he reaches the door of "Helping Hand Charities".
He knocks. And knocks.
[CUT TO BEAVIS & BUTTHEAD MIKE JUDGE-style shot of the darkened, empty room that looks down on this scene with existential absurdity]
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
(Stymied and muttering)
!Son of a bitch
EXT. Office Park Parking Lot, 1999, Sunset
There OUR HERO sits out on the blistering curb looking bored and miserable, picking up twigs and scraping them against the sidewalk and throwing sticker-balls. In a series of shots, he keep looking down at his watch as the time passes by: Time reads: 9:11, 9:27, 9:40, 9:55, 10:08. It shows 17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS all the while trying to keep stimulated with whatever he can find
Gradually the lot fills up with cars
A tracking shot follows OUR HERO as I enter the building, gets on the elevator, walks down the hall and stands by the door.
A close-up of the door-knob as I rattle it
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
!FUCK
INT. Mother's New House, 1999, Day.
There is the sound of a slamming door as OUR HERO enters the living room, takes a seat at the dining room table, flips open the same dubious Riverfront Times issue to the "Classifieds" sections and tracks down the original ad with his finger.
He dials the number and the phone rings ten times.
[CUT TO BEAVIS & BUTTHEAD MIKE JUDGE-style shot of the darkened, empty room that looks down on this scene with existential absurdity]
[THE OFFICE CLOCK whisks past 10:43 with the smooth grace of seconds]
OUR HERO slams down the phone with a "GWWRRRRRA!".
INT. Michael's New Den, 1999, Day
[CUT TO FOOTAGE of video-game, "SUPER PUNCH-OUT", a boxing game on the screen where the player punches out cartoonish characters]
MUSIC ON: Megadeth's "The Conjuring", an occult song of grueling, twisted, Satanic slaughter that about sums up "the mood".
THE BOOM-BOX reads 1:25.
OUR HERO calls JAY with "THE RIVERFRONT TIMES" in hand and gets a voice on the other end of the line.
JAY
(Sounding assured and southern
and slick and sanguine)
Helping Hand Charities-- this is Jay speaking.
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
(Speaking with mock, singsong innocence
acting naive as if nothing had happened)
Hey Jay! What happened? I showed up at 9:00 just like you said!
[SILENCE ON JAY'S END]
I waited for over an hour. . . . .
JAY
Car trouble.
(With a faint hint of
amusement in his
voice)
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
Oh, that's too bad. What time did you get in?
JAY
(Short and clipped, as if under pressure)
.About 10:15
At this OUR HERO raises his eyebrows and nods his head up and down in mock belief.
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS Yeah. . . . . yeah.
17 YEAR OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
Come in Sunday at 11:00.
[THE SUNDAY FLAMES LOGO comes on with a BOOMING SOUND, like the beginning of a circus of thrills or even an old-time variety show]
INT. Telemarketing Office Suite, 1999, Day.
THE TELEMARKETERS are once again at "their craft", slaving away at the "same 'ole tired script". In fact, they don't even need the paper. They just drone on automatically, hooked up like the human slaves in "THE MATRIX".
There is JAY dressed in t-shirt and black gym shorts that clasp around his fat little legs, squatting down to adjust some wires-- so many wires-- that snake behind the cubicle onto the floor.
He jokes about his girlfriend, about how good "blowjobs" feel with an "oh man", getting a knowing snicker out of the telemarketer he's talking to on the subject of "fooling people" and "sounding sincere".
OUR HERO looks on from my cubicle with a concerned frown. He is not a trickster, a sociopath like these characters. This is not his milleu.
JAY'S GIRLFRIEND coming through the door, a very naive, simple blonde-haired ditz-- a bit space-eyed-- wandering around in a daze with her arms crossed and hardly noticing the scurrilousness of the entire operation.
JAY
Hi, honey.
(Greeting her with mock
tenderness,
kissing her)
ROB raises his eyebrows slightly.
Back to JAY and HIS DUMMY GIRLFRIEND.
JAY
Wait in the car, and I'll be down in 5 minutes.
(Tenderly)
The girlfriend leaves with her arms crossed, kind of like a dumb blonde cow.
The door gently closes.
JAY makes a humping motion and laughs heartily, telemarketers joining in with knowing smiles as 17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS raise his eyebrows with pathetic irony. He look down at his script, which has a streak of tobacco juice on it like a splotch of shit.
He goes through a couple of calls, but gets angrily rebuffed by hostile parties.
He looks down at the script, and once again sets it aside, doing it the polite away.
This goes fine for a while before--
JAY'S THUMB PRESSES down angrily and cuts off the call.
There's Jay's face, looking down like an angry moon
JAY
(Shouting)
I PAY you to do it this way so DO IT!
OUR HERO looks on stupidly in shell-shock, gulping.
JAY
Here, since you're making the least sales-- we're going to put you on the dummy phone until you improve. , , , ,
He rustles around in a drawer speedily for a standard telephone receiver, which one has to hold up to their ear-- a mark of shame
JAY gathers his things and leaves
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
(Plaintively calling out)
about my paperwork? How am I going to get paid?What
[SOUND OF BRIEF SILENCE in the room, heavy and oppressive as everything draws to a complete standstill]
ROB
You'll get paid, trust me. . . . .
But he doesn't seem all that trustworthy. . . . .
Back to the phone,
ENTER NIGHTMARE TELEMARKETING MONTAGE
OUR HERO keeps getting cut off-- and cut off-- and cut off-- cringing and cringing and cringing as he keep shifting around the dummy phone in discomfort. There's the room of TELEMARKETERS and their VOICES, the camera revolving around the room faster and faster and faster.
The auto-dialer display now reads "Barnaby Clark: Baldwin"
Now 17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS is stuttering through his own way of doing it very dispiritedly, completely out of gas. The voice on the other end of the line is listening, a very lame, slipping-through-shit old duffer who's an unlikely prospect as he tells me to speak up and asks me what I'm selling.
THE PIRATE, the long-haired kid who looks like he shoots South American snuff films, leans back and peers over with anger.
OUR HERO is struggling on futilely, like Captain Kirk hanging on to the last in an episode of "Star Trek", alone and isolated on the bridge with the oxygen running out.
THE PIRATE gets up suddenly and cuts off the phone call with his finger in disgust.
Now there is OUR HERO and him, an emphasis of this character breathing in his face in a Spanish accent-- blood feuds and the violence of romance--
THE PIRATE
(ANGRILY)
Look man, you sound like a fucking idiot-- real lame-- when you talk that shit.
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
But--
(Hurt)
THE PIRATE
(Pissed-off, like a spitting ocelot)
I don't give a shit abut your problems, you pussy. Do it right--
ROB sits back with his hands over his puffy belly, not commenting on what needs to be said.
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
(Faltering, hurt)
But, but-- that's not my way!
THE PIRATE
(Shooting back with disgust, running his
fingers under his chin in Iberian dismissal)
You are a piece of shit, man-- A PIECE OF SHIT.
Now 17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS is frowning, shaking his head, getting angrier and angrier and angrier, his face turning red in volcanic rage--
[Cut to shot of "Final Fight" video game]
[Sound FX of grunting as giant wrestler beats the shit out of the scoundrels-- "RRRUP!" "RRRUP!" "RRRUP!"-- overlaid with hollers from THE TELEMARKETERS as mele breaks out]
The room is now totaled, full of destroyed telemarketing equipment and overturned tables and chairs. . . . . Jay's computer is flipped over upside down and on the floor.
ROB look panic-stricken, angry, and in disbelief, holding his hand up in the air in question:
ROB
WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT?!
OUR HERO answers quietly, the storm over, breathing with the adrenaline rush coming down--
17 YEAR-OLD MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS
(Faltering, hurt)
If you have to ask you'll never know. . . . .
He steps out and departs, leaving the now-unemployed TELEMARKETERS to pick through the ruined equipment.
MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS (V.O.)
(Recounting in wonder)
Though I never got paid, I sure got my money's worth. . . . .
I always wondered what happened to Jay, though-- a shifty con-man like that. Where he'd end up, and if there was any true justice in this universe of ours
EXT. Hell,
The burning flames of hell, red brimstone rising up in a wall.
THERE is JAY sitting naked and frightened on a slab cowering against a red wall of brimstone in a chamber.
CUT TO:
SATAN'S HOOF stepping down with a knock
JAY writhes on his hands and knees going "OOOHH! OOOHH! OOOHH!"
Cut to profile of giant Satan sodomizing Jay with his forked tail and cape behind him, laughing demonically-- "HA, HA, HA, HA!"
INT. Questioning Chamber/Interview Room, Present Day, Time Unknown
An adult MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS sits at the table and points his finger.
MICHAEL "LAWLESS" ADAMS (V.O.)
For all you know, Satan may be waiting down there for you, if you truly sin against your fellow creatures and don't watch your ass!
He laughs satanically, stares upwards like he's Satan with a demonic grin on my face, and "pricks" my ears up with his fingers.
[Sound-effect: "BLWEEE!"]
The effect is like a hard-on for the wicked who find themselves in "Satan's Cell-Block".
A really creepy, zany way to drive the moral lesson home.
-------------------
Click here for Stoner's
Interlude #2:
"Bad Medicine Waltz: The REAL Beetlejuice"
----------------------
© 2009 by Insufferable Industries
Drop "The Bard" a line atmichaeladams_s@yahoo.com